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A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]

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Armus Republic
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Posts: 127
Founded: Oct 24, 2013
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Armus Republic » Wed Nov 29, 2017 12:58 am

OOC: I plan on spreading out the first few days of the invasion over multiple posts

Polis, Armus Republic
June 24th, 1903


Despite the desire for a rapid and decisive war, there were a lot of initial problems. Only a few divisions from the Fifth had been mobilized, despite the 2401 start time for the invasion. Only one squadron of aeroplanes had reached the staging area a few miles from the border. The Third and Fourth Fleet had been hit by a sudden and surprise storm, making it impossible to reach and hold their blockade positions. Because of the storm, the small naval invasion for the tiny Comeristan colony to the south of the Republic was put on hold. The entire invasion, now called Operation Crossfire, was in a position to fail without a single shot being fired. Military planners were scrambling to figure out the kinks while those in the government were working damage control. The People’s House made a public statement laying claim to all of Comeristan’s land, hoping to prevent foreign nations from taking advantage of the false start. President McMaster, an experienced sailor, began breathing down the Department of War’s neck, even threatening to command one of the fleets if it would get the invasion moving. In the end, it took two whole days to fully mobilize the Fifth Legion and have the First Air Wing at their staging area. Scouts had reported an increase in Comeristan military movement in the area though they were still woefully out gunned and outnumbered. The previous day saw the two fleets moving into their positions. The first shots of the war occurred there. One armored cruiser was damaged, but the fleet managed to sink about five Comeristan torpedo gunboats and damage a pre-dreadnought battleship. Units were finally given their orders and the start time was given: 2401, June 27th, 1903.

June 26th, 1903
2347
Comeristan/Republican border
Checkpoint Alpha, Republican border wall entrance point


The two small searchlights in the above tower swept the empty land in front of the wall. The night was hot, though oddly quiet. The usual sounds of insects were absent as was the wind. The only real sound came from the gathered men and horses. Roughly half of the Fifth Legion was staged at Checkpoint Alpha, the other half was at Checkpoint Bravo, about 800 miles north. While the Republican/Comeristan border was much longer, there was only one small strip of land the two countries shared together. Everything else was separated by large rivers or by the large northern cove. While the Army had plans in place for river crossings and attacks, they were discarded in favor of a more rapid land invasion. It took time to move men and material across a river, time that could be used advancing towards the capital.
As the clock neared 2400, the men readied themselves. The cavalry troops mounted their horses and motorized infantry climbed into the back of their trucks. They would be the first to cross into enemy territory and would speed into the night. The normal infantry would follow behind and secure the railroad depots. Once the engineers had arrived, they would continue forward. First Lieutenant Reaves was in command of Third Platoon, Alpha Troop, Fifteenth Cavalry Regiment, Fifth Legion. Being a former enlisted man, he was well seasoned, despite being only twenty-four. Years of experience did nothing to calm his nerves. He nervously paced his horse in a small circle, waiting for the invasion to start. His unit’s order was three-fold: Reconnaissance, prevent enemy recon via skirmishing, and raid to cause panic and destroy enemy equipment. While the orders were straight forward, this would be the first time many of his men would see combat. He wondered how they would react under fire. He shook the thought out his mind as he heard the truck engines start up. Only a minute left…The barriers that separated the two countries were pushed aside and the cavalry lined up. At exactly 2401, a whistle blew and the first Republican forces poured over the border and into the darkness.
Last edited by Armus Republic on Wed Nov 29, 2017 12:59 am, edited 1 time in total.
The Republic is a highly militaristic, imperialistic nation that prides itself on individual Liberties.
NS Rank does not represent my nation
The population of the Republic and Her Empire: 1.5 billion
Republican Armed Forces: 60 million
This does not mean that all 60 million soldiers will be in the war. I've an Empire, which means I have other commitments to attend to.
The RAF number does not include the Militia
Skyhooked wrote:Would spread even further and claim more territories, until there are no countries left to conquer.
The Batavia wrote:The sword is mightier than the pen
Zitravgrad wrote:As if their number is not terrifying enough. "Psychological Operations" omg.

DEFCON Levels:
5 [4] 3 2 1

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Pillowlandia
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Founded: Feb 16, 2016
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Directorate

Postby Pillowlandia » Wed Nov 29, 2017 9:21 pm

Department C23
Inspectorate of Western Nova Terran Affairs, Office of Naval Intelligence
Whitepoint, Old Pillowlandia
Terra




“What do you reckon we should do with this one?” Duke Makim Culpor began, flipping quietly through the sheath of papers he had been handed after walking into the secured conference room. Each page streamed its confidentiality with bright red “TOP SECRET-EYES ONLY” across the top.

Around the table sat several men, and a lone women, all dressed in similar black suits and ties and similar sheaths of paper before them. They continued flipping through themselves for several more minutes, the data before them not new to them but freshly updated and collated across departments wider than theirs.

Finally one spoke, lowering his papers. “I believe the case of our own ‘missing’ freighter of nuclear material should make itself felt. Well placed arms against both sides should persuade them to cease their needless combat, and allieve potential threats against both our physical assets alongside allowing business to resume across the continent, the most preferable outcome as usual.”


“No, such drastic options are a poor choice, it would complicate post war recovery. Instead, we might eliminate orbital assets of the Terran combatants, while removing major mobile and airborne assets of Nova Terran combatants. Already, the ground has seen extensive damage to aerial assets across the spectrum.” Responded another, lowering his own papers as much of the assembled group did as well.

Makim nodded, weighing the options presented. “For now, act upon the second proposal. Make preparations for our first proposal should the need arise. Immediately down the Bergcornian carrier-cruiser, preferably from the surface.”

Cargo Shuttle E127-C243
Nómada, Nova terra




“C243, cleared for departure on assent path Oscar-Lima-Mike-Zulu.”

“Acknowledged control, C243 cleared Oscar-Lima-Mike-Zulu departure point. Pushing off now.” Flight Captaen Ciarán responded, his hands running across the various panels required to fly the ubiquitous SSTO shuttles, his copilot doing much the same as the the rumble of the crafts engine increased.

Their assent was quite normal, following all of the navigation points well into the low suborbital phase. Outside close, in astronomical terms, by was the BISC Covonum, which lit up sensors like a christmas tree from the sheer heat output and size of the craft. It was at that point which Ciarán unfastened his harness, rising up in the zero gravity environment of the shuttle and exited the primary command cabin.

Pulling his way along the various handrails and guides he made his way towards the rear cargo hatch. Impeding his travel however was a large bank of stacked rectangular prisms. The side facing his approach was a simple panel, with electrical imports and green status lights. Going over each one, he depressed a simple red switch. One by one, each shifted from a perky green to an amber yellow, until he was satisfied at his task and retreated behind a pressure hatch.
Sealing it behind him, dogging each of the seven latches individually, and pressing a series on buttons upon the exterior cargo ramp control panel, the lighting shifted to a deep red overhead. The vast cargo bay had begun the process of draining the air from itself, lowering both its temperature and removing all air inside. It was a further five minutes, Ciarán hurriedly checking his watch repeatedly throughout. Finally he slammed his palm down on a final button, the grand rear ramp extending into the emptiness of space. “We’re go.” he shouted, back towards the command cabin.

Several moments later the shuttle began spinning, orientating its cargo ramp exit towards the distant craft. One by one, the amber yellow lights shifted a bright and anxiety inducing red. One by one, each popped open soundlessly in the vacuum, and a missile measuring just three meters in length floated out on a small jet of compressed air. Over and over the missiles popped out of their tubes, eighty in all.

A loose clump, they drifted out of the shuttles rear and towards the Covonum slowly, their difference in timing increasing the gap between them slowly but certainly. All the while the shuttle sealed itself back up, resuming its prior course to a far higher orbit far far from the planet's surface. Half an hour later, having drifted but a few hundred meters closer to the carrier, relatively that was, the motors onboard each of the eighty missiles ignited.

With a fiery plume, the began to accelerate rapidly towards the carrier. Small maneuvering thrusters on their sides allowed them to engage in a ‘drunken walk’, carefully calculated moves which were almost entirely random while retaining large amounts of their delta-v as they closed the distance. Sensors at the tip of the missiles processed the image of the carrier across spectrums, choosing targets based upon pre-programmed conditions. Locations of interest; specifically that of vital hanger airlocks, the crafts exposed topside bridge complex, and enginnering hotspots. The missiles were primarily kinetic, with small delayed explosive charges meant to complicate matters once inside the hull. The attack focused upon the limited maneuvering options of an orbit, since the only way out was a higher orbit or the planet's surface. One would run into the missiles, and the other a permanent date with planetary gravity.

HMS Oilliphéist
Atlantic Ocean
Nova Terra



The waves crashed above, the cigar shaped hull of the submarines compressed carbon hull protecting it at depths of over 2000 meters, not that such protection from the elements was needed currently. The ship sat just 30 meters below the waves, moving a truly blistering five knots as the ship received and authenticated a priority message. The communication was coming in over the trailing fibre, attached to a floating communications array some several dozens of meters away from the crafts own hull to better avoid any potential detection, peaceful or not.

The towed communications remained away from the hull for precious few minutes, being dragged back in shortly after the message had been verified, and the sub dove further downwards to a depth of 70 meters. The ship had gone to general quarters, but more out of protocol than any real need. The rear twenty four quad packed launch tubes opened their outer pressure hulls. It was a relatively long process, running steam through a loop near the reactor, in order to build steam pressure along the bottom sections of the tubes that would propel the missiles up and out of the water.

The desolate nature of the atlantic helped to hide the sub, as one by one the full complement of the crafts VLS was emptied, for several hundred meters there was a run of white plumes left behind from the ignition of the missiles own engines. It took over half an hour to dissipate, where the sub was long gone by such point. Having speed away at speeds greater than 30 knots.

The missiles themselves, terrestrial versions of the same used against the Covonum, were targeted towards the major air infrastructure of the bergcornian colony, from small asture strips to major military airfields. It was far from enough to truly disable all of them, but enough to send a starkly clear message.




FLEET UPDATE-URGENT-FLEET UPDATE-URGENT-FLEET UPDATE

TO: ALL Imperial Directorate of Orbital Force

Elevated Fleet Readiness Conditions.
Stasnov wrote:Small-to-medium sized professional, relatively high-tech and well funded military. Emphasis on flexible units at Brigade-Battalion level.

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Confedracy
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Founded: May 11, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Confedracy » Fri Dec 01, 2017 7:55 am

Kiev. Nova Terrean USRC, 11 AM
Representatives from Tryvor's Socialist Government, Bluraland, and for some odd reason Pillowlandian backed Tudorlandia had arrived in Kiev for a peace conference to decide the fate of Tryvor . Before negotiations began a private meeting with USRC chief diplomat George Ricksgers and Premier Nikoletta Almassy, along with Head of State Vilmos Kelemen. George Ricksgers spoke with the monotone and dark voice he had become famous for. "From a economical and military standpoint USRC will treat with any government the rules itself officially over the nation of Tryvor. Politically it is well within USRC's objective that Tryvor maintain its revolution and uphold the workers government currently in place there. As you can clearly see from this file." Almassy picked up the file with a bit of reproach. It was blazoned with the symbol of the Stasi. (SIC) Inside she read reports that the shadowy organization had infiltrated not only the royalist party. But Tryvors budding military and secret police. Gathering blackmail and making deals with key leaders to maintain the workers revolution here. But what terrified Almassy the most was a list of Generals, Statesman and political activists that the Stasi had deemed "Possible enemies and traitors to the working class" and plans to have them all "Gängig-Menschen" if need be. Ricksgers spoke again while standing to leave the room to prepare for the arrival of the royals and the rest of the meeting "I hope that we can come to a peaceable solution" As he grabbed the documents and left the room
Last edited by Confedracy on Fri Dec 01, 2017 7:58 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Northern Tryvor
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Founded: Nov 01, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Desperate Measures

Postby Northern Tryvor » Sun Dec 03, 2017 12:52 pm

Confedracy wrote:Kiev. Nova Terrean USRC, 11 AM
Representatives from Tryvor's Socialist Government, Bluraland, and for some odd reason Pillowlandian backed Tudorlandia had arrived in Kiev for a peace conference to decide the fate of Tryvor. Before negotiations began a private meeting with USRC chief diplomat George Ricksgers and Premier Nikoletta Almassy, along with Head of State Vilmos Kelemen. George Ricksgers spoke with the monotone and dark voice he had become famous for. "From an economic and military standpoint, USRC will treat with any government the rules itself officially over the nation of Tryvor. Politically it is well within USRC's objective that Tryvor maintains its revolution and uphold the worker's government currently in place there. As you can clearly see from this file." Almassy picked up the file with a bit of reproach. It was blazoned with the symbol of the Stasi. (SIC) Inside she read reports that the shadowy organization had infiltrated not only the royalist party. But Tryvors budding military and secret police. Gathering blackmail and making deals with key leaders to maintain the worker's revolution here. But what terrified Almassy the most was a list of Generals, Statesman and political activists that the Stasi had deemed "Possible enemies and traitors to the working class" and plans to have them all "Gängig-Menschen" if need be. Ricksgers spoke again while standing to leave the room to prepare for the arrival of the royals and the rest of the meeting "I hope that we can come to a peaceable solution" As he grabbed the documents and left the room


[Kiev, Nova Terran USRC, 11:30 AM]

As the Tryvorian Premier and Head of State left the office of diplomat Ricksgers, they spoke in hushed tones. (SIC) The list of possible enemies to the state was... extensive, to say the least. High ranking members across Northern Tryvor from the highest state official to the lowest military officer, even those previously known for their loyalty to the government, were under investigation by Stasi agents to uncover the truth behind them.

"What exactly do you intend to do about this? The government can not continue to stand strong if it's supported by traitors and rebels!" Spoke the Head of State in hushed tones, holding the door for the Premier as they entered an underground parking garage.

"Nothing. For now." Said the Premier. "Until we receive concrete evidence of traitors amongst us, there is truly nothing we can do. The nation is still fresh from war, Vilmos. Purging so many so soon would only rouse the people into another revolution. We have progressed far since the days of oppression, but not so far to say we are stable. The people would rise at the smallest provocation, even now with the Antal line returned from exile. Stay strong, my friend. We will prevail, just as we did during the revolution."

As the two arrived at a black automobile, adorned with the national flag of Northern Tryvor, it was the Premier's turn to hold the door for the Head of State, who quickly slid inside.

"Go ahead and head back to the hotel for now." Said the Premier. "I have further business to attend to here. Good luck, My friend."

As the Premier closed the door to the car, she quickly made her way back inside. Matters of state never ended for those in her position.

Unbeknownst to the Premier, the car never arrived. Instead, a time-delayed ignition charge detonated the car into a flaming wreck which killed the Head of State and his driver instantly.

[Kiev, Nova Terran USRC, 11:10 AM]

Endre Pal, Minister of Foreign Affairs and Relations for the Tryvorian Crown, it's affiliated lands, and peoples, arrived fashionably late. His entourage, Councillors of the Crown Noemi Csatar and Krisztofer Vincze were perusing the city, making their cause known to the people of Kiev. Pal was on his way to meet with the diplomat for the meeting, George Ricksgers, but instead found him first.

"Mister Ricksgers!" He called to the man before approaching. "Endre Pal, Minister of Foreign Affairs and Relations for the Tryvorian Crown, it's affiliated lands and peoples. As you know, I'm sure. It is high time the rightful rulership of the crown is returned to the people, don't you think? I'm sure we have much business to attend to..."

[Telegram, Priority Alpha-1, Encryption Level: PAVISE]
(SIC)


MILITARY BASES: ARCTIC SHIELD, NORTHERN WATCH, BASTION POINT, RED DAWN

HIGHEST LEVEL THREAT DETECTED, MAXIMUM ALERT, OPERATION NORTH WIND IS GO

END

[Northern Tryvor, Military Bases - Northern Watch, Bastion Point, Red Dawn, 2 days after death of Vilmos Kelemens]

The nation was on high alert. Head of State Kelemens had been killed in an explosion, and as such, Operation North Wind was a go.

The Northern Tryvorian 1st 'People's Guard' Divison, under the command of Major General Daniel Racz, seized control of the private owned North Eastern province as a sudden rush of military supplies made their way to the shore. With the brutal efficiency of a well-trained regime, engineers and government construction crews began swiftly modernizing the wild expanse that lay before them. Vast shorelines previously under slow and methodical construction were suddenly and quickly built and activated, providing the nation with extensive naval dockyards and trade hubs to the East. The few and far between constructed buildings in the region were joined by dozens of prefab housing and other buildings, creating massive cities in but a few days time. The region, only a few days prior considered harsh and untamed, now sat firmly in the hands of the Tryvorian government thanks to the technology of their benefactors and the dedication of their working soldiers.

Meanwhile on the other side of the country much of the same occurred, although on a much smaller scale. Two under-strength battalions of Northern Tryvor's Mechanized Infantry forces set out to the northwest under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Kalman Laszlo. There they began the construction of two new military bases. Camps Vanguard and Glorious.

Desperate times called for desperate measures in Northern Tryvor. In this case, the sudden need for rapid expansion to the far north. The weather this would prove to be the nation's entrance into a golden age or downfall, remains to be seen.

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Confedracy
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Founded: May 11, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Confedracy » Sun Dec 03, 2017 1:25 pm

Nova Terran USRC,Kiev 11:45
Outside it was chaos. A terrorist attack in the colonial capital of USRC was inexcusable. The City was place in Code Yellow or medium level alert. All in coming and out going vehicles from the city were stopped and searched. The suspicion immediately fell upon the royals. The Stasi asked for a chance to retaliate. But Undersecretary Nicto (Premier Walters Second in command) had ordered them to wait. The Royals were right here where we wanted them. It would all come down to how the meeting goes. As for the royal entourage trying to spread their message. They found at best disdane from the soviet people. A hatred of kings and capitalists had been indoctrinated into the people of USRC from a young age. When a small crowd of workers with fires in their eyes began assembly near the royal entourage. A few officers stepped between them and the forming crowd. The officer quietly recommended that they stop wandering the streets and stick to the cities foreign district. Home of most of foreign ambassadors and their offices along with a tight nit community of Bluralandians

George Ricksgers Office. Ministry of Foreign Affairs
His eyes darkened at the sight of these royals. Dressed in fine clothes giving off an air of arrogance. A small smirk crossed his lips upon pushing the button under his desk which would summon armed security in their dress uniforms. A good way to put this wayward lord in his place. The meeting began when the guards entered the room. "As I'm sure you are aware. The workers have overthrown kings and queens here in Confedracy as well as in Tryvor. Its is the opinion of The Soviet Union and Northern Tryvor's true government that it is your fault that the nation fell into war in the first place. That you would claim true lordship over the free peoples there is a slap in the face to us all. We asked you here to negotiate peace. Not restoring your throne. Now I stand here with an offer. What would be the price for you to leave and never return?"

FOB Arctic Shield, Northern Tryvor, Nova Terra
Commander Sturmgiest was on the phone. The News of the terrorist attack in Kiev caught him off guard. But he had an idea. The recently formed United Front had just recently come to its decision on it united military or not. He sent out 4 squadrons of troops with arm bands of red and blue. The orders were to move into major cities in Northern Tryvor and secure strategic areas such as power plants and government buildings. They would explain to local officials that this was merely a drill in case of emergency and that they would be leaving later that night.
Last edited by Confedracy on Sun Dec 03, 2017 11:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Northern Tryvor
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Founded: Nov 01, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Audience with an Heir

Postby Northern Tryvor » Sun Dec 03, 2017 11:37 pm

[Kiev, Nova Terran USRC, 11:50 AM]

"Nothing less than the throne, with the Antall line placed quite well atop it." The man was straightforward, at least. "I assure you, barring change of governance over our rightful dominion, nothing will change in relations between the USRC and the Kingdom of Tryvor. Even better, my Lord has authorized me to allow even better terms between your nation and ours. Terms which one would be foolish to decline."

The Minister reached into his briefcase, revealing a rather plain manilla folder which he handed to the diplomat.

(SIC)
The folder itself contained detailed maps of the island Norther Tryvor sat on, primarily maps of the most likely regions for valuable resources including oil, gold, diamonds, uranium, niobium, and tantalite.

"As you know, good sir, the Kingdom of Tryvor is a very, very small nation. However, our little island happens to be quite full of precious resources. We simply have more than we will ever need. Should the rightful ruler Matyas Antall come to power in the region, well, I'm sure no one would complain to a lion's share of the resources entering Soviet dockyards?"

[Streets of Kiev, Nova Terran USRC, 11:50 AM]

The crowd surrounding the councilors was beginning to slowly grow in size. It certainly wasn't the welcome they were expecting, and the two almost suspiciously patted their coats. It seemed the group would amount to nothing more than a staredown when someone threw a rock at Councilor Vincze. All hell broke loose as he suddenly pulled a pistol from his coat and shot the closest person in the direction of the rock.

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Confedracy
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Founded: May 11, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Confedracy » Mon Dec 04, 2017 12:01 am

Kiev, Nova Terran USRC. 11:51
"That is simply not going to happen. As you are aware we helped build up the workers movement in Tryvor and we are not about to sell them out. No matter how much you pay us." "Besides you have no power to decide what happens in Tryvor now." "This is a nation we almost went to war to protect. We would do so again. If you catch my meaning sir" Ricksgers was about to dismiss the meeting when the phone rang
"This better be important" he growled into the phone
A young officer spoke quickly
"Sir these royalist pigs just fired into a crowd! We unarmed and detained them. What should we do from here?"
"Bring them to the Stasi headquarters for interrogation"
"At once Sir!"
The phone shut off and George Ricksgers placed it down. The man in front of him had barely heard a word of what at happened.
"Oh Your Majesty. One of your men are under arrest for shooting an unarmed worker downtown. So for the meantime you and your entourage will be placed in protective custody for the duration of this meeting."

The police drove the men to what appeared to be just another skyscraper. But upon parking the car a small detachment of 5 armed guards and the policemen who detained the shooter marched them into the building. Awaiting them was one man. Dressed in a clean jet black suit. He spoke in a soft tone. "Welcome to your home for the duration of your stay. Be aware that your group is now forbidden to traverse into Kiev at will. You will be staying here and driven to your meetings by Stasi personnel. Be aware you are under our watchful eyes now. I recommend you be on your best behavior. As for YOU." He pointed at the man who had shot and killed a soviet citizen. "You are under arrest for the murder of Seigfried Hallisberg and as such your room will be down there" he pointed at an elevator that lead down to the basement of the building. two men dressed in normal clothing grabbed him and escorted him to the elevator. "I will show the rest of you to your room" "Right this way" he lead them to another elevator and down a hallway to a decent room midway up the building. A window giving a decent view of the cityscape outside. It was reminiscent of hotel room. Expect for the heavy door and the armed guards waiting outside. "You may call if you have need of anything. Enjoy your stay"

The Marriage to Erika in Bluraland has The USRC on edge. Pressure from all around and the notable absence from Premier Walters from this meeting had many wondering. Was a new storm brewing?

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Duckzchwhitz
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Founded: Mar 04, 2016
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Duckzchwhitz » Tue Dec 05, 2017 9:17 pm

MK. XI CUSTOM POD, DEEP SPACE



Sly Marbo, his real name unknown to those he worked with, only appearing in ancient folklore, sat in a custom drop pod, made specifically to be a small multi-purpose stealth delivery vehicle, for special ops. He had sat, meditating for a week and a half, his mind serene as a steady stream of water in the mountains of his homeland. Only by finding his serenity, had kept him from losing his mind many years ago, back when he had been an avenger. Keeping his body in a state in which he could mimic a state of hibernation, his processess had been slowed down.

He had survived decades on end, living in the shadows as ages passed, yet that was another story, for another time.

Yet his body lay near the ever present instruments of combat in which he kept with him. All of which had taken the life of countless men, for the state, and his own purposes.

It had been what felt like an eternity inside the darkness of the pod, yet for the lone passenger inside, eternity was but another brief wait for what was to come.

Then, almost like clockwork, his onboard monitor came to life, the words “TARGET APPROACHING, T -300” glaring off the screen.

The lone man inhaled, his body coming back to life, as his heartbeat came back to a normal state.

“Visuals up, initiate manual control systems.” He spoke, activating the voice recognition system within the vessel, and putting on his helmet to his spacesuit, which sealed with a satisfying hiss.

The screen opened up, showing the numerous asteroids that lay in front of him. Within, he could make out within the larger clump of the rocks, a structure that resembled an old mining outpost. Yet unlike the regular mining stations, this place seemed armed to the teeth, there were several small warships outside, and even what appeared to be a corvette, all outfitted with what appeared to be quite modern arms, a quite unusual sight for just some criminals. The rock was about the size of a hypercarrier, maybe 900 meters long and 700 meters both vertically and horizontally, the rock oddly shaped, even for an asteroid that had been mined out of. A massive opening lay in the center, with two docking stations for larger ships.

His ship (or pod), with a specialized CC hull that made it practically invisible to conventional sensors, allowed him to slip through the preliminary defenses, the small patrol vessels unable to see his signature on their instruments.

Using the thrusters to maneuver, he moved himself around the asteroid, looking for a place to hide his vessel.

There. He saw a small depression in the asteroid, covered in shadow, not too far from the complex.

He sent the ship down, using his many years as a pilot (of ships and aircraft) to masterfully set his vessel down, its legs reaching out and biting into the ground, anchoring the ship into the asteroid, the sound of the impact almost inaudible, only the slight churning of dust under the retrograde thrusters.

Marbo reached down, initiating the vacuuming of the cabin, before opening his pod. With a slight push, he floated out of his vehicle, only regaining stillness when his suit thrusters activated, as he made his way back down to the surface. Making note of the extremely weak gravity, Sly tread lightly, using small burst from his thrusters to help counter his own energy.

Making his way to the front, Marbo took care to remain the shadows, knowing his suit would blend in with the ambient thermal radiation, making him virtually invisible.

Marbo reached the edge of the industrial complex. The place seemed understaffed, with only a few men moving cargo into the hangar bay, where several shuttlecraft and light combat ships sat. Marbo’s suspicions of the pirate’s staffing. It seemed too quiet.

Yet he tread on, the only sound in the vacuum of space being that of his boots on the plated ground.

Under the cover of shadows, Sly moved into the hangar bay, weaving his way around, keeping nothing exposed to the rest of the room. He tread quietly, his footsteps inhumanly light.

Sly saw the airlock, yet it had a passcode-lock. Seeing that his failure to open it would possibly trigger suspicion of a foreign presence in their facility (which he already suspected they did have).

A lone guard walked around, his movements were that of someone who had been exhausted after days of patrolling the same area.

A perfect target.

Sly made his way to cut him off, silently, in a place in which nobody would notice. The guard walked past the boxes he hid in between, a mistake in which the REDACTED assassin lept upon.

Sly grabbed the man by the back of the neck, his boots activating their magnetic anchor as he used monstrous strength to rip the man into the darkness. The guard had no time to react, as Sly crushed his helmet transceiver with a single strike, making communications useless, before slamming him against the wall, causing him to drop his rifle, which the agent grabbed and set down.

The guard’s eyes were panicked through his helmet, as he peered into the the blank tinted visor of his assaulter.

Words were not necessary to know that this man was in dire fear for his life above all else, he knew he was outmatched in every way, and could be done in without a sound in the vacuum of space. Sly grabbed him behind his neck, before leading/dragging him over to the console.

Sly motioned to the console, in which the guard responded hesitantly, his hand trembling as he entered the code. For good measure, the REDACTED agent tightened his grip around his neck, just for good measure.

The door opened, and Sly and the guard made their way in, as the door shut behind them without a sound.

The hiss of the air pumps was a satisfying noise to the agent, yet from here things got more difficult. The airlock sprayed the two men down, cleaning any dirt off each of their suits, before sealing at natural pressure, and opening up to the corridor.

The hall was well kept, and unusually clean, as if an actual military force had been maintaining it daily. Sly’s suspicions continued to grow, these conditions were most unlike what he had seen in any other Pirate outpost before. Even the most organized of the pirates weren’t capable of such order and upkeep of such a large station.

As they walked out of the airlock, into the corridor, Marbo knocked the guard out with a quick chop to the neck, catching him before he fell to the ground. Looking around, Sly dragged the unconscious man into what appeared to be a cargo room, full of boxes and storage containers.

Carefully, Marbo searched him, grabbing his identification card. Upon inspection, the card looked like a regular keycard for older consoles, standard for any mining station personnel.. Yet something wasn’t right, the identification codes were nothing like the ones used in these areas, considering pirates usually just took over older security systems, albeit rarely making their own.
Seeing the small personal screen for communications on the mans wrist, Sly quickly plugged himself in, the security, was a bit tough, even for pirates, yet the mini ODIN terminal in Sly’s helmet made quick work of unlocking the quantum communications channel as well as a map of the base.

A small message popped up, confirming the connection.

Photon spin adjusted, beginning uplink...

Seeing the map, Sly’s suspicions came true; A third party, probably Pillowlandia’s ONI, or their church, had been meddling inside this asteroid. The map showed a massive empty space, redacted from the personnel’s databanks further into the site.

Getting up, Sly drew his custom made Ripper Pistol, its service time being extensive as the names of those whose lives it had reaped. Silently, he made his way down the hall. It was unusually quiet, his onboard sensors not detecting any thermal abnormalities for the next 100m, meaning only bad things could await, considering the circumstances.

Yet he had to press on. His personal vendetta, everything he’d worked for was for this very purpose. Yet the feeling of unease grew, the further he went down the hall.

It felt familiar, a cold atmosphere that pierced the bone, as if the very air was possessed by malice incarnate.

Turning the final corner before the area went dark, Sly came upon a door. By no mistake, was it constructed of military grade CC, the matte black of the surface giving a sense of emptiness that could only be found in space. Walking up, there was no console to authorize his entrance, yet the door slid open.

Six armor clad men sat behind the door, their rifles aimed at the ready at the lone agent. The silent hand signal of their commanding officer through mid way.

Sly reacted, his arm, pistol in hand shooting up, as he began to lay in the monstrous bullets from his pistol into the men. Even their high grade armor was no match for the high velocity hypercompressed superalloy that was only present in specific artifacts kept in deep containment as well as his gun. The commanding officer fell along with two others. Yet the rest of the men were unfazed, as expected of Pillowlandian Zealots. They opened fire, their bullets carrying massive punches, Sly’s armor wouldn’t hold long, the bullets hammered into his shoulder and leg.

Unyielding, Sly charged at the men.

They continued their assault, their magazines being dumped of bullets that made their way to their targets. Had Sly been any other REDACTED agent, he would currently have been suffering fractures all over their body, and been immobilized due to the immense tissue trauma. Sly however was only slowed, using his raw strength to push against the force of the bullet impacts.

Closing the gap, the men jumped back to either side, losing visibility from the ruthless monster that pursued them, making it clear they were no fools when it came to avoiding close combat with such an opponent.

Beyond the door, there was a massive chamber, at least 140 meters high and wide, and another 300 long. All around lay computers, pipes and screens, all seemingly foreign to the room, as their external wires and coolant pipes snaked along the cold floor.

One on the left, two on the right. Sly grinned, looking to his left and leaping at him, his movements almost inhuman, more of that of a wild beast. He soared over the man, who had no time to properly react, as Marbo’s hands locked on to his shoulders with a vice grip, cracking the armor and the bones that lay under it.

The man’s arms fell limp, their ligaments and muscles being torn off from the main body, yet he continued his struggle. Sly carefully took a grenade, arming it and sticking it to the man’s back, before kicking across toward his two comrades.

Knowing what was coming, they leaped over the railing, down to the floor in a desperate attempt to escape the explosion.

Checkmate.

The agent leaped over the railing at the same time as the other two, the explosion tearing apart the railing above them, and blasting the three men outwards into the room.

Sly landed, skidding across the floor, before sending his last two bullets into the broken bodies of the Pillowlandian soldiers.

Sly ran into the shadows of the chamber before more reinforcements arrived, making his way to the center of the area.

Walking through the pillars, Sly kept an eye on the church zealots, yet they seemed less interested in finding him, and more interested in leaving the room. Could they believe I had already left?

Sly continued his walk toward the center, through the pillars, until the scenery suddenly changed. Sly stood in a room. A holographic projection? Sly thought, observing the wall he seemingly had phased through.

“So it was you who came after all.” A voice that could unmistakably be one man.

Archbishop Malcolm L. Stiobhard, stood in his standard church garb, pure white uniform, accented with gold and orange embroidery along the edges.

“You know, for an assassin under REDACTED, you have quite the backstory.” He began, “Mentions of your name go back over 1200 years in our history, accounts of you appearing in all continents on the planet, legends of your travels and your might in battle, how you fought gods and destroyed everything in your path.” He grinned, turning to fully face Marbo, “and now you stand before me, how quaint, Sly Marbo, or should I say, Karna.”

His surprise lasted briefly, as his body reacted automatically to the man who had called him by his true name, a name he had since long been called. Marbo dropped his magazine out from his pistol, reloading his firearm in under a second, before firing a shot right at the head of the Archbishop.

The bullet did nothing, the Malcolm simply smiled, “Now now, you really wouldn’t think I would come here personally would you?” The hologram image shifted a little, as the projector adjusted itself.


“What’s going on here holy man,” Marbo asked, “Why is the Pillowlandian Church funding pirate activities?”

To this, Archbishop Stiobhard only chuckled, “We are both looking for the same things, traveller, it just seems that we got to the bone first this time. In fact, I think it’s about time for us to go!” He spoke, giddy as a child ready to receive a present.

“WAIT!” Marbo exclaimed, yet he was too late. With a flash, the Archbishop disappeared, and the room faded into darkness, the only light came from the screens, displaying “Self Destruct sequence armed, T-219,218,217.”

Sly had been entrapped within this floating tomb. The dirty priest and his affiliates had planned to destroy any evidence that they had appeared there. It all made sense, the forces were preparing to evacuate the complex, Sly had only alerted them prior to their initial exit.

He ran through the halls, while activating his voice system. “Initiate remote launch sequence, emergency boot, weapons systems online!” He kept sprinting, the halls becoming a blur behind him,

Sly lept out into the hangar, he had only seconds to get away.

Ahead of him the opening was there, yet the pirate destroyers were still in the vicinity, seemingly preparing to attack whatever came out of the hangar.
This was going to be rough, even for me. Marbo thought, as his craft sped into the hangar, slowing down just enough for him to leap inside, and shut the cockpit.

A shot from one of the guns of the pirate ships tore through the hangar, blowing the boxes and wall behind Marbo to smithereens. Yet the force of the blast aided in shooting the small craft out, only to be followed by the detonation of the complex’s own self destruct system. Sly couldn’t see what was going on, but he sure as hell wanted out.

Sly clutched the controls, punching the throttle to full. The immense Gs hit him hard, harder than any person could handle, as he accelerated like a bat out of hell into space.

Luckily the ships had to rely on their onboard guidance systems to attack, but they were capable of putting out enough ordinance to cause a problem at this engagement distance.

Sly dodged ordinance left and right for what seemed like an hour, although it was only seconds, his ship shaking and rattling as the force of the flak cannons exploding hit his CC hull, as he zoomed out of the engagement range of the ships, who were more busy with evacuating the area, in fear of being hit by debris cast from the site.

“We’ll see what Central has to say about this..” Marbo sighed to himself, before leaning back in his seat, “Set a course to the nearest Hypercarrier fleet, we’ve got news for our command.”
Let us gain absolute victory, even if we are to be sentenced to hell for it.

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Armus Republic
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 127
Founded: Oct 24, 2013
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Armus Republic » Wed Dec 06, 2017 5:00 am

OOC: More of the invasion to come

June 27th, 1903
2430
Ten miles inside Comeristan territory

The cavalry rode hard into the night. They had already passed the railroad depot, and finding no resistance, rode on towards their next set of objectives. The night was still, the only sound coming from the hooves of the horses. The moon shined brightly overhead. First Lieutenant Reaves lead his platoon ahead of the main bodies right flank, looking for the enemy. He was concerned by the lack of resistance, or more specifically, the lack of any enemy forces. His concern only grew as the platoon happened upon an enemy encampment. There was clear evidence that people were recently there, though one could guess where they went. “Sergeant Owens, get someone to find the main body and tell them to expect some type of attack. I think we might be coming up against heavy resistance soon.” “Yes sir” The Platoon sergeant rode off to delegate the task with Lieutenant Reaves dismounted his horse and inspected the camp.
There were no bedrolls, no personal items left behind, just the tents themselves. His gut feeling told him they had been warned hours ahead of the attack. Only question was: who warned them? He remounted his horse and the platoon moved on into the night, the question burning into Reaves’ mind.
2452
Twenty-two miles inside Comeristan territory
The report from Reaves came to late. The main body had found the enemy line before the scouts did. The Comeristan forces were dug in at a rather shallow, but deep enough trench where they were protected from all but the most accurate rife fire. The cavalry troops quickly dismounted, downed their horses (OOC: a practice of having a horse lie down then using the horse for cover. Rather disgusting tactic, but war is hell) and began to quickly return fire. The Republican forces were armed with their M1895 rifles
Image
while the Comeristan fired on the cavalry with single shot, black powder rifles.
Image
Fire superiority quickly went towards the Republican soldiers, but the lack of clear targets made it difficult to effectively engage the semi-entrenched Comeristan forces. Word was quickly sent to the motorized infantry that they, along with their towed artillery, were needed to help break through. This would present a rather unique challenge to the artillerymen as they would need to find a way to accurately aim their guns without dropping any rounds on their own men who were roughly 300 yards away from the “trench” line. Flares were fired over the area and the rifle fire between the two forces increased during this time. The smell of blood and gunpowder filled the air along side the sound of shrieking men and horses. Around 0120, the artillery began firing at the enemy, though they purposely fired over them in order to walk their rounds onto target. As the first accurate rounds began to fall onto the Comeristan forces, panic swept through them. Men began standing and running. Some ran towards the Republican cavalry and were quickly gunned down. Others ran away from the trench. A few Comeristan officers shot at them, but as more shells landed, they too began to run. Those who stayed were quickly turned to a fine mist. The order was given to remount and continue their advance at 0145. The wounded men were carried away. Any horses that received a treatable wound were also taken off the battlefield…most were shot by their riders. A famous cavalry officer was once quoted as saying “There is no greater bond then a cavalryman and his horse. And there is no greater sorrow then when that bond is severed.” For all their bravado, many of the cavalrymen openly wept at the loss of their mounts.

By dawn break of the 27th, the Republican forces had pushed roughly fifty miles into the Comeristan country. Resistance began to stiffen as they went, but for the most part, they were quickly swept aside. With the sun finally starting to shine, the aeroplanes could start to take part in the invasion, as task they were eager to take part in.
Last edited by Armus Republic on Wed Dec 06, 2017 5:01 am, edited 1 time in total.
The Republic is a highly militaristic, imperialistic nation that prides itself on individual Liberties.
NS Rank does not represent my nation
The population of the Republic and Her Empire: 1.5 billion
Republican Armed Forces: 60 million
This does not mean that all 60 million soldiers will be in the war. I've an Empire, which means I have other commitments to attend to.
The RAF number does not include the Militia
Skyhooked wrote:Would spread even further and claim more territories, until there are no countries left to conquer.
The Batavia wrote:The sword is mightier than the pen
Zitravgrad wrote:As if their number is not terrifying enough. "Psychological Operations" omg.

DEFCON Levels:
5 [4] 3 2 1

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Northern Tryvor
Political Columnist
 
Posts: 3
Founded: Nov 01, 2017
Democratic Socialists

The Democratic Commonwealth Community & News Thread

Postby Northern Tryvor » Wed Dec 06, 2017 12:10 pm

Confedracy wrote:Kiev, Nova Terran USRC. 11:51
"That is simply not going to happen. As you are aware we helped build up the workers movement in Tryvor and we are not about to sell them out. No matter how much you pay us." "Besides you have no power to decide what happens in Tryvor now." "This is a nation we almost went to war to protect. We would do so again. If you catch my meaning sir" Ricksgers was about to dismiss the meeting when the phone rang
"This better be important" he growled into the phone
A young officer spoke quickly
"Sir these royalist pigs just fired into a crowd! We unarmed and detained them. What should we do from here?"
"Bring them to the Stasi headquarters for interrogation"
"At once Sir!"
The phone shut off and George Ricksgers placed it down. The man in front of him had barely heard a word of what at happened.
"Oh Your Majesty. One of your men are under arrest for shooting an unarmed worker downtown. So for the meantime you and your entourage will be placed in protective custody for the duration of this meeting."

The police drove the men to what appeared to be just another skyscraper. But upon parking the car a small detachment of 5 armed guards and the policemen who detained the shooter marched them into the building. Awaiting them was one man. Dressed in a clean jet black suit. He spoke in a soft tone. "Welcome to your home for the duration of your stay. Be aware that your group is now forbidden to traverse into Kiev at will. You will be staying here and driven to your meetings by Stasi personnel. Be aware you are under our watchful eyes now. I recommend you be on your best behavior. As for YOU." He pointed at the man who had shot and killed a soviet citizen. "You are under arrest for the murder of Seigfried Hallisberg and as such your room will be down there" he pointed at an elevator that lead down to the basement of the building. two men dressed in normal clothing grabbed him and escorted him to the elevator. "I will show the rest of you to your room" "Right this way" he lead them to another elevator and down a hallway to a decent room midway up the building. A window giving a decent view of the cityscape outside. It was reminiscent of hotel room. Expect for the heavy door and the armed guards waiting outside. "You may call if you have need of anything. Enjoy your stay"

The Marriage to Erika in Bluraland has The USRC on edge. Pressure from all around and the notable absence from Premier Walters from this meeting had many wondering. Was a new storm brewing?


"In other news, chaos meets the Nova Terran USRC city of Kiev as Tryvorian Royalist Party members show their true colors walking through the streets and indiscriminately killing workers throughout. Premier Almassy has offered her most sincere apologies following the event, so soon after the assassination of Head of State Vilmos Kelemens. She has denounced the party's action, regarding them as 'ruthless warmongers, unfit for government work and responsibility.

Despite her words, the meeting continued as planned, but fell apart quickly. Royalist Party Member Endre Pal refused to move the meeting forward without the immediate extradition of one of his conspirators. As such, talks of reform for the Tryvorian government have ground to a halt..."


Premier Almassy left the meeting hall unsatisfied, for about the third time. The Royalists had all but stalled the meeting, making outrageous demands and accusations between the diplomats of Kiev and Tryvor. It was obvious at this point they did not intend to really debate the notion of a shared government. Therefore, she went back to meet the chief diplomat, and told him as much. They needed to decide what to do before tensions reached a flash point.

"If things get more out of hand," She said. "There may be another civil war. The majority of Loyalist forces are outside of the country, and Arctic Shield is cut off from any support if things go hot. We need a to silence the Royalists. Quickly... What are our options with the Stasi?"

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Pillowlandia
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1970
Founded: Feb 16, 2016
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Relevant Royals

Postby Pillowlandia » Wed Dec 06, 2017 9:45 pm

Special Agent [Redacted] Watson
Inspectorate of Specialized Northern Affairs, Office of Naval Affairs
Keiv




The sun was just shy of its apex, seemingly atop the the sky as its heat radiated downward to the snow packed streets. The miserable weather was par for the course here, to the point of many children playing freely with little more than a light coat. That was entirely unsuitable for Watson, his equatorial Terran blood feeling the cold bite deep to the bone even as he trudged through the streets in several layers topped off with a dull but well made peacoat.

In that he was far from alone, around him various people went about their affairs dressed similarly, and properly, for such weather. What they wore was much less his interest in what they were doing, as he trailed behind the growing crowd which was in turn trailing the royalist councillors peddling their message. Such efforts were both entirely useless, and liable to get them killed. Despite their apparent ignorance, they continued. Continued right upon the moment in which a member of the crowd, likely a Stazi plant, threw debris of some sort. The distance left Watson unable to determine precisely what it was, not that it mattered. It took only a few more moments for the already on edge emissaries to draw arms, where they had the idea to carry them was beyond his comprehension, and fire. The resulting police action was entirely expected. Hoped to not occur, but having been entirely likely from the onset. They were trying to ride the tiger but had ended up squarely in its stomach.

Pulling out a simple phone, capable of being tossed away with ease should it be required, he tapped a few keys. What appeared as little more than vapid day to day communications were instead a series of coded phrases, informing the field office and its associates of the unfortunate complication. As he turned, he muttered “vivat rex” under his breath. Glancing about as he continued upon his way.


[Redacted] Station
ONI Directorate of Naval Research post No.82
[Redacted], “The Belt”




The slowly spinning asteroid, measuring among the more massive of the collection inside the belt at nearly five kilometers in diameter, Its surface was pockmarked from smaller asteroids which had impacted it, and various small radiators rise from hidden craters in the surface. A simple series of airlocks perched upon a single face, covered deep in the shadows of other floating space rock, serviced the needs of the whole of the development.

What had begun as a minor facility to provide high level command and control in event of catastrophic destruction or incapacitation of primary command and control functions had long since morphed into something more, and somehow, even more secretive. In fact, it was one of the few facilities that ONI was entirely certain that not even their close allies and working partners within the [REDACTED] were even remotely aware of. The soft hum of the gratuitous quantities of cooling systems required for the octa-bank of high end fission eliminated through the air, hanging below the soft steps of combat boots and other equipment crossing the halls.

The massive station was immediately different than any other station, just meters past the initial bulkheads of the modest hanger bay was a second series of bulkheads, made not of steel-titanium alloy but reinforced compressed carbon, the seeming emptiness of the material drawing in light evermore. Alongside doors were simple white block letters and numbers, identifying the hatch with little more than two digits and a letter. Past those bulkheads, the corridors were entirely built of compressed carbon, certain sections reinforced for various reasons or another. Inlaid every several meters either side of the honeycomb of corridors and hatches were simple but powerful lights lighting the ways.

“Message from Friendly Skies, Asset CB-009 has been confirmed to be the package launched from their station. He interrupted the final removal of assets from on-site. Steps are being taken for ONI to take care of their portion of the package.”

“What of drive assembly F12T4L from the wreckage?” Asked Archbishop Alexander R. Staynair, his normal white church garb exchanged for a more practical black jumpsuit, with only the purple accents of his rank and position denoting any truth of his power. Not that such identification was needed, every soul aboard the facility was aware of who he was.

“Ready to be mated to the R segment upon arrival, then for a mounted test. We recovered several warheads of a composition we’ve not yet seen. However, just before we departed another item of interest was found.” Druid Conchobar responded, his attire, and the whole of the crew for that matter, similar to that of the Archbishop. The difference was in the accent, a dark maroon inlaid with green which signified his area of specialty.

“Oh, what was found?” the Archbishop questioned, his head tilting ever so slightly. He was rarely surprised, especially in this job.

Conchobar took several moments, trying to form a thorough and concise response. “There has been a recovery of deep retention personal storage. Seemingly direct from the Age of Lament.”

“Prepare a chamber for use immediately, and an armed response party. We open it as soon as possible after arrival.”
Stasnov wrote:Small-to-medium sized professional, relatively high-tech and well funded military. Emphasis on flexible units at Brigade-Battalion level.

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Confedracy
Lobbyist
 
Posts: 11
Founded: May 11, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Confedracy » Thu Dec 07, 2017 12:19 am

George Ricksgers Office. Kiev. Nova Terran USRC
"You are being sent back to Tryvor. You will meet up with the rest of your group enroute to the airport and a police escort will keep you safe from harm" Ricksgers said with a growl. The Royalist was taken aback by this a bit. But quickly excepted it and walked out of the building without saying a word. Relief flooded him and a small bit of arrogant pride rode through his mind. In his head he had beaten the communists here and would soon beat them back at home. "Hurry Driver" The man said in a disdainful tone. "I have better places to be then this backwater city" the man nodded and began to drive through the city taking odd turns and eventually coming to where the shooting had happened earlier the day before.....

Stasi Public Headquarters
The group had been in custody for a day now and were terrified for their lives. They hadn't seen their friend since the initial arrest. Finally a knock at the door came. The man in the black suit once again stood before them. With their friend alive. But not in good shape. He was very shaken and had a broken look in his eyes which were drawn to the floor as he dared not look up. "By the good graces of the people of USRC. We are allowing you to return home. If you will follow me to your car please" the man in a dark suit said in a pleasant tone that made the beaten man wince as if he was in pain. The group arrived at the car and got in. They hit the streets with a police escort and relaxed a bit. That is until in one swift move they took a right turn and left their escort behind. Their eyes widen and one man cried out when they saw what was before them. A large group of workers had set a car ablaze in the streets. The dead bodies of their friends were strewn out before them as the workers turned their gaze towards their car. "Driver! Floor it Those madmen will kill us all!" the driver parked the car an turned to them with a dark smile. "Not all of us comrade. Not all of us" he stepped out of the car and walked off talking into the phone. The mob was rushing down the car now. A few of them had guns from the looks of it and others were armed with Molotov cocktails and whatever they could get their hands on. "RUN!" one of the royalists screamed. They scrambled from the car in desperation. By the time they were out the gang was upon them. Hammers and 4x4 wooden boards fell upon them quickly. Except for one. Endre Pal had run quickly to a back ally and was hiding behind a trashbin when the mob came running past. Now he was alone. He knew he had to find somewhere safe and ran a quick run through in his head. Going to any government building would just result in him getting handed over to The Stasi. "A fate worse then death" he thought to himself. He couldn't go to Tryvors embassy without the same result. "The foreign district is my only chance" if he could find a family to hide him there and smuggle him out he just might have a chance. That is if he could escape the mob roaming the streets and the unofficial search for him bound to be going on throught out the city.

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Armus Republic
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 127
Founded: Oct 24, 2013
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Armus Republic » Thu Dec 07, 2017 3:57 am

June 27th, 1903
0600
Airfield #1, two miles inside the Republic

At exactly 0600, the first aeroplane lumbered down the runaway before slowly ascending into the sky. It was quickly followed by seven other planes. They were the F-1 Hawk
Image
the Republic’s brand new and modern single-engine, single seat fighter aeroplane. This would be the first time the aircraft, and their pilots, would see combat. The honor of the first combat mission of the Armus Republic Air Force (ARAF) went to the 8th Fighter Squadron, nicknamed “Killer Cupid” from their tail art. Captain Laura Bell commanded the squadron. She was relatively young at age twenty-five and was very attractive. Her rather bright blonde hair made her stand out more then most woman. She became fascinated with flying at a young air and when she saw her first dirigible fly over her small town, she knew want she wanted to do. She commissioned into the ARAF in 1898 (The ARAF was founded in 1890) and began training as a pilot. Captain Bell, like all the other Air Force pilots, had zero combat experience. They would be the founders of this new form of fighting.
As the squadron flew into Comeristan, they were met by another squadron of aeroplanes, this time made up of the single-engine, twin seat FA-2 Sparrow
Image
the other new aircraft inn the Air Force. While the F-1 Hawk was suited for air-to-air combat, the FA-2 Sparrow was designed to mainly support ground forces, though it could hold its own against other aircraft. The tail gunner was able to drop up to a dozen high explosive bombs by hand as the aeroplane flew. Today’s mission would be to attack enemy positions ahead of the attacking forces, allowing for rapid movement towards the capital. The ARAF had air superiority the moment they entered the skies as Comeristan had no air force to speak of. It was almost unfair really.
Captain Bell tightened her scarf around her neck to keep more of the cold out. She looked down below, then back at her map. She nodded with satisfaction. They were on course. She could see the early battlefield from their height. There was distinct brown patch in the sea of green fields, though nothing else could be really seen. She had been told the cavalry had taken quite a few casualties, forcing many of the commanding officers from the War Department to question the validity of horse mounted soldiers…she shrugged. Wasn’t her problem. She checked her map again then signaled to the planes around her: they had flown into enemy territory. In pairs of two and three, the F-1s and FA-2s began to breakaway from the large formation. It was time to attack.
A rather large convoy was spotted by her wingman. The accompanying Sparrow dove down to bombing range while the two Hawks stayed high, watching. Laura was surprised when the Comeristan soldiers stood still, “Must be there first time seeing a plane. Shame it’s trying to kill them” It was only until the bombs started exploding did the little dots start to run off the road. The first successful ground attack has just been completed. But Captain Bell felt unsatisfied. Surely, she could something to help with the attack…She tightened her grip on the stick and rolled downward. The engine whined under the stress as she sped towards the road and the little dots. With her right hand so gripped the pistol grip in front of her and looked through the roughly drawn gun sight. She slowly squeezed the trigger….the entire aircraft shook as the dual machine guns fired into the convoy. History had again been made. Captain Bell pulled back on her stick and positioned herself again for another attack. She could see her wingman doing the same. Today was a grand day for the Air Force.
The Republic is a highly militaristic, imperialistic nation that prides itself on individual Liberties.
NS Rank does not represent my nation
The population of the Republic and Her Empire: 1.5 billion
Republican Armed Forces: 60 million
This does not mean that all 60 million soldiers will be in the war. I've an Empire, which means I have other commitments to attend to.
The RAF number does not include the Militia
Skyhooked wrote:Would spread even further and claim more territories, until there are no countries left to conquer.
The Batavia wrote:The sword is mightier than the pen
Zitravgrad wrote:As if their number is not terrifying enough. "Psychological Operations" omg.

DEFCON Levels:
5 [4] 3 2 1

User avatar
Hydraxim Imperialis
Political Columnist
 
Posts: 3
Founded: Nov 02, 2017
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Hydraxim Imperialis » Thu Dec 07, 2017 8:35 pm

The streets were a dull gray, and the rest of the world was covered in a darkness. Shadows could be seen moving and children could be heard laughing. A voice could be heard calling out, its owner was seen in the only light for miles. A soldier dressed in all black was standing in a small circle of light. He had night vision goggles and a small rebreather dangling from his helmet, his face was a pale white and his green eyes could be seen scanning the area. His breathing could be heard getting louder and more ragged.

"Hello?!" He called out.

A small child's voice could be heard calling back "Come play with us! Come and play! We miss you so much! We miss you! Step into the dark, let us take you to play!"

The soldier felt a maliciousness in the voice. He began growing a cold sweat. He couldn't force himself to move from the spotlight, he felt like it was his only refuge. He stood there examining the darkness trying to determine where the voice was coming from. After a few moments of relentless calling, the voice got more desperate and was joined by others calling the same thing.

"Come play with us! We need you! We miss you," the voice seemed to blend in with hundreds, and slowly grew deeper and angrier. "Come play with us now! We Want you!" The thrashing of small shadowy hands could be seen violently jerking into his light, grabbing and scratching in his direction. The man reached for his gun but realized he didn't have it. He quickly darted his eyes through the never-ending darkness, and could only make out the shadows of buildings that loomed nearly endless above. He clawed at his hair as the hands closed in on his ever-shrinking circle of light.

Finally, everything stopped, and the hands disappeared in a blink. The only noise was far off. A baby could be heard crying. The soldier covered his ears and slammed his eyes shut. He felt the cold overwhelm him, he began shivering but made no move to change his current position.

After endless time went on the man finally removed his hands from his ears and cradled his arms. The crying still persisted, although it was as if it was right next to him.

After what the soldier thought was another hour he finally opened his frozen eyelids. He examined his clothes and saw frost had formed all across the padding and even the cloth, making it unbearable to move.

As he examined his hands he saw a baby carriage in front of him, facing away from the light. His skin, while covered in the blue frostbite, could be seen visibly getting paler. He seemed as if he was just a ghost trapped in eternity.

He finally brought his hand to the carriage handle and twisted it to show what sat inside.

The sight that laid before him was a baby, with skin as grey as the moon, sitting lifeless in the carriage. The man couldn't take his eyes off the sight. Tears could be seen freezing to his cheek as fast as they fell. He slowly took his helmet off and placed it on the floor, looking at the ground, too ashamed to see what he's done.

When he finally looked up he saw eyeless sockets staring at him from where the babies eyes should've been.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CRO Facility - African Atlantic edge
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lieutenant Atticus woke up in a fright. He quickly glanced around the room in a panicked frenzy. He saw the pale gray walls and the single light fixture that accompanied his suite in the facility. He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

As he washed the sweat off his face he glanced at the clock and read 2:23 AM. He sighed to himself, realizing he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again and had another restless night. He threw a gray T-Shirt that only had the white silhouette of an eagle on his left shoulder, and grabbed uniform black pants accompanied by the same dark boots he always wore. He headed out looking for the mess hall. On his way, however, he stumbled into the new Commander of Cro. Commander Agretius was dressed in class A's still, as he had just arrived and wanted to make a good impression on his new department.

"Good morning sir," Atticus said snapping to attention and saluting the commander.

"At ease, good morning lieutenant," the commander said with ease. He did a quick salute back to show courtesy. He had the black uniform all commanders were allocated, and obviously wore the uniform with pride. "Would you like to join me in the mess hall lieutenant? Do you mind if I call you Atticus?"

The English tone of the commander was off-putting, this man was the same blood as the people that oppressed the Imperialisian people. Of course, he agreed despite what his true feelings were, trying to still hold a mask of manners for the royal blooded commander that stood in his presence. "I would be delighted, and of course commander."

"I know I'm a bit of a controversial figure in Cro right now. You are aware of who I am, yes?"

"Commander Nikolai Agretius, of House Agretius. Noble family member who abandoned his bloodline when he learned of his forefather's atrocities and began hunting royalists. You were the second son, the youngest. You were nicknamed the winter bull for your brutality and speeches. The consul considers you the momentum that truly got the rebellion going, as you caused massive uproar when your identity was revealed after you were caught trying to assassinate your brother and father."

"Well, I'm certainly glad you've read up on me. I've been doing some studying of my own, and I've found you are quite the interesting character, Atticus. you've participated in the original attacks on airfields and supply lines, almost twenty years ago from what few monarch records say. only little success was achieved in the beginning and you were quite the monster. There were signs that all pointed to psychological warfare being used against the Enclave. You may not be high ranking, but you're a tactical genius as I've seen it. The people think this rebellion was only five years long, and heroes walk among them. But in fact, this rebellion dates back to the dawn of the enclave. "

Just as they slowly turned to enter the mess, the PA buzzed to life, "Commander to the war room. Commander Nikolai to the war room." Nikolai gave a slight nod towards Atticus.

"I guess, this conversation will have to be continued next time we see each other, it was good meeting you lieutenant." for a moment he stopped, then leaned in close, "remember, you are here to watch me just as much as I'm here to guide you. The consul doesn't fully trust me, don't lose sight of your tasks. The only reason I'm here is that this is the most loyal group in the Imperium. I do look forward to continuing this chat." as he backed away he placed his arm across his chest in a diagonal manner, clenched his fist, and gave a deep bow. "Ave Dominion."

A news channel hologram buzzed to life next to Atticus, the reporter was reporting on the new naming of the Republic to 'The Dominion of Hydraxim Imperialis.'
Last edited by Hydraxim Imperialis on Thu Dec 07, 2017 9:27 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Tudorlandia
Political Columnist
 
Posts: 2
Founded: Jul 20, 2017
Father Knows Best State

Postby Tudorlandia » Thu Dec 07, 2017 11:12 pm

Tudorlandian Embassy
Kiev, USRC

___________

The mood was dark. Only a few people walked on the streets. Things had been grey since the murders. Apparently one of the worst diplomatic disasters in the city ever. The Tudorlandian Embassy was equally grim. The DSI had been operating around the area, as the had been since the killings and perhaps even before that. Charles didn't know. He was in his office at 2:30 PM, smoking a cigarette and writing a report on his Meta8. He had been here for a few weeks now, but nothing had improved for him or the overall situation. Syers appeared in the hallway and walked towards the door of Charles's office. He knocked on the door. "Charles, please come with me"

"What do you want, Jamie?" replied Charles as he closed down his Meta8 and put away his files.

"All the secretaries have been called to Caydown's office. I'm not sure what it's all about."

Charles proceeded to follow Syers down to the Principal Secretary's office where this "meeting" would occur. When they entered the room there were a number of people there, mainly all of the secretaries. Jochaim Caydown stood up in the center of the room, behind his desk. "Ah, Jamie and Charlie are here. We should begin. I've called you here today to discuss the action the Government is planning back home. I've been informed we are going to host a secret meeting with the Stasi. All of you will be in attendance and you will all be sworn to secrecy. The topic will be disclosed when the time comes. The time is 7:00 PM tommorow, about an hour after work has finished. This is the most important meeting you'll ever have. So be ready.


Cabinet Room
Varnacum Palace,
San Somark, Tudorlandia.



The convention of the Cabinet was a rare event these days. The President sat at the head of the table, with Minister of Finance Xavier Harrov to his left and Internal Affairs Minister Amperio McNarcotics to his right. "The economic crisis must be resolved. We are failing, and the people are hungry. The populace is in a state of poverty. We need to take action. What are yo're suggestions?"
The Minister of Economics was the first to answer. "We need more socialism. It's taking us good places. This "crisis" is just a side effect. We need to totally communise our economy so that conditions are worsened, but we'll still be ruling! Right?"
The Defense Minister, who was secretly leading the underground opposition to the regime, stodd up. "We need less communism, not more! We are a flourishing nation, well, we were before the communizations. We need reform. The people are treated like dirt. We are no "people's" republic as long as they suffer. The citizens of Tudorlandia are supposed to be free!"

Outside the Cabinet Room, the group remained in position. They knew that when Minister Cade made his rousing statement they would storm in and kill everyone except for Cade, Vraaksmasuer and Studer. They would keep the President held for a few minutes before the building was secure, and then they would take him out to the yard to hang him. It would be a moment of freedom. The January 21st coup d'tat would go down in history. Then they heard the shout. "The people of Tudorlandia are supposed to be free!"
At that point they burst down the door and the resistance ministers put their hands up and rushed to the door. Everyone else was shot except for President Karzov. Heinz and Gusavius rushed to the tyrant and held by the arms, dragging him out of the room. The police were coming, but the perimeter was secure. The President was ushered outside to the Palace gallows. Within minutes his corpse dangled from the plank. The regime was gone. The nation was free. But the job wasn't finished. A new government had to be established....

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Kotelia
Secretary
 
Posts: 31
Founded: Oct 14, 2017
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Kotelia » Sat Dec 09, 2017 9:04 am

INTERNATIONAL RACING LEAGUE PLACEMENT RACE
Today, 20 teams from 20 nations will take part in two seperate races to decide the competitors in the Racing Premier League and the Racing League Two.
The first race will occur at 4:30 pm GMT today in Melbourne on the world famous Melbourne Circuit.
The second race will occur at 630 pm GMT today on the Melbourne Circuit.

Image

The teams to take part in the first race at 4:30 will be:

Kotelia's Wilson-TAG Telstra
Capital AL's Land Sharks Racing
Tudorlandia's Straveno
Duckzchwitz's Meiji Automotive
Pillowlandia's Hendrix-ANGELLC United
New Velonia's Sporting North-CAN
Landinium's Rásaíocht na hÉireann
Attokad's ARB Racing
Aclary's Sporting Automotive
Taoiseach Federalist Union's Racing UFED

The teams to take part in the second race at 6:30 will be:

America JB's Central Automotive
Highlock's Racing HHK
Sudardes' Federal Sport
Greater Rhine Nation's Force GRN
Alpha Hudaz's OSRC-SU Team
Ambassador Canton's Union Sport AMCA
Armus Republic's Racing Hilton
Iseguard's Veringuard Automotive
Pumpakin's PPUB Driving
Ruvicon's RVC United
Last edited by Kotelia on Sat Dec 09, 2017 9:05 am, edited 1 time in total.
My Mini CV

    Current Senator in The Democratic Commonwealth

    Ambasssdor to Coalition of Democratic Nations

    Former Secretary of Defence for The Democratic Commonwealth



Discord: @Aneirin Gwalchmai #8151

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Kotelia
Secretary
 
Posts: 31
Founded: Oct 14, 2017
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Kotelia » Sat Dec 09, 2017 9:34 am

QUALIFIERS FOR THE FIRST PLACEMENT RACE HAVE ENDED

The final sequence for the race today is as follows:
1. Teague BRADY (Hendrix-ANGELLC United)
2. Lewis ARTHUR (Wilson-TAG Telstra)
3. Seth DEERING (Wilson-TAG Telstra)
4. Jackson NORTH (Racing UFED)
5. Wilhelm ZAEWITZ (Staveno)
6. Alex HARRIS (North-CAN)
7. Conor MCCARTHY (RnahE)
8. Alexis TCHERNEKNI (Sporting Automotive)
9. Abdul Sami ISSAM (ARB Racing)
10. Nabil MUNIB-SHAHID (ARB Racing)
11. Benjamin VIVERNOS (Land Sharks Racing)
12. Aidan CULLEN (RnahE)
13. Tom GRAETZ (Hendrix-ANGELLC United)
14. Greg SOUZA (Sporting Automotive)
15. David DELANO (Land Sharks Racing)
16. Johan GARCIA (Meiji Automotive)
17. Satoshi TADOSHI (Meiji Automotive)
18. Bradley BROWN (North-CAN)
19. Oscar Samuel (Racing UFED)
20. Hans STATMANN (Staveno)

And 5
4
3
2
1
THE RACE HAS STARTED
My Mini CV

    Current Senator in The Democratic Commonwealth

    Ambasssdor to Coalition of Democratic Nations

    Former Secretary of Defence for The Democratic Commonwealth



Discord: @Aneirin Gwalchmai #8151

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Tudorlandia
Political Columnist
 
Posts: 2
Founded: Jul 20, 2017
Father Knows Best State

Postby Tudorlandia » Sun Dec 10, 2017 10:17 pm

Kanstadt
Tudorlandian Rebel Territory
Tudorlandia, Terra.
____________________



The reporters were about to go live. The decision by the Praeventials would change the War. But it wasn't there job to say that. It wasn't Jacob's job, anyway. He knew the war would only make him more money, and get him more promotions. His boss came up to him. "Your on. Remember, read the script, don't add anything, and don't comment your opinion"

"Understood" said Jacob as he walked towards the studio. He grabbed his script and entered beside Cathy. The camerman in front of him called out "3, 2 ,1, live" the green light appeared and Jacob began. "Welcome back to FTN, we have just received confirmation that the Praeventialists have switched sides and are now supporting the rebels in face of a potential Soviet-Pillowlandian Invasion. This will effectively change the war for the rebellion, and will likely result in a Siege of San Varcon within two months."

Cathy then began to talk. "The current leader of the Praevential Front, Andrej Juveyo, released a statement saying that the Praeventials "would not accept the government as it is". The Praevential Armed Brigades are stationed in the central areas, which are under rebel control, however large numbers of the Praeventials are located deep in Government controlled land. This will present a challenge towards the Loyalist Army over the next few years. In other news, diplomats in Kiev are in chaos as to which side they will officialize themselves with, and it's been rumored the Soviet Government may step in. This is FTN at six, thankyou."

The red light replaced green quickly. Jacob and Cathy stood up and left. The day was over so they could go home. Jacob packed his things and said his goodbyes for the day, before leaving out the staff door. As he walked down the road, in the hustle of people, he was pulled into an alley suddenly. A man in a dark coat was there. "Excuse me? What is this?" asked a confused Jacob. "The man pulled out a badge with colours and symbols unknown to Jacob. "Vilemm Le Danne, IPIS. I was wondering in you would follow me". Jacob, knowing that he couldn't refuse attempted to stand up and follow the man. He inquired, "What is IPSI?"
"The Imperial People's Syndicate for Intelligence."

"What such nation do you aspire from?" asked Jacob.

"Tudorlandia. Nova Terran Tudorlandia." the man replied. Jacob tried to speak more, but the man opened a door down the end of the alleyway and offered for Jake to enter. "After you". Jacob walked in, and to his amazement he saw weapons everywhere, people rushing around, computers stationed on desks around the room- it was the most sophisticated thing he'd ever laid his eyes on. Le Danne asked for Jake to continue following him. He was lead up a flight of stairs and into an office. In the office was a desk, and at the desk was a man in a fancy suit. On the table a placard said "Section Director E. Danciano". "Have a seat", said this Danciano. Jacob did as told. Le Danne sat down beside him. Danciano began speaking. "We have brought you here because you have a very important connection"

"What is this "connection" you speak of?" asked Jacob, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you know of your father, young Jacob?" inquired Danciano, with a minor note of sinistry in his voice.

"Not a lot. He left when I was very young. Why do you ask this?"

"Because your father was in charge of the Imperial Special Weapons Project. And we need you to help us recover his work"


Kiev
USRC
Tudorlandian Embassy


All the staff, all of them, had been summoned to the Central Room to be briefed on the situation regarding the Government. The Ambassador was standing up on an overturned table. He cleared his throat before shouting. "I'll do this traditionally. We all know about the situation. I'm going to ask: Raise your hand if you support the Socialist Government?" Several hands were raised. "And raise your hand if you are loyal to the rebels or any non-Government faction. A large number of people raised there hand. "It's official then. This embassy represents the Nationalist Republic of Tudorlandian-In-Terra. Those who supported the Government can choose to leave or serve their people. It's up to you" Suprisingly, nobody ended up leaving. But everybody inside knew that the Government of Confedracy was sympathetic to the Socialists, and hopes were that no violent action was taken....

The meeting with the Stasi occured a few hours after. All of the secretaries had met, all 7 of them. There were 3 stasi agents present. The PPS went straight to the point. "We need help with the situation. I'd like for you to...raid the embassy tommorow. Nothing big. You just need to remove the Ambassador, in any way you like, and fly the flag of Tudorlandia-In-Nova Terra. Okay?"

Agent Markov, the man in charge of the squad, began to reply. "Hmm. Well, I imagine this would be unsanctioned by our Government?"

"I think your nation is corrupt enough. The Government probably won't even notice"

"Very Well. I accept your offer. Comrade, for the workers!" Everybody in the room repeated the latter phrase. The meeting was then adjourned.....

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Pillowlandia
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1970
Founded: Feb 16, 2016
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Blue Marble Atop The World

Postby Pillowlandia » Mon Dec 11, 2017 9:00 pm

Poet
High Terran Orbit




The soft blue glow of the electric-fission power plant softly lit the Poet from behind, as she moved closer to Terra at a measure of several dozen kilometers a second. She hung in space like a great blue marble, the inky blue of her seas laying in deep contrast to her sprawling green continents, and the vast metropolises which were faintly visible from so far away. Her soft thrum of reactors, coolants, and pumps- inaudible though they might be in the vacuum of Terran’s vast sovereign space- lay softly upon the ambient sounds which flowed into the ears of the Poet’s passengers.

Such passengers were her normal complement, as normal as such complements were when a ship found itself such employed for such covert actions of espionage, and the two particularly special persons embarked upon the journey. This particular transit had been tranquil, even more so than the common passages, with a direct escort of a half dozen light corvettes, each of which measured perhaps half of the length of the Poet.

Such was the awe of the escorts, the grey-brown hue of the Belt, and the sheer gravity of Terra that both the young WIlliam of Hydraxim and Gustavo of Tudorlandia Superior simply gawked at the view pumped into the hull from the exterior cameras (portholes being entirely deficient in any protection, poor upon a merchant craft and entirely unacceptable for use within even a covert military vessel).

“So, this is home now?”, Gustavo spoke. The two princes had long floated in total silence for over an hour, crew passing behind them and tossing glances of various emotions, ranging from disgust to pity, towards them.

“No, I’ve lived upon Nova Terra for thirteen years. I’m not wholly certain that any other place could be home, even if home was quite miserable for far too many of those who called it such too. Perhaps a home away from home for us exiles?” William responded, a single tear threatening to break free as he thought of his remaining family hidden away upon Nova Terra.

“Very astute observations, you might learn a thing or three from your younger Gustavo.” Ceannasaí Makim Culpor started suddenly, as he traversed the passageway and pulled himself alongside the two heirs. “Come, gather your things and prepare to disembark. You’ll be able to see it with your own eyes soon enough.”

Pushing off of the ‘floor’ of the passageway, the two teens indeed did as they were told, acting much more like children on vacation than future monarchs. Making their way to the primary airlock, they stood alongside Makim alongside several now plain clothed agents as the airlock cycled. The doors finally heaved themselves open, the second set pulling inward while the primaries cycled vertically into recessed panels. Beyond the umbilical, which itself was protected by a hard aluminum double hull that guarded against the elements, or lack thereof, and carried the various support cables and piping that ships in dock often took advantage of, was a very bland and grey metal hulled station.

Lagrangian One Station was neither glaomours nor particularly person friendly. Which given its design for handling the largest of space dwelling freighters was quite practical. At twenty four berths, and capacity for just shy of one hundred heavy shuttles, and many more lighter variants or other support craft, it was a massive transmodal point. Freighters entirely incapable of atmospheric entry docked at either this station, which was closer to Terra and had faster service options but remained more expensive as a result, or one of the other Lagrangian Stations which serviced Terra and her space needs.

This meant that despite her hulking and ugly appearance, she held an outsized importance in transit between the constantly busy elevator and the cargo it took in and spat out for each of the orbiting cargo nexuses. The lone customs enforcement official which had been awaiting them upon the other side of the hatch looked slightly surprised at the number of passengers offloading, given that most waited a while after docking to disembark.

“Papers please.” He stated, his face and tone betraying fatigue. With a light brown uniform covered in minor wrinkles, he looked the part too. Completing the tired ensemble was a well worn name tag embedded into his jumpsuit reading ‘cpt. Markus’. With an arm outstretched, he collected a nine passports. All of which were simple Pillowlandian ones, their covers a deep blue embossed with red and gold in the royal seal and flag. Inside was the age old physical series of papers, with all of them being well filled with many legal, and many less than, passings through customs. More interesting to Markus was the embedded biometrics and identification chips. Paper could forged with a hundred credit printer and some editing software, the chips had stayed hand in hand with hackers.

Running his sight over each member of the party, and cross referencing to the various passports he held Markus finally seemed satisfied. “Very well, welcome to Terra. Hope your vacation was enjoyable.”

Collecting his own passport, and those of the two princes, Makim cracked a grin. “Was wonderful up until Wiliam caught the flu. We were stuck in the hotel for a week tending to him. I’m certain mother will be worried sick.”

“Nova Terra is filled with the sick and the poor, and is only getting worse with all this dead weight emigrating out.” Markus replied, with such casual attitude towards foreigners to give away that distinct Pillowlandian attitude. Not quite disgust, but not entirely friendly either.

Simply nodding in agreement, Makim began herding the boys out of the immediate area and towards the vast shuttle facilities. A short tram ride down the nearly two and a half kilometer length of the hull, passing many overhead rails carrying massive cargo containers direct from space, each holding twenty smaller standardized cargo containers.

It took just twenty minutes, once they had walked up the ramp of the shuttle before it lifted out of the hanger with a full load of cargo both in its hold, and two other shuttles laden with cargo destined for the elevator. The space between Lagrangian and the elevator was little more than half an hour, and many of the other passengers on the largely empty shuttle, of people that is, were catching up on sleep. Journey through the belt was a largely taxing enterprise, with threat of both the Navigators Guild and the many asteroids ever present.

By the time that Makim had navigated his way to the passenger terminal and then onto a passenger section of an elevator cart with his charges in tow the elevator had transitioned from the late evening side of the planet well into the early night. So as it descended, the cables but a blur as they whirred by, the twinkling lights of not just the all encompassing region of Moscou, both the city proper and its vast urban footprint, light up the ground. In fact, there was little of the ground not illuminated by such lighting. The ludicrous density of the population not just in Pillowlandia proper, but also the whole of North Cenaesia.

The sole exception was the small, comparatively, areas of designated areas of national parks and reserves. Most striking however was the vast blanket of darkness which covered the imperial estate. It’s sheer size, nearly that of the Moscou area, was only lightly illuminated, with much of the land virgin and left to its own affairs. The darkness of it as much a sign of power and prestige as the luminous state of the industrial, financial, and business powerhouse of Moscou.

Ambassador Nickals O’Connor
Atlasia, New Velonia
Nova Terra




The brisk winter wind this far north was, as to most Terrans and Pillowlandians in general, nearly intolerable. Especially those whom had grown up with any quantity of wealth, and spent any degree of time in the sun and outdoors. So, dressed in several warm layers and trudging through the snow Ambassador O’Connor found himself approaching the office of President Josua Hawke.

Security at the gate was more a nuisance than anything, but he got through it well enough after the ordeal. Hanging his outer layers upon the formal coat room, he was escorted up to the Presidential office. As an aide pushed open the door, and announced him, he gave a nod in thanks.
“President Hawke, how wonderful to be able to find time in your schedule to personally see me.” Nickals began, reaching out for a firm handshake. “I’m simply afraid that it isn’t a matter of particular positivity.”

“Politics rarely are such, what precisely brings you here. I presume it is closely related to the most recent of our refugees?” Hawk said, moving to resume his seat behind his desk. “We’ve already offered a hand of assistance. To withdraw so suddenly would be a bad mark upon our reputation. Though, I must say that accidents happen… much like what happened to President Anthony. Poor soul may his treason be washed away by god.”

“I’m certain that Pillowlandia retains the capacity to bring them to justice upon our own terms, but your blessing for such an event is our paramount concern. And if the territories of Hawaii happen to be considered by his Majesty for transfer… well who knows what might happen.”
Stasnov wrote:Small-to-medium sized professional, relatively high-tech and well funded military. Emphasis on flexible units at Brigade-Battalion level.

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