Dead for bread [ATLAS, MT]

by **Brytene** » Wed May 27, 2015 6:05 am

DEAD FOR BREAD

Code: Select all: FILE: PEPPER ATOLL --------------------------------------------- PEPPER ATOLL is a series of islands and archipelagoes approximately 160km to the north-west of Brytene. No government currently lays claim to PEPPER ATOLL and as a result, it is an economically deprived and politically chaotic region, with local warlords, smuggling gangs, and pirates operating from the area. It is also relatively poor - there is little arable land on the islands, and much of it is underdeveloped. The Brytisc Fleet undertakes regular humanitarian missions to attempt to improve living conditions across the Atoll.

St Joseph, Pepper Atoll
Population: 3000(?)

Sergeant Teorell grunted as she lifted the box down from the plane's fuselage to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust as she dumped it down. She was part of the Beachside Project, a government-funded attempt to assuage the guilt the Brytisc navy felt for regularly sinking boatloads of pirates and smugglers based out of the Atoll.

St Joseph itself was a dreary place - no-one knew quite what had happened, but earlier in the year the little coastal town had been attacked and burned to the ground, and now in the place of bright and cheerful clay-brick houses was a sprawl of shanties and shacks. Whilst Mercia dumped box after box of supplies from the back of the aging helicopter they had flown in to this pit, her two colleagues held back the crowds. It was just her, one Hudan, and one Vedrian, pretty much the total sum of the world's effort to help the Pepper Atollites.

She heard shouting from the crowd behind her as she unloaded another crate, this time filled with rice, and turned just in time to see a plume of smoke arcing over the low rooftops. She flung herself aside with a curse, hearing nothing but a bang followed by a tearing noise and the instant reek of smoke and petrol. Snatching up her KA-P7 handgun, her only armament, she looked up to see the aging helicopter halfway through lifting off, smoke pouring from its burning tail as it began to spin crazily, toppling away from her into the shanty street opposite, crushing a shack and its occupants whilst the rotor blades whipped the next alleyway into charnel.

At the same time, gunfire sounded not particularly far off, and she saw glimpses of bright yellow shirts and clothing heading their way. She glanced over to her comrades....

by **Sde Dov** » Thu May 28, 2015 1:46 am

Over St. Joseph

"Eagle 119, cleared to land."

Angelo Fernandez aligned his C-130 Hercules toward the runway. The houses of St. Joseph were visible in the distance. Fernandez pulled back his throttles to slow down. The gunfire was nothing to him; for he was a veteran of the war in Nazat. During the war, he volunteered to do high-risk LAPES drops for Sde Dovian troops during the 1981 Battle of Hill 3492 in the face of heavy fire, which helped change the outcome of that battle, ensuring a Sde Dovian victory. On one particular mission, his aircraft was hit by a Strela SAM, causing two engines to fail, but he was able to make a safe return to the airport. He left the Air Force in 1988 awarded with the Sde Dovian Flying Cross, and joined this charter outfit flying old Hercules aircraft in 2003. His copilot, Mikhail Gorbunov, was also a veteran of the Nazat war, but mostly flew supply missions for the barracks in the relatively safe city of Sharqah. Gorbunov joined the cargo outfit in 2005. In the cargo hold were ten tons of relief supplies and other materials, as well as twenty relief workers.

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

Bullets began to hit the aircraft. Captain Fernandez instantly recognized the sound. On instinct quickly increased the throttles, which increased their speed to 130 knots. Meanwhile, Gorbunov began to look around for the source of the fire. By now, the Hercules' fuel tanks were already running dry, and he had room for only one more landing attempt, assuming there was nobody firing. A high pitched alarm began to wail. He turned and saw that the engine fire indicator for the Number 4 engine was active. Using his instincts, he cut the fuel to the particular engine and activated the firefighting system.

"Engine fire checklist." said Fernandez.

The pilots secured the engine and feathered the propeller of the number four engine. They increased the power to the remaining three engines to maintain their approach speed. More bullets flew off the aircraft.

"1000." called out Gorbunov, reading from the radio altimeter.

He leveled off the aircraft and stabilized his aircraft. Doing quick calculations, he increased his speed and descent rate.

"500."
"300."

The bumpy dirt runway obviously showed its numerous potholes and bumps, but the Hercules was built for rougher runways. It was approximately 5,000 feet long and the sea was on the other end of the runway. However, the Hercules' increased speed meant that almost all the runway will be used up. They both secured their harnesses, while he shouted to his passengers to fasten their seatbelts.

"100."
"50 feet."

Fernandez began his flare, pitching up the nose of his aircraft.

"30 feet."
"20."
"10."

Fernandez then grabbed the throttles and put them in full idle. The Hercules bounced a bit on the runway, but he quickly stabilized the aircraft and hit the brakes and thrust reversers. Suddenly, a lot of armed men began firing AK-47s at the ramp and waiting helicopters, running towards the administration buildings. On the ramp was a helicopter taking off, but was quickly shot down, crashing into a house.

"What do we do Captain!" screamed Gorbunov.

The Hercules was still traveling at sixty knots, but they were trapped in between a rock and a hard place. On the left was the crowded ramp, full of relief helicopters and aid personnel, while to the right was civilian housing. Out of options, Captain Fernandez decided they had to risk running over the men.

"KEEP GOING FORWARD!" screamed Fernandez.

Some of the armed men were run over by the C-130, damaging the glass nose. Blood began to splatter on the windscreens.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" cried Gorbunov, mortified by the sight.

The C-130 finally slowed down to a halt. They both unstrapped their harnesses and got out their M1911 pistols out of a case. From the cockpit windows, men were already running to the aircraft.

by **Huda** » Thu May 28, 2015 5:55 am

St. Joseph, Pepper Atoll.
Abdullah Karim.

I glared at the sea. I just groaned. Was all the action I had in the Hudian Army gone to waste? Now my wife wants me to help the unfed chaotic atoll. Rather bored, I walked to my bag, down the goddamn sand and take out my fishing rod, letting the Vedrian and Brytsic lad do the work. I just grinned, took out a cigar and started catching the fish. Of course, I didn't even get the rod out before the Brytsic groaned and ordered me to give the food. I sighed and started working. Honestly, I pitied them. In this shithole of an island, goodness knows what they do.

I was barely beginning to feed the people when I noticed a number of men running towards us, smoke behind them. I went round the back and picked up my AK-47: the least the humanitarian organization could give me. I brandished it and grinned: some action, finally. But I knew those sounds. "Cocktail. Molotov. Hmph... something's brewing." I grunted. That was till I saw a burning helicopter crashing into a building. The crowd went wild. I held them back, albeit swearing.

I shot a blank in the sky and everyone calmed down. Then we saw a clear view: of men dressed in yellow. The Brytsic looked at me. I aimed at them, but before I begin to speak: of course, more trouble. A massive C-130 was being fired at and it didn't look like it was going to make it: but it had a soft landing. I blessed Allah himself and continued aiming: hoping the C-130 meant help.

by **Brytene** » Thu May 28, 2015 6:39 am

Sergeant Mercia Teorell

Mercia felt a sudden and intense fear. She herself was black, but she had been born and raised in Brytene. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that the Manaagnwe militia would just love to capture a 'traitor' like herself, and if the rumours she had heard were true, she would rather put a bullet through her chin than fall into their hands.

Ahead, the crowd was screaming and shouting. The Hudan soldier, Abdullah, had his AK drawn and seemed to be on the ball, but even as she struggled to her feet the sky thundered as a C-130 came down to land elsewhere in the town, trailing tracer fire and smoke as it crashed out of sight to the sound of screams and shouting.

"ABDULLAH!" she shouted, getting to her feet "WE GOTTA GO!"
Not waiting to see if he was following, she slipped down an alleyway and past the smoking ruins of the helicopter, into a wider mud-covered street filled with burned and mangled bodies. She almost wretched, but began sprinting down the street, away from the militia and towards the landing site of the C-130.

In front of her, a bare-chested man with a yellow baseball cap stepped out, an AK-74U in his hands. Behind him, more men in yellow spilled out of a building, dragging a youngish child with them.

Mercia stopped, raising her KA-P7 and levelling it at the man. She was too tense to say anything, simply staring at the man who seemed surprised too.

C-130 landing site

The airfield was a mess. Civilians ran this way and that, trying to avoid the giant plane at the same time as men and women in a motley selection of yellow pushed their way through the crowd, occasionally shooting or stabbing someone unfortunate enough to get in their way, or to be recognised as a friend to the 'foreign dogs'.

One man, obviously the leader, sprayed a few shots from an assault rifle towards the cockpit, firing from the hip, then put the gun over his shoulder and laughed. He was wearing wraparound shades, a tactical vest, shorts, sandals, a golden watch, and nothing else.

"Ey! You inside! Come out of here and we will not hurt you!" he yelled, a grin spread across his face. His followers hooted with laughter, whilst some began to prowl around the wings and edge of the plane.

by **Sasutary Island** » Thu May 28, 2015 6:49 am

Off the Pepper Islands; Aboard the RSN Stupendous
Midday, Clear; 21 degrees C

Ever since the end of conflicts and the establishment of the Federal Republic that incorporated the former Constitutional Monarchy of the Sasutary Islands and the Federal Republic of the Milvian States, PM Aslo Kristiansen set the armed forces to task to rebuild Atlas. Being a former Field Marshal and knighted individual, PM Aslo felt an inner need to help the helpless, to paint the facade of Sasutaria over to show that it had changed from a dictatorship to a republican government. One of the many fleets sent abroad in the first few weeks of Aslo's leadership to send humanitarian aid to former enemies, the RSN, or Royal Staatenlander Navy, Stupendous was sent to the Pepper Isles, a derelict and crime-ridden pirate haven. The Brystic fleet had already been operating in the sector, sinking pirates and chasing away smugglers. The Brystic fleet was nothing compared to the former Sasutarian and now-combined-Milvian-Navies, which was a force to be reckoned with, even after significant downscaling, on the seven seas. The small task force consisted of the Amphibious Assault Carrier, Stupendous, 3 Destroyers and 6 Frigates. Their main objective was to off-load a contingent of 36 Staatenlander Marines, to police the islands. The Staatenbund, though seeking to be seen as a gentle giant, still wanted influence over the Pepper Islands, and hence Brytene, which was in the middle of two large continents, a prime location for a port. The task force also had 1200 tons of rice, corn, wheat and barley, 300 tons of Coffee and Tea, as well as more than 4,000 pieces of clothing donated by generous Staatenlanders.

The ships had been anchored in a small bay off St. Joseph, sheltered from the waves out at sea. They had been there since nighttime, and as soon as dawn broke, the commander of the fleet, Rear Admiral Liam deMay, ordered the beginning of the Humanitarian operation. Amphibious AFVs, APCs and several barges made their way ashore, the latter carrying the necessary "Hardware" to ensure the smooth operation of an operation of this scale, in a potentially hostile environment. One piece of said hardware stood out from the rest, the AFS 125 Griffin MBT, an armoured vehicle of futuristic design. Hell, it might as well have hoverblades under it. The 125 was the 4th generation Sasutarian-designed tank, an improvement over the previous T-120S MBT. The Marines slowly tickled onto the shore; some local fishermen offering them a quicker, albeit smellier, ride ashore on their boats, for a shiny penny. The large ships-of-war contrasted the basic rafts, boats and yachts that these people fielded for a living. Of course, there were the pirates, the traffickers, probably seeking shelter in some sort of cave, until the Staatenlander Navy decided to sail away. Which was not going to happen. Liam had received explicit orders from President Stahl to anchor in the harbour until Staatenlander dignitaries arrived to discuss the opening of a military base on the Pepper Isles.

The 125 rolled forward off the beached barge, tilting forwards slowly before settling on the white sand. The 125 was the only tank that was going to be landed, to provide support to the Peacekeepers. Intelligence reports had shown that there were sporadic gunfire all over the island of St. Joseph, presumably after the Brystic and Sde Dovan forces made a dramatic appearance. The Staatenlander peace keepers wore blue-helmets or berets, to distinguish themselves from other forces on the island. Major Alexander Paul Steele was the commander of the 125. Having seen combat in the Ordian, Cydonian and the more recent Liberation war, the dirty shacks and gunfire of St. Joseph was anything but the vacation he was looking for. The driver was Sergeant Kylie Chatham, a young woman who, in training and in the field, beat everyone, literally. No nonsense and not someone to open up on her past, Kylie is one of the few, but growing, number of females in the military. Steeles' driver was Corporal Nathan Willems. The three were introduced to each other in the past weeks, to socialize and know about each other, and then sent to 'keep the peace' in some far-flung location; for some it was not the first.

Steele opened the hatch on the top of the hull of the 125. Unlike other tanks, the 125 had an automated turret controlled by the gunner or commander from a heavily armoured central citadel, where the crew sat. Thus, the entirety of the turret was occupied with the gun, its autoloader and its ammunition. The hatch was slightly forward and situated off-center to the right of the turret. Willems joined the commander unbuttoned, seemed to take in the sights of the beach, and the marines that were pouring over it with logistical equipment and humanitarian supplies. Chatham drove the tank wildly, got it stuck into some loose sand, but managed to get it out as quickly. They made their way to what could be described as a alleyway just wide enough to fit the tank, and moved forwards using the GPS towards the rendezvous point. It was barely a plaza. A few shacks flanked each side, and in the distance a plume of smoke could be seen. But that was none of their business. For the Staatenlanders, they were to establish a distribution post in that very spot. The engineers, off course, were there before Steele, clamouring around with tents, sandbags, foldable chairs and tables, and were offloading sacks of supplies off the transports. Suddenly, Major Under McMahon, commander of the operation on land, climbed up aboard the hull of the 125, knocked on Steeles' visor.

Steele took off the helmet and earpiece, "What's up?"

"The boss wants you to go up several um... Blocks, that way. They say there is a group of other Humanitarian Workers. Maybe you should give them some warm greetings, ask them a way to get to that airfield. Bloody Sde Dovan crashed into buildings."

"Or maybe give 'em the finger. I'll be on it, then." Steele put his earpiece and helmet back on, you outrank me, only just. Steele gave a hand signal to Chatham, and she complied. The V12 1,350HP turbines came to life, and the tank lurched forwards at a steady 30km/h. There were kids that followed the tank, like a procession forming behind the tank. We're here to give hope to these people. The 125 stopped suddenly, and Steele looked forward, saw a long line of cattle and sheep cross the street, a frail shepherd and his son spurring them on.

The 125 turned the corner, and in front of them, a large crowd of people held back by two people. Instinctively, Steele buttoned up, followed up by Willems. The air-conditioned interior of the 125 was a contrast to the dusty, thick air of St. Joseph. "It's time to roll," Steele proclaimed. Chatham moved into the most logical position that she could take, using the body of the 125 to shield the civilians and humanitarian workers. She did that, with surgical precision.

"Targets out in the open, 8 o'clock!" blurted Steele as he observed on of the monitors to his side.

"Affirmative, loading High-Explosive shells," -the ping ping ping sounds of bullets ricocheting off the armour became more evident- "just like shooting fish in a barrel."

The gun began swinging towards the direction of the attackers. Steele was already in command of the remotely controlled .50 GPMG-4 on the roof of the turret, and began taking shots at the enemy in the open. In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the AC-130, engines spluttering, a row of houses and bodies strewn in a line. Idiot. The turret had stopped moving, and the 125 opened fire on the infantry out in the open. The 125mm gun and 30mm coaxial cannon roared into action. Too easy. There were, however, militiamen who were mixed in with the civilians. Thankfully, the commander thought Steele couldn't do the job by himself and sent a squad of marines up with him. He looked at the video feed, saw them exiting the armoured jeeps. Thank god.

by **Sde Dov** » Thu May 28, 2015 9:08 am

Inside the C-130

Dust filled the cockpit through parts of the broken glass nose. Tens of armed men were swarming all around the C-130 and firing rounds at the aircraft. Fernandez and Gorbunov loaded their M1911s stpwed in a compartment. In the case were five magazines and around 200-300 rounds of ammo, and they both placed them in their pockets.

"Captain, should we get out?" asked Gorbunov.

"Are you crazy, Gorbunov! You've seen the movies where they say that, yet they harm you!" screamed Fernandez.

"GET OUT OF THE AIRCRAFT!" screamed the leader, firing a Kalashnikov at the cockpit windows.

The pilots took cover behind their seats.

"WHAT NOW!"

"Block the doors and turn off the hydraulics and electrics!"

Gorbunov killed the power to the rear ramp, and ran to the entry doors, blocking them with anything he can find. Numerous hands pounded on the door, producing a disturbing loud sound. Through a window on the right door, Gorbunov saw the desperation in these men's faces. "What were they coming for?", thought Gorbunov. It then hit him; the food aid on board. Meanwhile in the cockpit, Fernandez was firing rounds out the window.

"ONE LAST CHANCE!" screamed the leader furiously.

Gorbunov then ran to the the cockpit door.

"START THE MOTHERFUCKING ENGINES! IT'S OUR ONLY CHANCE!" screamed Gorbunov.

Their flight engineer then started to flip switches while Fernandez kept intruders out. The broken glass windows of the C-130 allowed for smaller men, or at least the heads of men to come in the cockpit, but Fernandez kept them at bay. The Allison turbines began to whir to life, with some of the men running away, while some were still firing.

"CATCH!" screamed Fernandez, tossing Gorbunov an AK and two magazines. Gorbunov smashed the little window on the right hand door, and fired a burst into the crowd. Meanwhile, the right inboard engine was already spinning and stabilized, while Fernandez and the flight engineer started up the second engine. In the cockpit, Fernandez took his seat as the left inboard engine stabilized. Slowly, the engineer moved the throttles and some of the men began to disperse.

"Kaon ug bilat, mga yawa!" (Eat v***na, you devils!), screamed Fernandez, firing an AK, while the engineer turned the aircraft around. Puddles of red began to fill the ground, and the leader was another contribution to the growing puddles, with two round hitting his neck and face, causing instant death. Fernandez then handed the AK to the engineer.

"I have control."

Fernandez then advanced the throttles to thirty knots, running over some men for the second time. Looking to his right, he saw some men not firing at them, but at the fighters. There was an empty patch a few hundred feet from the ramp, so Fernandez taxiied to it, far away from the civilians, but safe and large enough for the Hercules. By then, only stragglers were following the aircraft, with the rest being dead or wounded. He then stopped the aircraft and took a deep breath.

"This is worse than Nazat." muttered Fernandez as he shut down the engines.

by **Brytene** » Fri May 29, 2015 12:20 am

Mercia

The militia all ducked and turned for cover as the sound of a heavy machine gun rippled through the air. A huge tank rolled around the corner in the distance, splashing into the muddy street as infantry poured out after it. The turret began turning towards this particular band of thugs and they fled, panicking, scattering into the bushes and alleyways.

Mercia squeezed the trigger of her KA-P7, the gun twitching as a single round snapped into the neck of the man who had confronted her, dropping him to the ground. She sprinted forwards, holstering her pistol and snatching up the AK-74u before hurrying down the street towards the newcomers.

Though she was black, she was wearing Brytisc military fatigues and a cap over her tightly-bound hair, and to ensure that no mistakes were made she shouted in English as she approached.

"Sergeant Teorell, Royal Brytisc Fleet!"

Airfield

The Sde Dovans had managed to get themselves out of trouble, but their wheel assembly was fouled and they now had no space to taxi around in a hurry. The streets were starting to clear, leaving an empty and eerie silence as gunfire and screams crackled in the distance.

The band of Manaagnwe they had left behind started to follow them, shouting in fury, but suddenly they too peeled off, disappearing into the warren of alleyways and shacks.

by **Vedria** » Fri May 29, 2015 6:12 am

Pepper Atoll

The sun was shining on what most people could deem as a tropical paradise, if not for the overabundance of Kalashnikovs and prostitutes.

Actually, come to think of it, prostitutes would be part of a tropical paradise. As well as all the drugs and alcohol and the pure unadulterated illegality of day-to-day life in these islands. Hell, come to think of it, some people would think of the place as a tropical paradise, if not for the roving gangs of militiamen armed with Kalashnikovs protecting their assets on the island, be it drugs, smuggled goods or whores. Another thing was the lack of government, with the Byrtisc Monarchy not even daring to lay a finger on the joint, even if the place was a haven for pirates and smugglers and all sorts of unfragrant fellows that brought crime and corruption to the nations nearest to it.

So now, one man, a twenty-something Vedrian lance corporal from the 116th Special Operations Platoon, was wondering why in Armok's name he was sent there as part of the regular Byrtisc humanitarian mission to this shithole. With a GAR-22 slung over his shoulder, he looks out of the helicopter he's riding into this paradise of illegality, and lays eyes upon the collection of shanty houses and lean-tos that make up the main "town" in the archipelago, if it could be deemed a town at all.

"Looks like shit", was all he could mutter.

A few minutes later they were on the ground, with the Byrtisc chick, who was also kinda sorta hot in the eyes of the Lance Corporal, handing out bags of rice and supplies to the destitute inhabitants of the settlement. The formed a line, a surprisingly orderly one, all the way from the town to their landing site. The Lance Corporal and a Hudan soldier stood guard, rifles at the ready, in case some asshat militiaman decided to shoot up the immediate vicinity of their helicopter.

And today, due to their insane luck, their immediate vicinity was shot up by a militiaman with an rocket launcher.

Their helicopter went down.

There was no way out of the island

"Fuck", muttered the Lance Corporal as he took cover from the tiny bits of speeding metal blossoming from the place where their helicopter crashed in a blaze of fire and smoke.

"Fuck", he muttered again, as he saw more militiamen, armed with the said overabundance of Kalashnikovs on this paradise of drugs, whores and automatic weapons, coming towards him.

"Fuck" was the last thing Lance Corporal Stukos Bomerishken said before knocked out by a stray piece of stone rubble flung from the resting place of their helicopter.

by **New Carloso** » Fri May 29, 2015 6:48 am

CN Biscay, a dozen kilometres south of St. Joseph, Pepper Atoll

Captain Liam S. Casey stood on the bridge of the Carlossian Asturias-class guided missile cruiser CN Biscay (CG-74), pouring over the reports coming in about a conflict breaking out in the small town of St. Joseph in Pepper Atoll nearby. The vessel's extremely advanced comms system had intercepted hundreds of communications from the town's slums; presumably rugged walkie-talkies, old phones and ancient radios. These gave an indication that this sudden and brutal insurgency had been well planned and thought out, with a complex command structure. Sealed inside the steel hull of their 187 metre long warship, the events in that slum did not affect the 220 crew, yet they watched on with peeked interest. Originally, the Biscay had been Carloso's contribution to combating piracy in and around the atoll, providing essential firepower in the form of its CAE CGSM-26 155 mm naval gun, capable of firing projectiles up to a range of 154 km. Rarely, it had used its CASP-320 Narwhal anti-ship missiles against larger targets, keeping its use limited due to the missile's price and intended use against cruisers, destroyers and other more "honourable" watercraft. At close range, its two Lexis 45 mm autocannons had seen much use, blowing dingies, inflatable craft and their occupants out of the water in a single hit. Sometimes, just ramming them had been the only option, crushing the very equilibrium of their bodies into a sort of red paste that floated on top of the water like an oil slick, accompanied by what remained of their vehicle. The Carlossian presence here was also in the interests of the food industry; the fastfood chain "Admiral Tenders" based in Carloso only used the finest pepper in their meal option "Peppred Chicken Ani". All this pepper had to come from the Pepper Atoll. This truly exquisite meal was enjoyed by millions of people across Atlas every single day.

An officer in charge of the sensors aboard the vessel pointed out that there was at least two helicopters on the island already, "One helicopter was shot down at the beginning of the insurgency. A second Vedrian helicopter is currently in-fli--, no scratch that. Missile warning system just detected a blast near the town. Thats them gone anyway. Unusually, the Sasutary Islands have chosen to get involved in the insurgency and have dispatched several warships including an amphibious assault carrier, three destroyers and six frigates. Enemy communications suggest they have made a successful landing on a beach nearby. Apparently, they have also deployed a AFS 125 Griffin in an armoured support role. Its use will be limited, however, compared to the transport and offensive capabilities of a helicopter like our Tornado. We also have the capability to deploy 60 units of the marine corps via inflatable landing craft or helicopter. As these insurgents are not fighting conventionally, and ordering a missile strike would potentially kill everyone, I believe extracting the friendlies inside there will be our best option." Casey left a simulation of an airstrike on the town play out in his mind, and then giggled, attracting the gazes of several personnel in the bridge. "Hmmmmm."

Captain Casey listened over the messages being sent in. Among the many other things being discussed, a Sde Dovian C-130 Hercules tactical airlifter was mentioned multiple times, as well as a conversation involving some incredibly intense phone sex. "Comms, establish contact with friendlies inside and around St. Joseph." the captain ordered. A sea lieutenant quickly fired a salute and immediately began relaying the command. "Prep flight deck for helicopter launch. I need a H-72 Tornado air-borne in ten for immediate combat insertion. I want all friendly civilians and military personnel out of there as soon as possible."

On the flight deck, the CH-58 Tornado medium transport helicopter had been rolled out, fitted with two 17.8 mm machine guns mounted on the right and left bay doors respectively. The helicopter was capable of seating 20 troops or civilians. The pilots of the aircraft climbed into their seats, starting up the turboshaft engines of the Tornado. Followed by them were the two gunners, who took hold of the massive machine guns with a smile. An air groundcrew member dressed in an orange hi-vis vest waved his batons upwards, signalling the pilots to begin the helicopters ascent. Slowly, the helicopter rose off the ground, and then sped off towards the island in the distance. The pilots immediately commenced attempts to communicate with allies, broadcasting a message on friendly frequencies; "Friendlies, this is Carlossian Army H-72 Tornado transport helicopter Charlie 5, requesting coordinates for immediate evacuation and combat insertion, over." The helicopter was now approaching the town at maximum cruise speed. The grip of the gunners' fingers around the triggers of the 17.8 mm machine guns tightened. Between them, a marine armed with an R8 Argus assault rifle stood poised for action.

The first burst of gun fire was heard.

by **Sde Dov** » Fri May 29, 2015 8:54 am

The C-130

"Fuck." said Captain Fernandez, stretching his back after undoing his shoulder straps. Instrument panels were shattered and windows damaged

Gorbunov pat him on the shoulder.

"All is clear now. Looks like a mess." said Gorbunov, with sweat dripping down his face.

The pilots opened the door and led the relief workers out, with most of them in shock. Gorbunov and Fernandez were shocked at the damage to their C-130. Blood was splattered on the cockpit windows and wheels. The number two and number four engines were damaged, with the props bent and bloodied. Bullet holes riddled the aircraft, but missed the fuel tanks. Meanwhile, the nose gear was collapsed, but repairable. They went towards the civil ramp and saw two men in Hudian and Brystic uniforms.

"Thank you." said the pilots, with tears of joy.

by **Huda** » Fri May 29, 2015 12:39 pm

Mercia, Pepper Atoll.
Abdullah Karim.

Oh, this was fascinating. I followed the Brytsic, until we stopped. I was not in awe, and I was going to shoot them, but the Brytsic wanted to do it herself. I grinned and as we ran past the body. I began shooting here and there at the men in yellow. A lot of the yellows were routed by the machine gun. I looked back at the beach. I sighed. Infantry. Of course, here to spoil the fun. Their markings were Sasutarian.

We rushed to the C-130, until finally reaching them. This was going to result into tension. I looked at the sky. Helicopters. "Looks like we've got company." I told the Brytsic. We proceeded to the Sde Dovians. A total bloodbath.

I began laughing. Both of them were crying tears of joy and thanking us. Being professional, I nodded. But my worries were the tension. "Hey, you, Brytsic. What are the means of this?" I asked her, pointing at the marines.

by **Sasutary Island** » Sat May 30, 2015 3:15 am

(The Staatenbund is a Federal Republic consisting of Sasutaria and The Milvian States. So saying they had Sasutarian markings is slightly wrong.)

LAYOUT OF AID CAMP

St. Joseph Island
Major Alex Steele; 2nd Battalion Leightonsex Royal Tank Regiment

The militiamen had dispersed mostly into the shacks, the marines rounding up the villagers and trying to find survivors from the wreckage of the helicopter, if any. Steele had already jumped out of the tank, greeted by a Brystic sergeant. She was alright looking, Steele got to the point.

"Major Alex Steele, 2nd Bat. Leightonsex Royal Tank Regiment. We are here under Her Majesties' orders to provide humanitarian aid to the people of the Pepper Atoll. Fortunately for you, the uppers told us to help you out. Looks like you've had a bad day, but rest assured the Marines will clear all this out. And rat out the Militia. Nice meeting you, Sergeant Teorell."

Steele looked around, saw a Marine lift an unconscious man to the back of the jeep. A few injured locals were invited back to the Staatenlander Aid Camp to be treated for their wounds. There was a Hudian, notable for the darker skin, asking what the use of Marines saving his life was. The Sde Dovan AC-130 behind him. Then he noticed the two Sde Dovan pilots as well, crying and all that. He approached them. Stopping at a distance, he addressed them.

"Hey there!" -Steele shouted, waving his arms- "I'm Major Steele for the Staatenbundian Aid-Relief Programme. I see you folks have been having some problems, out there. If you need any help, just proceed to the Staatenbundian Aid Camp about a quarter of a Kilomter down that road, you won't miss it. Or if you wish, I can call a jeep up here to pick you up." -he turned around to the Brystic- "Why don't you all come to the Aid Camp? Watch out out here, drone imaging shows a large amount of activity on this island as soon as you guys got here. And its not for the aid."

Later...

The 125 drove back to the Aid Camp, the square ringed by sandbags and Marines, on guard after the eruption of firefights at the airfield. There was however, a distinct lack of ships in the bay of St. Joseph. Steele asked for an explanation from McMahon, who told him that they had left to respond to a hijacked Cruise Liner 1,200 kilometers to the north. "Talk about bad timing." McMahon shrugged it off, there's more than enough Marines to deal with a few armed thugs. Steele looked around, McMahon returning to the shade of his HQ, which was more of a glorified tent. There was now a small queue at the Aid Distribution center, the Marines and civilian aid workers giving out a kilo of rice and wheat to each family a day. In the distance, the run-down school had just dismissed its students, and some of the boys were already playing football at the pitch next to the school.

The sandbags were about a metre high, behind it a parapet to shoot intruders. Hesco bastions stand behind the parapet. This formed the only palisade against the militias, who would most definitely be planning another attack. The road was blocked by cement blocks and a barrier. The machinery to make this all now stood idle in the motorpool; what was basically a tent to one side of the square. The 125 was there aswell, being checked for damage and refueled.

The unconscious man, now confirmed to be a Vedrian by his passport, was brought into the makeshift clinic, and given attention by the doctors, of which there were to of them. The clinic itself was formerly a soup-kitchen, kindly vacated by its former users for a lump sum, as well as the promise of safety by the Marines. The small foldable beds were all occupied by the sick or old, or wounded. The doctors frantically moved from patient to patient, trying to fill their needs as best as they could. That Brystic and Hudian better be coming back here. The Sde Dovans too, they got some injuries on 'em. There was a noise in the distance, with a marine pointing up into the sky. Steele went out of the clinic, saw a helicopter in the distance. Carlosan symbols. McMahon was leaning into the radio-set, tuning into the helicopter's frequency.

"Carlosan Helicopter, Carlosan Helicopter. This is the Staatenbundian Aid Mission HQ. The airfield you are landing at is too hot. We cleared it out before you arrived, however. You're to land at the football field, where smoke is being popped. STAM HQ, over."

A Marine began hurried rushing towards the football field, smoke grenade in hand. He shooed away the boys playing on the field, as well as the spectators, and threw the grenade on the pitch. Purple smoke began spewing out from the top of the cylindrical canister, while the Marine began waving his arms.

by **Brytene** » Sat May 30, 2015 5:12 am

400m north of St Joseph

Captain Explosion was crouched by the foot of one of the bridge support columns, enjoying the momentary respite from the shade. His yellow shirt was stained with sweat, as today was particularly humid, but he was too intent to notice.

The ajnabi had set up their camp in St Joseph, and were distributing aid and food to the survivors there. For these foreign cockroaches to claim authority over the town was bad enough, but now they were feeding the locals and protecting them, usurping Manaagnwe influence over the town and preventing them from using the harbour, or the people, as they pleased.

Captain Explosion was not officially a captain, at least he was not an officer in any recognised army, but he was a mid-level leader of the Manaagnwe militia and so he called himself captain, and no-one disagreed. He had chosen his name because he liked the sound of the word, and because it sounded deadly, and now he had a plan to cleanse St Joseph of these rats.

He led his militia through the sweltering heat, slipping through the shanties and ruins until the T-junction that led to the market square was in sight. They stopped, fanning out through the streets, prompting screams and shouts from the few remaining locals, but they were not interested in civilian collaborators, not yet. Captain Explosion's men had reported that the storehouse ahead of them, once used for pepper harvests, was now filled with ammunition, so he waved his arm towards it and shouted for one of his men.

That man stood up and took aim, squeezing the trigger and sending an RPG round clean through the doors of the ammo dump. The explosion was vast, as bullets and munitions caught the heat and burst, sending flames and smoke high into the sky and raining debris and flame across the market square, as well as blasting against the side of the hotel-turned-barracks.

With triumphant screams, the Manaangnwe rushed forwards, firing from the hip as they flooded the streets from the north-east, some others slipping inside the buildings surrounding the market square.

Market Square

Sergeant Teorell had been relieved to find that friendly intervention was at hand, and the scattered outlanders had pulled together, adding a pair of Sde Dovan pilots and a platoon of Staatenbund soldiers to the strength, but her joy was short-lived. It turned out that the Staatenbund navy had departed, deeming the mission practically complete, leaving them alone against the island. Major Alex Steele, a charming man with an abundance of courtesy and confidence, seemed fairly competent, and he had an MBT under his command, but Mercia was not so sure of their situation.

She had hung on to her AK-74u, but she was still wearing only fatigues, not truly equipped for frontline combat, and she had been recovering in the headquarters when suddenly an explosion ripped the sky to the north-east.
She sat upright, snatching her SMG and rushing to the parapets with the others to see what was going on. The crackle of gunfire, mixed with screams, shouting, and the roar of spreading flames, told all the story she needed to know. She rushed to the front parapet, ducking as bullets whizzed her way before popping up to fire a short burst.

by **Carsodonia** » Mon Jun 01, 2015 10:19 am

A few kilometres south of the Carlosian Asturias-class guided missile cruiser

*The Derkova-Class Missile Guided Destroyer would have been on a routine patrol with the Carsodonian ally of New Carloso but being a few Kilometers even farther from the Island would be a little late in receiving the news when they finally picked up the the Islands noise, Captain Nikolai saw the Carlosian ship crawl with crewmen and finally a Carlosian helicopter take off. The Carsodonian ship would then go on high alert calling on all personnel to get to their positions. Captain Nikolai would get over the speaker* "This is Captain Nikolai, Ready up the Carsodonian Crowned Eagle and ODA 222 meet me on the flight deck." *10 minutes later the Captain would be on the flight deck with men from ODA 222, he would instruct them of the situation. The men of ODA 222 have been in most of the Atlas modern wars and were battle hardened, These men would have full on beards and the latest technology, including the CSFH Helmet, the Carsodonian made body armor, along with the newest Carsodonian camo. they would be carrying the CAR-117 main assault rifle, the PKP, the CheyTac Intervention and for their side arms the H&K USP Compact .45 pistol. The Carsodonian Stealth Crowned Eagle Transport Helicoptor would be outfitted with duel GAU-19 50. cal gatling guns on the sides along with other counter measures, ODA 222 would load up and fill the helicoptor, the ODA are to provide cover and support for the Carlosian helicopter and ground security. Once loaded in the men would check their weapons and give the thumbs up to the pilot as the quiet helicopter lifts off of the pad and at full cruise speed would try to catch up to the Carlosian Helicopter reaching them over the radio to tell them the commands that they were given.*

by **Vedria** » Wed Jun 03, 2015 12:49 am

Staatenbundian Aid Camp, Pepper Atoll

On a bed in a chaotic aid camp, which was taking fire from a number of ungentlemanly individuals armed with a cornucopia of illegal weaponry, a lone soldier lay, with his gear at his left and his rifle at his right. He had taken a three and a half inch piece of corrugated metal, which was the most common building material on these islands, to his right temple. Thankfully, he had a helmet which shielded his skull from the piercing impact that was usually associated with a three and a half piece inch of corrugated metal speeding through the air at over a hundred meters per second. However, he was knocked out cold. Real cold.

Thankfully, someone happened to find his limp body lying in the rubble, and dragged his ass towards the nearby Staatenbundian Aid Camp, which was oddly absent from the information he was given prior to his mission. After being laid in a bed in the infirmary and being given a quick look-at, he was deemed mostly fine, somewhat. Not that they could really thoroughly check, after all, their aid camp was being shot up to hell.

And so, on a bed in a chaotic aid camp that was taking fire from a number of ungentlemanly individuals armed with a cornucopia of illegal weaponry, a lone soldier woke up.

And very quickly, he spoke.

He said only one sentence. Three words. Eleven letters, if you were to count.

He said, "what the fuck?'

And with that, he got up, confused as you wound be if a person had just wandered into your bathroom carrying a mug of paint and a bunch of headbands, and started to amble around the camp.

by **Sasutary Island** » Wed Jun 03, 2015 2:30 am

SB. Aid Camp, Market Square
Major Alex Steele; 2nd Battalion Leightonsex Royal Tank Regiment

The militiamen's sudden attack came as a surprise to Steele. Their initial attack using RPGs had destroyed the ammunition dump instantly, bursting into flames which lick the side of the hotel-turned-barracks. Several locals as well as aid workers ran towards the fire with buckets full of water to douse the flames. Several soldiers were already opening fire on the advancing militamen. Steele unholstered his PZ-22 pistol, checked the magazine, and cocked it. The Vedrian began walking out of the Clinic in a daze, into a hailstorm of fire. The Brystic was on the parapet, the Hudian nowhere to be seen.

One soldier ran towards the Vedrian and Rugby tackled him onto the ground, before dragging him behind a Jeep. "Stay here," he said. Steele looked around, saw Kylie and Willems to his side, armed with their SMGs and kitted in Kevlar. Children were running about, their parents chiding them for staying out in the open. The gang of three got up onto the parapet and opened fire on the enemy. Several soldiers were lugging grenades, while others began carrying the wounded to the HQ where medics would treat them. Behind the parapet was a bunch of islanders, flat on the floor and hands locked over their heads. Kylie and Willems took haphazard shots at the militiamen, while Steele aimed-down the sights of the rather large pistol. 16 .30 bullets, that would mean that one man would need one shot. He pulled the trigger, a small pop sound among the rattling of the machineguns. Pop, Pop, Pop. One by one the Militiamen went down. The militiamen dispersing, the sound of gunfire dying down. The parapet was riddled with bullets, the corpses were as well. The ammo dump still on fire, though now a small crowd were busy pulling water out from the well or rushing to the sea to extinguish the flames. There were a few pops, the bullets in the ammo dump firing off from the heat. No one was injured from that. However, there were 7 dead, and 19 wounded Staatenbundians in the attack. Several soldiers moved up to count the dead militiamen.

"The Manyang... the Militia are going to be back soon." -Steele shouted in the direction of McMahon- "Gather all the ammunition we can and treat the wounded. We need more men than this." -Steele looked out towards the street full of bodies- "Do you remember that 'Combined Action Programme' they were trying to get us to do in Ordia?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Looks like we are gonna' have to do it here."

by **Huda** » Wed Jun 03, 2015 3:52 am

Mercia, Pepper Atoll.
Abdullah Karim.

I thanked Allah we could get some food. I took some gladly and finished it all - haven't had a good meal in days, now. I was bored, so I walked to the beach. Sitting down, I wondered: should the Hudian army know about this? I took out the standard Hudian military phone, and called. "This is General Sharif. What is the situation, Karim?" A stern voice asked. I gulped, and began. Told him of the whole situation. All he did was take a deep breath and say, "Very well. I can't afford to send an army of soldiers, Karim. Even for such a decorated officer like you. What I can do is send a small Abbas Force battalion at your command. Only men." He said.

I was assured they would come on a civilian vessel. Fully armed and in all their forms: Shokti - Strength, Aundho - Dark, and Chikitsha - Healing. When I was once a soldier, I was part of the Aundho. We were decorated for stealth. The Abbas Force program (which began in 2010) formed the elite Hudian force, named after Abbas ibn Ali (p.b.u.h), and had taken many inspirations of modern Atlas. Either way, I would await them.

As I closed the phone, concealing it once more, the rattling of gunfire and explosions interrupted my peace of mind. I grabbed the AK-47u beside me, and ran inside the town. Hidden, I shot only but a few, before seeing the men retreating. I awaited for a minute, ensuring the rattling was gone. Trying to cover myself as much as possible, I reached the parapet. "Are you guys okay?!" I asked, lifting Teorell up. "Who were they?! I've got a couple of men... coming soon. Tourists."

by **New Carloso** » Sat Jun 06, 2015 7:24 pm

H-72 Tornado, approaching St. Joseph, Pepper Atoll

Almost as soon as the Carlossian H-72 Tornado had flown into the southern portion of the town of St. Joseph, a burst of 7.62 mm and 12.7 mm machine gun fire pelted off the helicopter's underside. The pilots manoeuvred the aircraft around to bring the assailants into the gun crew's line of fire, promptly releasing a barrage of 15.24 mm machine gun. The men were sent tumbling for cover, three individuals being invalided instantly by the counter-attack. Not long after the attack had finished, the voice of a Staatenbundian officer crackled into life on the helicopter's radio, "Carlossian Helicopter, Carlossian Helicopter. This is the Staatenbundian Aid Mission HQ. The airfield you are landing at is too hot. We cleared it out before you arrived, however. You're to land at the football field, where smoke is being popped. STAM HQ, over." The helicopter crew diverted their attention towards a large patch of grass that somehow resembled a football field. "Roger aid mission HQ. We are diverting our course, over." the pilot replied. The Tornado zoomed over several rows of shacks, the sound of gun fire and dogs barking getting increasingly louder as the helicopter descended.

Then, the radio crackled into life once more. This time the person communicating with them was identifying themselves as the pilot of an allied Carsodonian 'Crowned Eagle' transport helicopter, notable for its stealth characteristics. Paying attention to this, the sensor operator turned his attention to the aft camera interface in front of him. Using the CAE Electronic Systems MTR-79 E/O Targeting System which was built into the helicopter, the operator was able to identify the Carsodonian helicopter as a friendly, now positioned about three clicks south of the Carlossian helicopter's current position. Meanwhile, the pilot aboard the Carsodonian helicopter announced that his aircraft would provide close air support and ground forces to support the Carlossian mission. Feeling ready to reply, the pilot of the Tornado radioed out his response, "Roger that Crowned Eagle. Be advised that we are undergoing a combat insertion mission and are currently in an active combat zone. Watch for RPG and machine gun fire over residential areas, over."

The crew of the helicopter turned their attention back towards the situation at hand, directing the gunners to direct their fire towards several insurgents readying to mount a technical equipped with what appeared to be a ZU-23-2 23 mm anti-aircraft dual-barrelled autocannon. A burst of fire from the single marine onboard's Vortex R8 Argus assault rifle quickly dispatched the man trying to get his hands on the deadly weapon. Another burst dispatched two others trying to scramble into the back of the pick-up. With the closest obvious threat to the helicopter destroyed, it carried on its cruise towards the football field. What appeared to be Staatenbundian ran out onto the field. Soon afterwards, a towering cloud of purple smoke began to emerge from a point in the grass. Then, the marine began to frantically wave his arms.

A flock of birds rose in response to the whirlwind being created by the helicopter as it decided, coming dangerously close to the Tornado's four blade main rotor system. Now directly above the purple smoke, the marine below ran to escape the force of the blowback. Slowing down from a cruise speed of 250 km/h to an almost full stop, the helicopter descended at a pace of 4 m/s before landing on a green with a thud. The pilot cut the engines, allowing the rotors to slowly power down. The marine onboard jumped out of the troop bay and rushed towards the Staatenbundian soldier nearby, R8 Argus assault rifle in hand and ready for action. "We're here to evacuate civvies, marine. Where are they?"

CN Biscay, a dozen kilometres south of St. Joseph, Pepper Atoll

Back onboard the Biscay, Captain Liam S. Casey was paying close attention to the situation unfolding in and around the town of St. Joseph via the various interfaces positioned across the bridge. The cruiser's Carsodonian Derkova-class guided missile destroyer escort had pulled up alongside the Biscay's starboard, allowing both vessels to share intelligence and information on the conflict. Throughout the operation, Casey had maintained a vital communications link with Captain Nikolai on the destroyer; one of the very few vessels of the Carsodonian Navy to survive the brutal naval offensive against the nation's shores in January. Due to the then Carsodonian fascist regime's decision to deploy soldiers right on Carloso's doorstep, relations had been extremely sour between the two nations; almost leading to Carloso becoming actively involved in the Chazicarian-Hayabusan lead invasion in early 2015. Since then, the democratic election of a new, progressive government had turned relations between the countries around entirely, with Carsodonia now being considered one of Carloso's most important allies.

A call came in from Carlossian Naval Forces Southern Command headquarted in Whitebay, Brytene, giving clearance to Casey to order the launch of CBGM-176 Peregrine cruise missiles against insurgent positions if he deemed it necessary. With so many military personnel from other countries inside the town, a strike against targets there would result in absolutely unacceptable levels of collateral damage. If a strike were to be be carried out, it would instead have to be directed towards targets outside the field of operations established by the Staatenbundian military. A challenge now facing Casey was whether or not to order the deployment of marines from the 117th Marine Company to assist in combat operations alongside foreign military personnel and also help in the extraction of aid and security workers. Their expertise and proficiency in the use of light weapons; notably guns like the Argus assault rifle and the much vaunted Vortex S79 anti-material rifle, would provide essential surpressing fire capabilities against the militants. Ultimately, Captain Casey decided to wait and see how this joint Carlossian-Carsodonian extraction operation would go first. Then he would choose whether or not to put boots on the ground.

The loud *BRRRT BRRRT* sound of the ship's Lexis 45 mm autocannons suddenly went off, spiking the heart rates of everyone able to hear it. There was a sudden rush towards the side of the vessel by crew and marines like, curious to see what had happened. The guns had intercepted and destroyed several pirate skiffs, some distance away, manned by now-deceased militants armed with a variety of RPGs. Realising their mistake, another skiff tried to escape before it was caught in the autocannon's sights, all to no avail. Effortlessly, another burst of gunfire was released, instantly pulverizing the small boat and all its occupants.

On the flight deck of the Biscay, a pneumatic launcher was rolled out of the helicopter hangar and pointed in the general direction of St. Joseph. An Oceanic CD-6 Curlew unmanned aerial vehicle was carried out by one of the cruiser's air crew, positioned on the launcher, and then launched upwards. An operator in the heart of the cruiser controlled the drone's every move, directing it towards the battlefield. The high-resolution camera would be able to stream live footage and photos to the Biscay and the Carsodonian destroyer, allowing for Casey to map out where marine forces might be needed and the positioning of Staatenbundian troops. Rising to an altitude of 300 metres, the Curlew began its short journey, cruising at a speed of 89 km/h. Arriving about ten minutes later, the drone commenced surveying the zone of operations, relaying all information gathered back to the two vessels. The controller ordered the Curlew to zoom in on the market place, where heavy fighting seemed to be occuring.

by **Carsodonia** » Mon Jun 08, 2015 1:37 pm

Carsodonian Stealth "Crowned Eagle", Over the football field, St. Joseph, Pepper Atoll

*As soon as the communication from the Carlosian H-72 was received about being careful do to enemy fire, Insurgents would begin to fire at the Crowned Eagle, the sound of 7.62's bouncing and clinking into the heli's sides could be heard, the Carsodonian pilots would not to the door gunner and to the crew chief. Once that happened the pilot would manouver the heli trying to take less fire as the Crew Chief and Door Gunner start to unleash hell, spraying with the two 50. cal gatling guns. The rotating barrels would spin sending 2000 rounds a a minute at the target areas, and hitting a insurgent holding a RPG which caused him to fire when hit, the round would fly off just under the Crowned Eagle and hitting some insurgents on the other side. The Pilot would then respond back to the Carlosian Pilot* "Roger that Tornado, We just met some of the people down there and they apparently don't like us being here. It's my kinda place...*He would laugh then cut his feed as he would follow the Carlosian Tornado to the landing area where the Carsodonian "Crowned Eagle" would hover to the side letting the H-72 land before it finally lowered and dropped it's repelling ropes, The members of ODA 222 would begin to go down the ropes and when they hit the ground they would begin to set up a perimeter. Once all the men were on the ground the Pilot of the Crowned Eagle would radio both the ODA and Carlosian Pilot saying* "Alright all boots on the ground, I will now start the over watch, I will be your guardian Angel, over and out" *The heli would then begin to provide over watch for all the men and landing zone.*

Derkova-Class Missile Guided Destroyer, HMS Koloski, a dozen kilometres south of St. Joseph, Pepper Atoll

*Being alongside the CN Biscay, the Koloski would spot the pirate vessels as well, the sirens on the Koloski would almost be in-sink with that of the Biscay's. The 127mm Auto-cannon main gun would fire one shot destroying some of the pirate vessels, before the two 25mm Auto-cannons start to take over and begin to fire at the vessels with the Biscay destroying them. Captain Nikolai would then go over the radio to the Carlosian Ship* "Nice hits there my friend..." * Captain Nikolai seeing that the situation was over would turn off the battle alert, and resume to watch the footage provided by the Carlosian drone in the air alongside the feed he would be getting from the "Crowned Eagle" which he would also share with the Biscay. The Koloski would ready its Tomahawk missiles for any strategic strike upon St. Joseph or any other area around on Pepper Atoll, The Carsodonian High Command would give the ok to use any force deemed necessary to protect Carsodonian interests and the civilians of St. Joseph...

by **Brytene** » Thu Jun 11, 2015 2:53 am

Saint Joseph, Pepper Atoll

The first attack on the compound had been repelled, though not without cost. Seven Hudians had been killed, and almost twenty injured in some way, representing a massive casualty proportion. Teorell had managed to keep her head down, though she had taken a glancing hit to her arm and had had to bandage it. The area stank, smoke and the reek of blood mixing to offend the nostrils.

There were yellow-clad bodies sprawled here and there in the streets, and one or two buildings were burning, but the area was quiet now other than the occasional wailing and distance crackles of gunfire, when the first screeching noise was heard. Teorell had heard that noise before and flung herself down behind sandbags, praying.

Mortar rounds, badly aimed but plenty of them, began raining down upon the area, blasting apart with deadly force at the same time as sniper fire from the treeline maybe a kilometer away began whipping amongst soldiers and civilians alike. Mortar rounds in particular concentrated on the playing field where the two helicopters were trying to drop their troops, which also attracted a lot of sniper fire from the hidden depths of the jungle. The shots were inaccurate, but they were high in volume.

The Admiralty, Brytene

"King Cenwulf? Si your Majesty. I call to you today because of a grave incident. The Manaagnwe Militia on Pepper Atoll, they have gone...how to say politely...batfuck mental, your Majesty. We have aid workers from several naciones present there, trapped by these crazy people, and reports are they have killed some Staatesbunde soldiers already. Do I have your permission to mount a rescue operacion?"

Some time later

The King had granted his assent, but these things still took time. Eventually, an ORBAT and field briefing were compiled, as operation command and control was established and an OpCenter set up. Botas left his second-in-command, Fleet Commander Saigo Kanbei, in control of things at home and boarded the CFS Pelegiad, leading a small detachment of two destroyers and one submarine towards the nearby Pepper Atoll.

by **Sde Dov** » Fri Jun 12, 2015 5:38 am

Airport

Darkness was beginning to set in over the islands. They had to hurry to settle in the C-130, as electricity was scarce and the terminal building was stuffed with refugees and aid world, and the heat was unbearable. First Officer Gorbunov and Captain Fernandez went in the C-130. Outside, their flight engineer stood watch over the C-130, AK in hand. Inside the C-130, broken glass lined the floor, with blood staining the cockpit seats and windows. Reaching the flight engineer's panel, he flipped the batteries to the on position, and he powered up their radios. He then tuned their VHF radios to 121.5Mhz, the international emergency frequency. Fernandez got out sleeping mats and a small battery powered electric fan. A ground power unit was parked outside, and he was going to connect it to the aircraft for lighting.

"This is a crew of a Sde Dovian registered C-130 Hercules, we are currently engaged in fighting in the Pepper Atoll airport witb, requesting any assets in the area to please respond!"

He then waited for a response. Seconds passed. No response came. He tried again.

Meanwhile, a Carlossian helicopter flew low and fast. Flight Engineer Rodolfo de Guzman honed his Army skills and and threw a signal flare from their emergency survival kit at a band of fighters. He was marking a target for the Carlossians, procedures he learned during exercises between the Sde Dovian Army and the Carlossian Army. de Guzman crossed his fingers that the Carlosssian army had not changed their procedures.

"Guys, get ready. Shit's getting real." screamed de Guzman as he aimed his rifle.

Boeing 777-300ER, Orenair - Sde Dov Airlines Flight 593,
36,000 feet over the islands

Captain Samantha Grey took a look outside the windows. The sun was setting as they perfomed their first step climb to 36,000 feet on the way back to Sde Dov City from Riverside, West Aurelia. She was a veteran on these long-haul routes on Orenair's 777. At 26, she Orenair's youngest captain due to her proficiency and skill and was rated on the Boeing 767 and 777s. She was studying for her rating on Orenair's new 747-8, and a training document was spread out on her lap. This particular 777 was her favorite, as it carried a special livery with caricatures of famous icons of Orenair's destinations, behind the 767 that used to be painted in the Frozen promotional colors.

As they were nearing the islands, they were inbound for the next airway for western Curente, already programmed into their navigation computers. She then looked at her performance computer, and their fuel estimates were looking good, and fuel burn was less then planned. To add to that, a good tailwind was on their side, and their ground speed was about to hit Mach 1.

They passed over a waypoint, and she wrote the remaining fuel and speed on their dispatch sheet using a pen with Elsa from the movie Frozen on it, of which she patterned her hair style after. Ground crew would have a friendly chuckle when seeing it, as well as her fellow flight crew. Her co-pilot was monitoring the radios, who also was a fan of the same movie, and she also patterned her hairstyle after Anna from the same movie.

"Captain, we've got something on 121.5. Hercules crew in fighting with militia in the Pepper Atoll. Sounds real."

"Give it to me."

"Hercules crew, this is Captain Samantha Grey of Orenair Flight 593 passing over the islands. We read you loud and clear and will pass it on to naval ships in the area. Over and out."

"Thank you, and make it quick!" said Gorbunov on the other end, while muffled gunshots were heard.

by **New Carloso** » Sat Jun 13, 2015 8:19 am

H-72 Tornado, St. Joseph, Pepper Atoll

On the H-72 Tornado, the radio of the helicopter crackled into life again, fading from soft noise into the distinct voice of a Sde Dovian military offcial. "This is a crew of a Sde Dovian registered C-130 Hercules, we are currently engaged in fighting in the Pepper Atoll airport with, requesting any assets in the area to please respond!" The pilot and sensors officers waited for a few seconds to see if he would continue, but they only got heavy breathing and the sound of muffled gun fire in the background. Suddenly, in front of them, the red smoke of a flare began to climb higher and higher into the sky, coming from what looked like the local airport. "Roger Sde Dovian C-130. We see your flare. Prep for combat insertion and eventual evacuation in T minus 10 to 15 minutes, over." It would seem now that the evacuation of civilians had to wait since they were no where in sight. Both men in the cabin cocked their heads towards the members of ODA 222 who were currently setting up a perimeter around the two helicopters, and then looked to each other. The pilot nodded to his sensor officer, indicating to fetch the Carlossian marine out on the field. "Kennedy, change of plan. Sde Dovian Hercules is requesting immediate evacuation, get your ass in here!"

The marine came running over to the entrance into the troop bay of the helicopter. Next, the sensors officer would contact the Carsodonian Crowned Eagle helicopter and direct them towards the Sde Dovian cargo plane. "Guardian Angel! Sde Dovians are calling for help over in the airport. We need your men to clear the place of any AA the militants have from here to the asphalt, clear? Over." As he said this, the engines of the Tornado roared into life and the four rotor system of the helicopter begun to whirr around and around, lifting the body of the helicopter upwards before the pilot angled it forwards, beginning the mission to rescue the Sde Dovian crew. Immediately, the infra-red sensors on the helicopter detected movement from enemy militants, armed with what appeared to be an RPG-2 or RPG-7 rocket launcher. In response, the pilot attempted to divert the body away from the militants, allowing the marine to attack them safely with his R8 Argus assault rifle. A single three-round burst from the 6.5×39mm rifle, travelling at a speed of 1,800 m/s cut down the rocket propelled grenade-armed man almost instantly. One of the man's compatriots, however, picked up the launcher and hastily fired a high-explosive warhead in retribution. The helicopter fell right outside the kill zone of the rocket launcher, exploding less then 20 m away from the helicopter nose. In response, the gun crews let out a flurry of machine gun fire, forcing the man to retreat into the safety of a crumbling building nearby.

They would hover here until the ODA 222 got a move on and initiated combat operations against the militants as to clear a corridor for the helicopter. If this was successful, the Tornado could push right through with the Carsodonian Crowned Eagle and evacuate any and all Sde Dovian military personnel or civilians present at the airport. Once that was done, they would have to search for the foreign aid workers, starting by tuning into any and all friendly radio frequencies in the hope somebody would respond.

CN Biscay, a dozen kilometres south of St. Joseph, Pepper Atoll

The Biscay had been tracking the single Sde Dov Airlines Flight 593 Boeing 777-300ER passenger airliner since it had come within the 500 km range of the ship's CN/MSR-15 multi-function air tracking active electronically scanned array (AESA) radar. It was amongst the only air traffic in the area, reminding the crew of the archipelago's isolated position. As soon as the aircraft came within visual range, Casey scrambled for the comms console to alert them of the conflict. "Sde Dov Airlines Flight 593, this is Captain Liam S. Casey of the Carlossian guided missile cruiser CN Biscay. De advised you are about to enter a zone of military operations, over."

The footage from the Oceanic CD-6 Curlew surveillance drone began to flow in through monitors positioned around the command centre of the Biscay. Captain Casey made a mental note of the layout of the town, noting that there was an inherent lack of port facilities that would be able to dock the 190 m long warship or the smaller Carsodonian destroyer. If an attempt at landing was to made, it would have to involve the Biscay anchoring close to the shore and then deploying its marines via rigid-hulled inflatable boat or with help from the locals with their fishing boats. To do so however would be putting a little bit too much trust in the locals, who Casey believed could turn on them at any second. He needed a second opinion on the matter. "Nikolai, theres no way we can bring our ships into port. Do we call for an amphibious landing or what? We can use rigid-hulled inflatable boats if you have them. If your willing to trust the locals, we can have them use their fishing boats to bring our marines ashore."

by **Vedria** » Sat Jun 13, 2015 11:00 pm

Staatenbundian Aid Camp, Peppr Atoll

A few seconds after getting up and walking out of the camp's clinic, which was nothing more than a glorified tent with beds inside it, Lance Corporal Stukos Bomerishken was once more thrown to the ground by a burly Staatendundian soldier for reasons unbeknownst to him.

"What in fuck?!", what his once utterance prior to him hitting the ground once again.

And so now, he found himself under a really large and muscular man, which was certifiably awkward if it were not that they were in a combat zone where bullets whizzed past at an alarming rate. The long stiff rod which was the sheath of his combat knife was now uncomfortably jammed into the side of his abdomen, and with that sudden jolt of pain discomfort, he snapped back into his usual badass-soldier-dude self, and very quickly he screamed at the burly Staatenbundian soldier on top of him.

"GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME SO I CAN FUCKING SHOOT", was what he screamed.

"AND ALSO YOUR WEIGHT IS JAMMING MY KNIFE INTO MY SIDE YOU HEAVY ASSHAT", was his follow-up.

by **Carsodonia** » Fri Jul 10, 2015 10:29 am

Some men of ODA 222 right before the first breach, headed to the asphalt, St. Joseph, Pepper Atoll

*As soon as the communication from the Carlosian H-72 was received Gardian Angel would reply* "This is Guardian Angel, we copy over" They would then switch to the ODA comms* "Captain I need you and your men to go clear any AA the militants have all the way to asphalt so we can go evacuate some Sde Dovians, you copy, over" *A very deep and muffled voice would answer back with one word* "Roger" *As that happens the men of ODA 222 would leave their positions around the field and head to the first building down towards the asphalt, they would stack up on the outside door, Private Alexei would stand in front of the door and with one movement he would kick the door straight down then get back into line as the men quickly enter scanning their sectors and clearing out any militants in the building. They would continue this procedure for every building and engaging in almost every single one. The men of ODA 222 were veterans from the Carso-Haya War, they were part of the front line fighting in the center. As they breached one of the last buildings Private Alexi would kick open the door and as he moved out of the way a rpg would fly right past him making Alexi fall onto his butt and the RPG hit a nearby vehicle, the other men would ignore the explosion and would throw in a flashbang blinding the assailant and in about a half a second breach in and take out all enemies in the first room. Alexi would have gotten up and followed in behind. The firefights could be heard by Guardian Eagle and the Carlosian H-72. This would have taken at least 8 minutes to clear out every building to the asphalt from bottom to top when a crackle came over the radio* "all clear" * The Pilot of Guardian Eagle would smirk under his mask then radio to the Carlosian H-72* "We are clear to move, Tell the Sde dovians we're coming, over" *Guardian eagle would be a little more relaxed with ODA clearing the buildings and would take off towards the asphalt following right next to the Carlosian H-72.*

Derkova-Class Missile Guided Destroyer, HMS Koloski, a dozen kilometres south of St. Joseph, Pepper Atoll

*Being alongside the CN Biscay, Captain Nikolai would also spot the airliner but would leave the the comms to the Biscay, He would be watching the monitors and the helmet cam footage of one of the ODA playing live. He would smirk as his men eradicate any opposition in their way, he would then get the communication from the Biscay and Captain Casey, he would then head over to the comms and think for a couple seconds before answering* "This is Captain Nikolai, We do have 1 or 2 rigid-hulled inflatable boats but not enough to transport all the men at once...And I'm not sure if we can trust the local fishermen...but I guess that is our only other option, if you trust them then I will trust them, over" *HMS Koloski would be swarming with men getting the boats ready and the Carsodonian Marines would form up on the deck getting ready to fill onto the boats and for what is left over to go with the locals*

by **Brytene** » Sun Aug 16, 2015 2:31 pm

Saint Joseph, Pepper Atoll

The gunfighting had died down to the occasional snap of sniper rifle fire or thud of mortar, as the Militia retreated to the forests around the town, leaving many of their own dead amongst the dead and injured peacekeepers. The forces of the Pepper Republic were nowhere to be seen,
having vanished or melted away during the initial attack, but the well-armed multinational peacekeeping force (or what was left of it) was now gathered in the central square, surrounded by corpses and the roiling smoke from the destroyed ammunition dump.

Sergeant Teorell frowned as she heard the chatter flickering back and forth across the radio. Carsodonian troops had landed on Pepper Atoll, unauthorised and without communicating with the nearby Confederate Fleet, nor President Bataya's crumbling command structure.

That was none of her business, however - their job was to strengthen this position until reinforcements could arrive. She spoke briefly into her own radio, and got a rapid, if surprised, response from an operator aboard the CFS Pelegiad - Admiral Botas' response force had arrived, the carrier and two destroyers anchored offshore whilst their single Livyatan stealth hunter-killer slid beneath the waves, running quietly as it slowly traversed the combat zone.

"Sergeant Teorell, say again, you are in St. Joseph with the Staatenbundians? Over."
"Confirm. We're in the aid camp. They've already taken heavy losses. Over."
"Hang tight. We're landing forces now. Do you have smoke? Over."
"Purple. Over."
"Pop it. Over"

Teorell did as she was instructed, and soon enough two light Revelator gunships were overhead, using their cannons to suppress the snipers in the treelines whilst at the harbours, Wernham-Hogg landers dropped off a pair of Stappa light tanks and several Nihtgenga LACs, whilst a half-dozen armoured B-IW Brytisc IFVs swam ashore, clear seawater pouring from their flanks as they emerged from the seas like hulking monsters. The Marines had arrived.

The Admiralty, Brytene

"Carsodonians, you say?" asked Kanbei, listening to his superior's languid voice "Of course. Yes, I'll alert the Ebonheart. And I'll contact the Witenagmot. Yessir. Hai."

Official Communique of the Confederacy of Brytene
TO: The Carsodonian Ministry of Defense
RE: Pepper Atoll

It has come to our attention that you have military assets operating in the Pepper Atoll region. This region is currently under Brytisc protection at the request of President Bataya. All Carsodonian military assets are to identify themselves to Brytisc or Staatenbundian personnel immediately, and to hold their positions and await further orders in conjunction with allied peacekeeping forces currently in the area. Thank you for your cooperation.

Dead for bread [ATLAS, MT]

Dead for bread [ATLAS, MT]

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