A Simple Request (Open/MT)

[Trerents]

St. Helen's City; Island of St.Helen, 0700:


David Devander gulped down another shot of whiskey. The liquor here was putrid stuff, he could of swear his bar tender watered down his drink with the water in the fish tank. Still, he thought, fish water was better than the disgusting bile they called tap water here.

Glancing at his wrist watch David Devander decided it was time to leave. Leaving a few Frankish Notes on the counter he exited the seedy pub to the street. He was bombarded with the smell of smog, sweat and pig fat. St. Helen as an island was beautify, favored by many as a four star vacation spot but years of careless disregard for the environment and social welfare of this city by the governing European nation of Trerents had left it a polluted slum. Every street he walked past to his destination was chock full of sun burned beggars moaning for food, street urchins harking fake Rolex watches and lucky charms. It was horrible; the people here could hardly survive with the average hourly wage being just a few cents. David knew there could be hope for this island. But there would have to be changes. No longer would could corruption be accepted as a fact of life. No longer will could Europe decide who is allowed to prosper.

...

His target had arrived; a tall skinny male left his Roland Xr2 hummer while his flanks were covered by several burly local bodyguards. David himself was sitting at a bus stop several meters from them. David's teeth began chattering as the group walked past him, hardly noticing him. Picking up his suitcase David followed them while maintaining a good distance of room. He only had to follow them around the cornor of the street before they entered a large high end restaurant. One "Garden of Eden" a French style restaurant dedicated to serving rich tourist. Taking a deep breath and a quick prayer Mr. Devander was ready.

...

...TO ALL RESIDENTS OF THE ST.HELEN'S METROPOLIS UNDER IMMEDIATE ORDER FROM TRERENTIEN FROM GOVERN-788TY-900U ST. HELENS CITY IS NOW UNDER MARTIAL LAW... ALL CITIZENS ARE ADVISED TO STAY IN THEIR HOMES...FOLLOW THE ORDERS OF ALL TRERENTIEN SECRUITY FORCES...BE ALERT BE AWARE...THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST TO ALL RESIDENTS OF THE ST. HELEN'S CITY METROPOLIS...

...

Dear Jacob,

Hey little bro it's me...yeah I know I promised I send you a email every Sunday but I guess you can understand that this hasn't been the greatest week for the "Mixed Royals Colonial". I don't know if the news stations back home have picked up the situation yet but let me give you the rundown anyway. We've all been expecting it down here; honestly no one in my platoon really thought the god damn blacks ( PC term = island natives) wouldn't try something during the Minister of Colonial Affaires visit but they sure worked fast. A suicide bomber struck mid-town leveling a building and killing dozens, wounding a hell'a a lot more. Before the police arrived on the seen the city was already beyond thunder doom. Old Riza's had gotten their act together, they launched mortar attacks on our outposts. It hurt us a lot but y'know things could have gotten a hell of a lot worse. The sixth are moving for a showdown against these ass holes. Were ready to show them the wrath of Trerents >=]. Don't worry about me I'll be fine... I have to go know so tell mom/dad I love you for me.

Bye,
Fredrick De Watts

...

The battle for St. Helen had begun. Almost immidetily after the bombing the area around ground zero was swarmed with police officers attempting to keep order. Within the span of several hours regular police had been replaced with riot services, employed to drive common civilians off the streets. Riots soon followed as Riza, a militant pro succession group, took to the streets arming the enraged St. Helenas with guns. As the two warring factions battled hundreds of innocent citizens were caught in the cross fire.

Elsewhere on the island mortars and rocket attacks had decimated small isolated Trerentien military outposts operating in the middle of the island's jungle. Equipping themselves with military grade hardware Riza had become a serious threat to not only St. Helen but every island nation is the Caribbean. The time for negiotions had fallen through, neither side would let the island fall to the other. As each side regrouped they waited for the time to strike.

[Mirnect]

D.B. Sullivan sipped the glass of whiskey, looking at the stern face of the man before him. The old, antique grandfather clock in the top right corner of his office ticked endlessly as he stared at the brief, one page summary of the legions of notes on the Saint Helen’s crisis. It only went up to Appendix J, which was a relief. The page began with standard MOD protocol; the Coat of Arms at the top followed by the usual procedures akin to a formal letter, without the signature bit.

An unprecedented crisis in Saint Helen’s Island, a possession of the state Trerents, has certified itself as an immense threat to the further security and prosperity of the Island…While the Island itself has been in turmoil for years, with poverty widespread and infrastructural failings, only recently has a rebellion been incited against the ruling Trerent government…

Sullivan looked up at the Minister of Defence, sitting down on one of the two armchairs before the PM’s aged partners’ desk, “Disastrous indeed.”

Sullivan looked about the room. At the end of the room was an old fireplace, the wall above it marked by a huge landscape painting of the Midwinter Uprising. The Uprising was something Sullivan admired. A battered race, oppressed by their conquerors, had finally come to rising up against the ruling evil, battling their way through the barricades armed only with strength and courage to surround the palace of oppression and sink it. Too bad it resulted in Sam Gorilla’s government. The walls were all painted beige, as was the carpet. Two oaken doors on the back wall led the way out, spaced far apart. At the centre of the room, sitting on a rug, was a wooden coffee table surrounded by two elderly sofas.

After the short silence, the Minister produced something, “Yes, Prime Minister. This is threatening towards –“

“Tea?” asked the PM, refilling his white mug with a stainless steel teapot just brought in by an aide, his whiskey not even half-drunk.

The Minister looked on blankly before answering a moment later, “Why yes, of course. Please.”

After they’d refilled their cups and added the appropriate amounts of milk, the Minister continued, “Mister Prime Minister…this situation is of upmost importance.”

The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow, sipping his tea, “Why?”

“A rebellion in a possession of a country similar to us,” said the Minister.

Sullivan nodded, “Ah.”

“If we are to assure that continued –“

“I’m not a fool, gents,” smirked Sullivan. “I know what you mean.”

“Right, so you agree?”

Sullivan looked shocked, “Whoever said that? We can hardly commence an invasion based on abstract principles! Invasions cost a lot of money, you know.” He didn’t add though I suppose you nutters at the Ministry of Defence wouldn’t understand that.

The Minister bit his lip, “I never said an invasion, I would –“

“An invasion’s the only thing that’d do any good for this prevention case.”

“Sir, we could show the colonials we’re not afraid of a fight by a token gesture.”

Sullivan laughed, “You think we can’t do that by sending aircraft carriers on a world tour or two?”

“That’s not a proper display of strength,” the Minister raised his voice. “That’ll achieve nothing. We have to show them we’re ready to fight the good fight.”

“Good fight? Good fights are dead. There’s no such thing as a good fight in this age of fallout. Overkill. Death.”

“Sir, this is the geopolitical situation. If the rebels in our possessions think us weak, they will incite revolution. That’s why we must demonstrate our prowess.”

Sullivan raised an eyebrow, sipping his tea, “This isn’t the Middle Ages.”

The Minister smirked, “Change is a concept false.”

“Hardly. Everything changes; since nothing can last, everything changes.”

“Things fall, yes. Empires collapse, cities burn, warriors bleed, we return to the ground, “ the Minister began. “However, this concept…this creation of humanity, humankind never changes at its cores. Little separates us from ancient barbarians.”

“We are civilised. Not savages.”

“Ah, but what is a judgement of civilised…and uncivilised? Who are you to judge such things?”

Sullivan smugly grinned, “You're superior.”

“You are not my superior, you are –“

Sullivan glared at him, “Right, let’s can the philosophy. What will you do about Saint Helen’s?”

“Monitor the situation with Navy vessels.”

“How many?”

“Off the top of my head, a flotilla.”

“Introduce it to Parliament.”

The Minister popped a vein. It would take months to proceed through Parliament, likely, “Surely, can’t we –“

“No further.”

They exchanged goodbyes, a bittersweet taste left in the Minister’s mouth.

[Trerents]

Day One: Base Bravo-Two-Joker St. Helen, 0400:

The Trerentien military officers of Base Bravo-Two-Joker had been assembled for an emergency report inside the main command center. Their was an unquestionable amount of tension in the air as reports of a terrorist act in downtown St. Helen's City had spark a rebellion. However no one had been fully convinced that the rumors were any but. However if the worst had been confirmed each and every solider on the base was willing to give their lives for their country.

The few whisper among the officers was quickly silenced by the arrival of Captain Remold, a stout but well built man with a commandeering face. "Gentlemen... many of you have heard the rumors I am sure, of a terrorist assault on St. Helen. I am here to tell you on the un certain terms that those rumors are correct. Yesterday at oh-six hundred a bomb detonated in downtown St. Helen's City. The explosion at conservative measurements have killed two dozens... their still counting their wounded. Every rebel faction on the island has used this act as a banner to unite. We've already lost contract with several of our outpost out west."

The last sentence had generated a shocked response from the officers. Until now Riza had restrained itself to small ambushes on military convoys traveling through their territory. Never since the eighteenth century when Trerentien colonist first settled in the land had a military base ever been attacked.

The captain continued; "Homeland has made our objective clear the rebels think they have scored a great moral boost we will show them what they have won..." The captain couldn't help but add a dramatic pause. "...A lesson on the ass kicking you will get when you fuck with Trerents!"

For a few seconds a awkward moment filled the command center. Obviously the Captain over assumed his speech giving ability. "Well... officers gather up your men. Were mounting up and liberating outpost Gerald. Go on move!"

...

A convoy of ATF Dingo's rolled through muddy dirt path that lead to outpost Gerald. The heavily armored infantry mobility vehicle or IMV had no trouble driving over terrain that would have made a civilian model off road vehicle weep. Their fifty caliber machine guns swept around their surroundings scanning the dense green overgrowth for hostiles. "Stay frosty guys... We're in Injun country."

"Shut it radio silence."

"Ehh I-I think I got movement one the left." The turrets swung to the left, the gunners kept their fingers on the triggers of the machine guns.

"Easy now. I think we got some phantom aggressor. I-" The radio man was cut short by the drone of automatic gunfire."Shit! To the right! To the right! Open fire!"

"Light em up!"

"Firing!"

The thunderous roar of fifty caliber machine gun fire blocked out any other confirmations. The incendiary bullets shredded the thick jungle foliage like moist tissue paper. Trees were pulverized into tooth pick in mere seconds. "Left! left! shift left!" Screamed a hardly audible voice over the comm. Once again the gunners shifted their steaming guns to the other direction.

"Cease fire! Damn it Cease firing!'

"Ceasing fire!"

"Going cold!"

"Ehh... any see the boogies?"

"..."

"Shut it radio silence... lets move."

[Trerents]

Day One: St. Helen's City, Island of St. Helen 0500:

Within a few hours of the disaster Trerentien colonial forces had acted with the utmost speed. Security checkpoints had been constructed though out the city, while at the same time quickly assembled road blocks were put up blocking off access to the Governor's Palace. By this time local police had been fully phased out in favor of trained Home Guard military troops, tasked with restoring what order they could salvage in the city. Yet even with the gloves off they couldn't steam the blood shed.

The newly built DMZ had put a dent in the amount of gang violence around the Northern "hoods" of the city but down south things were ugly, very ugly. The Saint Helen United Freedom Front or more commonly known by their native nickname the "Riza" native slang for 'the People' had united the warring independence group towards a common enemy. Old racial tension passed from generation to generation had been brought to new light in the swirling chaos. It was clear neither side fought solely for politics any more.

Rumor spread though the ranks that the Riza were inching their way north from the jungles for the great showdown everyone had been waiting for. As the local media had said: "This city is looking more and more like Saigon '75 every day."

[Tldr]

St. Helen's City; Island of St.Helen, 0700:


David Devander gulped down another shot of whiskey. The liquor here was putrid stuff, he could of swear his bar tender watered down his drink with the water in the fish tank. Still, he thought, fish water was better than the disgusting bile they called tap water here.

Glancing at his wrist watch David Devander decided it was time to leave. Leaving a few Frankish Notes on the counter he exited the seedy pub to the street. He was bombarded with the smell of smog, sweat and pig fat. St. Helen as an island was beautify, favored by many as a four star vacation spot but years of careless disregard for the environment and social welfare of this city by the governing European nation of Trerents had left it a polluted slum. Every street he walked past to his destination was chock full of sun burned beggars moaning for food, street urchins harking fake Rolex watches and lucky charms. It was horrible; the people here could hardly survive with the average hourly wage being just a few cents. David knew there could be hope for this island. But there would have to be changes. No longer would could corruption be accepted as a fact of life. No longer will could Europe decide who is allowed to prosper.

...

His target had arrived; a tall skinny male left his Roland Xr2 hummer while his flanks were covered by several burly local bodyguards. David himself was sitting at a bus stop several meters from them. David's teeth began chattering as the group walked past him, hardly noticing him. Picking up his suitcase David followed them while maintaining a good distance of room. He only had to follow them around the cornor of the street before they entered a large high end restaurant. One "Garden of Eden" a French style restaurant dedicated to serving rich tourist. Taking a deep breath and a quick prayer Mr. Devander was ready.

...

...TO ALL RESIDENTS OF THE ST.HELEN'S METROPOLIS UNDER IMMEDIATE ORDER FROM TRERENTIEN FROM GOVERN-788TY-900U ST. HELENS CITY IS NOW UNDER MARTIAL LAW... ALL CITIZENS ARE ADVISED TO STAY IN THEIR HOMES...FOLLOW THE ORDERS OF ALL TRERENTIEN SECRUITY FORCES...BE ALERT BE AWARE...THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST TO ALL RESIDENTS OF THE ST. HELEN'S CITY METROPOLIS...

...

Dear Jacob,

Hey little bro it's me...yeah I know I promised I send you a email every Sunday but I guess you can understand that this hasn't been the greatest week for the "Mixed Royals Colonial". I don't know if the news stations back home have picked up the situation yet but let me give you the rundown anyway. We've all been expecting it down here; honestly no one in my platoon really thought the god damn blacks ( PC term = island natives) wouldn't try something during the Minister of Colonial Affaires visit but they sure worked fast. A suicide bomber struck mid-town leveling a building and killing dozens, wounding a hell'a a lot more. Before the police arrived on the seen the city was already beyond thunder doom. Old Riza's had gotten their act together, they launched mortar attacks on our outposts. It hurt us a lot but y'know things could have gotten a hell of a lot worse. The sixth are moving for a showdown against these ass holes. Were ready to show them the wrath of Trerents >=]. Don't worry about me I'll be fine... I have to go know so tell mom/dad I love you for me.

Bye,
Fredrick De Watts

...

The battle for St. Helen had begun. Almost immidetily after the bombing the area around ground zero was swarmed with police officers attempting to keep order. Within the span of several hours regular police had been replaced with riot services, employed to drive common civilians off the streets. Riots soon followed as Riza, a militant pro succession group, took to the streets arming the enraged St. Helenas with guns. As the two warring factions battled hundreds of innocent citizens were caught in the cross fire.

Elsewhere on the island mortars and rocket attacks had decimated small isolated Trerentien military outposts operating in the middle of the island's jungle. Equipping themselves with military grade hardware Riza had become a serious threat to not only St. Helen but every island nation is the Caribbean. The time for negiotions had fallen through, neither side would let the island fall to the other. As each side regrouped they waited for the time to strike.

too long..

[Tldr]

St. Helen's City; Island of St.Helen, 0700:


David Devander gulped down another shot of whiskey. The liquor here was putrid stuff, he could of swear his bar tender watered down his drink with the water in the fish tank. Still, he thought, fish water was better than the disgusting bile they called tap water here.

Glancing at his wrist watch David Devander decided it was time to leave. Leaving a few Frankish Notes on the counter he exited the seedy pub to the street. He was bombarded with the smell of smog, sweat and pig fat. St. Helen as an island was beautify, favored by many as a four star vacation spot but years of careless disregard for the environment and social welfare of this city by the governing European nation of Trerents had left it a polluted slum. Every street he walked past to his destination was chock full of sun burned beggars moaning for food, street urchins harking fake Rolex watches and lucky charms. It was horrible; the people here could hardly survive with the average hourly wage being just a few cents. David knew there could be hope for this island. But there would have to be changes. No longer would could corruption be accepted as a fact of life. No longer will could Europe decide who is allowed to prosper.

...

His target had arrived; a tall skinny male left his Roland Xr2 hummer while his flanks were covered by several burly local bodyguards. David himself was sitting at a bus stop several meters from them. David's teeth began chattering as the group walked past him, hardly noticing him. Picking up his suitcase David followed them while maintaining a good distance of room. He only had to follow them around the cornor of the street before they entered a large high end restaurant. One "Garden of Eden" a French style restaurant dedicated to serving rich tourist. Taking a deep breath and a quick prayer Mr. Devander was ready.

...

...TO ALL RESIDENTS OF THE ST.HELEN'S METROPOLIS UNDER IMMEDIATE ORDER FROM TRERENTIEN FROM GOVERN-788TY-900U ST. HELENS CITY IS NOW UNDER MARTIAL LAW... ALL CITIZENS ARE ADVISED TO STAY IN THEIR HOMES...FOLLOW THE ORDERS OF ALL TRERENTIEN SECRUITY FORCES...BE ALERT BE AWARE...THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST TO ALL RESIDENTS OF THE ST. HELEN'S CITY METROPOLIS...

...

Dear Jacob,

Hey little bro it's me...yeah I know I promised I send you a email every Sunday but I guess you can understand that this hasn't been the greatest week for the "Mixed Royals Colonial". I don't know if the news stations back home have picked up the situation yet but let me give you the rundown anyway. We've all been expecting it down here; honestly no one in my platoon really thought the god damn blacks ( PC term = island natives) wouldn't try something during the Minister of Colonial Affaires visit but they sure worked fast. A suicide bomber struck mid-town leveling a building and killing dozens, wounding a hell'a a lot more. Before the police arrived on the seen the city was already beyond thunder doom. Old Riza's had gotten their act together, they launched mortar attacks on our outposts. It hurt us a lot but y'know things could have gotten a hell of a lot worse. The sixth are moving for a showdown against these ass holes. Were ready to show them the wrath of Trerents >=]. Don't worry about me I'll be fine... I have to go know so tell mom/dad I love you for me.

Bye,
Fredrick De Watts

...

The battle for St. Helen had begun. Almost immidetily after the bombing the area around ground zero was swarmed with police officers attempting to keep order. Within the span of several hours regular police had been replaced with riot services, employed to drive common civilians off the streets. Riots soon followed as Riza, a militant pro succession group, took to the streets arming the enraged St. Helenas with guns. As the two warring factions battled hundreds of innocent citizens were caught in the cross fire.

Elsewhere on the island mortars and rocket attacks had decimated small isolated Trerentien military outposts operating in the middle of the island's jungle. Equipping themselves with military grade hardware Riza had become a serious threat to not only St. Helen but every island nation is the Caribbean. The time for negiotions had fallen through, neither side would let the island fall to the other. As each side regrouped they waited for the time to strike.

too long..