NationStates

Vienna International Airport,
Vienna, Crontor
05:00 Hours

The sleek, black and red leer jet gracefully touched down on the airstrip, its wheels squeaking a bit as it slowed sharply and stopped not far from the Eaglelander plane. The stairway deployed outwards and the first off the plane were a trio of finely dressed men in business suits, Imperial Guardsmen, followed quickly by the Secretary of War, Joseph Winters and Head Knight Jeremiah Bismarck, supreme commander of the Imperial Army. Joining them and somehow managing to blend in with the guards more than the envoy, was Deputy Director Daniel Smith of the Imperial Security Agency. Another trio of suit-clad Guardsmen joined them, escorting the group quickly to their limousine. The Crontorian MPs were politely acknowledged but the Guardsmen remained with the envoy. They had no reason to distrust Crontor, but at the same time the Phonencian government had only recently begun working with their Crontorian allies and so had no reason to trust them explicitly.

Head Knight Bismarck roared out a yawn, his tall and broad-shouldered frame rocking slightly. Secretary Winters sipped at some lukewarm coffee he'd brought along in a hip flash and quickly passed it to Bismarck.
Smith seemed well rested and alert however, his eyes hidden behind a pair of shatterproof Oakley sunglasses as he looked out the window at the city of Vienna passing by. He was the polar opposite of the two men seated across from him. Both had dark brown hair, tinted gray with years of stress and worry, with well tanned skin from years in the desert sun. They were both tall and of relatively large build.
Smith however was short for Phonencian standards, about 5'9, with pale white skin and jet black hair. He was in good shape physically, but of a slighter build. Despite his unimposing figure, he was a dangerous man, as would be expected of an ISA Deputy Director. He was an experienced Field Operative and fighter, adept at various relevant skills such as computer hacking or the use of explosives. Despite having spent the better part of a year behind a desk, he still looked like any of the agency's other operatives and were it not for his constant close proximity, his two companions might easily loose him amidst the Imperial Guardsmen or foreign security officers. He had a knack for blending in with crowds of people and looking like he belonged. Such talents had aided him well in his years in the field. Today he'd be doing basically the same thing. Acting like he belonged in a meeting with all the big wigs rather than in the field. He was uncomfortable and nervous about such an important assignment though he didn't express it. He wondered if this was why the Director had assigned him? His masterful poker face and skill at negotiations would surely be helpful in the coming discussion, as would his knowledge of the Empire's intelligence assets.

While Smith continued puzzling over the subject and his two companions freshened their breath with mint chewing gum, the convoy pulled to a stop outside the Federal Building, not far behind the Eaglelanders'. Smith climbed out with the six Guardsmen, followed quickly by the Head Knight and Secretary of War. The Guardsmen then broken into groups of two and each pair clung to the sides of their assigned dignitary. The pack of black business suits glided up to the gate, stopping abreast of their foreign comrades and waiting to be addressed.

Approaching Vienna, Crontor
0300 local time

The Honourable Valerie Chen-Raman, Foreign Minister for the People's Commonwealth of Arthurista, could not sleep on the flight. Nor could her companion, Gabriel Quezon, Minister for Defence and a former brigadier in the Arthuristan People’s Marines. The supersonic private jet has been in the air for hours, yet sleep eluded her. After all, this is potentially the greatest crisis Arthurista has ever found itself in.

Crisis seems to be the right word for it, for Arthurista seems to be headed for a classic two-front scenarios, fighting two simultaneous high-intensity wars in two completely seperate theatres.

On the one hand, Arthurista’s traditional ally Itailia is under mortal threat of invasion from the totalitarian theocracy Rodarion. 10 million enemy troops mass on the border, ready to move. Fewer, far fewer, man the defences which protect the empire from the fanatical horde. Every effort is being made to rush reinforcements into the area, with the aim that a full Arthuristan army group can arrive in time to make a difference, in conjunction with a coalition of like-minded nations.

In Sondria, millions of miles away, the brewing war with Titiancia also demanded Arthurista’s attention. Like Rodarion, the Ditorate was another totalitarian menace to the free nations of the world, even after its catastrophic performance during the Afalian War. Arthurista is honour-bound to assist in the latest campaign to finally end the threat it poses once and for all.

This, of course, leaves a very dangerous situation at home. If two whole army groups are deployed overseas, two Arthuristan military districts will essentially be stripped bare of their standing garrisons. The mobilisation of an equivalent number of Territorial divisions can partially compensate, but these were essentially reservist formations. In peacetime they only exist on paper and they are armed with nothing newer than 10 years old. Does this leave the People’s Commonwealth dangerous exposed? What if Ulthrannia, Tarsas or, the gods forbid, Tehraan thinks it’s suddenly a good idea to harbour aggressive intentions?

For the Foreign Secretary, the first war is a necessity. The second, however, is relatively speaking a luxury, which Arthurista could really ill afford at the moment. If Arthuristan participation is on the agenda, she is prepared to negotiate some very serious assurances. A few allied carrier battle groups prowling around home waters isn’t entirely unreasonable, for instance, is it?

Aliyah International Airport
Old Town, Valeria (near Oured, D.A.)
United Republic of Emmeria
Feb 6, 2014

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Aggravated passengers groaned in their gates as the list of canceled flights steadily grew, with winter storms and other poor conditions striking numerous parts of the country. Their distress was engulfed by the torrential rain outside, the sky unrelentingly pouring an ocean onto the wide asphalt runways, punctuated by thunderous booms that reverberated through every surface. The glimmering airport had been reduced to one of the many slate-gray buildings barely visible under the dark, low clouds.

In one corner of the airport, sectioned off for special VIPs and important international dignitaries (the airport, being the largest and busiest airport in the Oured, D.A. area, was often the key destination for foreign diplomats and representatives visiting the Emmerian capital city), sat a group of regular-looking people. If not explicitly apprised that these people were senior members of the United Republic Department of State, they would have been passed off as mere hoi polloi with just enough materialistic value attached to their name to be allowed in that particular terminal—one generally reserved for private flights. They each wore normal, off-duty clothes: hardshell jackets or windbreakers, t-shirts or polos, blue jeans or khaki slacks.

Tyrus Gwinnett (his name generally shortened to Ty), a man of fifty-eight with balding hair, revealing the upper portions of his pale forehead, held a gray backpack and a wheeled suitcase. As the Deputy Secretary of State, Gwinnett was assigned the team leader for the United Republic delegation to a conference in Vienna, an illustrious metropolis within the borders of Crontor, a friendly nation to a traditional U.R. ally, Eagleland. It was a meeting of enough importance to warrant sending the new Secretary of State, Alia Kouri, but the conference was to be conducted with enough secrecy that sending the Secretary would, as Gwinnett noted during a meeting with Secretary Kouri, "make too much noise"; it surely would be loud enough to stir suspicion and conversation regarding the objective of the visit for the new Secretary (recently sworn in shortly after the new President Vaziri's inauguration in late January). The Deputy Secretary office was ideal, because much of the nation's populace hardly knew there even was a Deputy Secretary. Despite currently being the second most important official in the State Department, Gwinnett rarely received much publicity—reporters, rather than explaining his position as one of the top Emmerian diplomats, merely called him a "senior State Department official", leading him to question whether or not even they understood his responsibilities. His predecessor, Richard Burns, only received close coverage in the media when then-Secretary Lana Basara was ill and he assumed her position provisionally, buying him just enough time in the spotlight to make degrading satirical comments directed at the Anti-Communism Alliance (mainly responding to comments by ACA officials, but also partially to entertain himself) that helped fuel the inferno of the rhetorical cold war that occurred between the ACA and several nations. And so Ty was to be sent, with his superior engaged in what were deemed more immediate and imperative issues: the rapidly intensifying tensions between U.R. ally Itaila and theocratic Rodarion; a powder keg looming over Pardes's Middle East, with controversial weapons of mass destruction in Baharaq prompting international backlash and the possibility of war; and the sharp increase in piracy in eastern Pardes from anarchic and conflict-ridden Seukutan stirring a multinational, OPA-led counterpiracy campaign.

Ty exchanged a few concerned looks with his colleagues, a team assembled to represent the United Republic at this Vienna conference, realizing that their flight had already been delayed half an hour. He pondered his objectives for this conference. A historic U.R. opponent, Titianicia, was possibly to be invaded by the Eagleland as the Sondrian time bomb ticked ever more quickly. Ty was one of the many political analysts who skeptically passed off the Eaglelander ultimatum issued to Titianicia as plain, thinly veiled rhetoric. Basic policy analysts understood that ultimatums typically consisted of simply an order to unconditionally surrender within the next day. The Eaglelander ultimatum, as with the previous Unilisian ultimatum (which proved to be, more or less, a bluff that was never called), ordered the complete dismantling of the entire, decades-old Titianician political structure and its replacement with one completely alien to the Titianician people. Common sense regarding the obvious impracticality of such a drastic transition of such a massive institution, one deeply ingrained within the Titianician culture and society, to occur in just 24 hours suggested that neither ultimatum was issued with the presumption that Titianicia may indeed surrender; rather, in both cases, as Ty observed, the ultimatums were intended as a pseudo-declaration of war, with a poor attempt at grasping the moral high ground by providing the opponent the option to surrender (albeit with completely unreasonable terms). It was this issue Ty intended to raise to Eaglelander officials, who seemed oddly unaware of the uselessness of their declaration, which, rather than providing Eaglelander leaders a versatile set of options they and their allies needed, enslaved their decision-making process to the inevitability of the looming war—and thus chained the hearts, minds, and Drachma (trillions, in fact) of the Eaglelander people to a conflict that hardly concerned them.

Ty jumped as a voice spoke quietly from behind him: "Vienna delegation? Please come with me." Turning around, Ty saw the burly security guard wearing a blue dress shirt with a badge, ID card, and black tie standing in front of him expressionlessly. As Ty and his team stood up and gathered their belongings, the guard turned and signaled them to follow him. He led them down a set of stairs to a seemingly out-of-place automatic glass door that led to the drenched tarmac outside. A bus stood meters from the exit, its own doors open and its dilettante driver impatiently tapping away on the steering wheel.

"We have to go out there?" one of the members of the team asked, watching what seemed to be the coalescence of the world's oceans streaming down in the midst of clatter.

The guard nodded subtly. "A lot of private flights were delayed today. No gates attached to this building are currently available."

And so they stepped into the freezing rain, walking through seas of puddles to reach the bus, which stood waiting just meters away. Each water droplet, each water molecule, seemed to impact their skin with an icy burn that weighed them down and caused the short stroll seem miles long. Upon finally entering the bus, they put down their baggage and either sat down on the uncomfortable, inward-facing seats, whose age showed in rips and tears and fading colors, or opted to stand up and grasp one of the many handles hanging from the ceiling. The bus accelerated to the aircraft, an off-white Boeing 787 with a navy blue and blood red trim, with the words "UNION AIR" across its side in elegant sans-serifs—a government-chartered flight operated by a commercial Emmerian airline.

Once the dignitaries took their seats aboard the plane, it was given priority for takeoff by the airport's air traffic control officials due to the priority of their mission. The dull plane eventually lifted off the runway into the brilliant flashes of the gray-black clouds, disappearing amidst them as it left the city on its long journey.

[OOC: I think I'll just skip the final approach and arrival. Let's kick this thing off. ]