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Zharkov's Grand Design [Earth II]

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

Zharkov's Grand Design [Earth II]

Postby Marimaia » Wed Sep 13, 2017 1:27 pm

September 13th, 2017, 11:50hrs [UTC +2]
Budynok Uryadu 'Government Building'
Kiev, Ukraine SSR, USSR

For the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, the past nine months had been particularly reminiscent of the 'good old days'. Ever since Khristofor Alexandrovich Zharkov rose from the position of KGB Chairman to the lofty heights of both Premier and General Secretary of the CPSU, the Soviet people had rediscovered their sense of national pride as the youngest leader in their history had thrown out the former Premier's policy of 'non-interference' and heartily embraced a policy of 'advantageous interference'. This policy had seen the Soviet invasion of the short-lived Republic of Marmara which straddled the Turkish Straits, resulting in the fulfilment of the long-held Russian and Soviet ambition to control the sole avenue of access between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean. Months of stage-managed negotiations between the Soviet government and the puppet regime installed in Constantinople had finally resulted in the creation of the Marmara SSR on August 4th 2017, meaning that Constantinople was now the capital of the Soviet Union's seventh member republic alongside the Ukraine SSR, Russian SFSR, Moldovan SSR, Georgian SSR, Armenian SSR, and Azerbaijan SSR. Premier Zharkov had also presided over the first of five planned expansion phases of the Soviet Armed Forces with 300,000 new personnel recruited and nearing the end of their training, putting the Soviet military at a current total of 3,300,000 personnel, as well as cutting the vastly expensive modernization program for the Akula-class SSBN in favour of constructing greater numbers of the newer and more cost-effective Borey-class SSBN to replace the aging Akula-class. It had become abundantly clear to the other nations of the world that when Premier Zharkov had talked about the "awakening of the Red Bear", he had not been making some idle threat. Of course this Soviet resurgence had not gone unanswered. The member states of the October Alliance had increased their military presence in strategic locations and stepped up monitoring of Soviet activities, but rather than respond with threats of military action Zharkov preferred to act as though nothing had changed. His hope was that the October Alliance would continue to build up and act in an attempt to gain a response, thus allowing him to portray the USSR as an innocent nation which was being 'bullied' simply because they had a different ideology.

As it was a Wednesday, the members of the Politburo had arrived at the rather Stalinist-style Budynok Uryadu building for their weekly meeting. While the majority of Politburo members had to navigate Kiev's late morning traffic in order to reach the administrative building, Premier Zharkov had no such issues as the Premierial residence, Mariyinsky Palace, was located a mere 940ft from Budynok Uryadu, just across Mykhailo Hrushevskyi Street. Due to the paranoid nature of certain previous Soviet leaders, Zharkov had the option of either being driven the short distance to Budynok Uryadu or using the underground tunnel network which connected Mariyinsky Palace to Budynok Uryadu and the Palace of the Supreme Soviet; on this particular September day it was proving to be rather warm so the Soviet Premier decided to take a stroll through the well-appointed and air-conditioned tunnels, passing various brightly painted murals before emerging in the KGB's monitoring room inside Budynok Uryadu. It was a testament to the professionalism of the KGB personnel on duty that none of them so much as batted an eyelid at the Premier's appearance as a bookcase swung open to reveal him and his ever-present aide, Stepan Krylenko. As they made their way to the Politburo's meeting chambers the pair encountered several members of the building's clerical staff, all of whom nodded respectfully and subsequently received a polite greeting from Zharkov. Upon reaching the Politburo's conference room Krylenko pushed the double doors open and then stood aside as Zharkov entered to be greeted by the rest of the Politburo; Zharkov took his seat at the head of the expansive oak table while Krylenko closed the doors, although the meeting itself did not get underway until Krylenko had prepared Zharkov's trademark glass of tea and placed it in front of the Soviet leader.

After the Politburo membership had presented reports on their individual areas of responsibility and various administrative issues had been discussed, the time came for 'any new business'. At this point Zharkov cleared his throat to address the rest of the Soviet leadership.

"Comrades, it has been almost nine months since I assumed the position of Premier and I think you will all agree that the Soviet Union has achieved a great deal during that time. I think it is safe to say that I have passed any probationary period that any of you had in mind, so I would like to move forward with my vision for the Union and the Soviet people. I suppose you could call it my 'grand design'."

There were various murmurs of assent from the gathered Politburo membership before Marshal Andrey Dvornikov, the Defense Minister, spoke up. "Comrade Premier, you have indeed proven yourself to be far more capable than many of your predecessors. You have been an unsurpassable success as Premier and I speak for all of us when I say that we are most intrigued to hear your vision."

Zharkov smirked slightly. "Easy for you to say, Comrade Marshal, as you already know what this is about."

He paused to sip at his tea while Dvornikov grinned at the rest of the Politburo, loving the fact that he was the only one who knew what was coming. Zharkov then set his tea down and clasped his hands on the table before him.

"Comrades, the USSR has always prided herself on being a forward-thinking and visionary nation, we are the epitome of revolutionary success. However...there are areas where we have allowed ourselves to fall behind the rest of the world, and this must be rectified. My grand design sees the Soviet Union truly becoming a beacon for the other socialists, communists, and other leftists throughout the world, and we shall start with one issue in particular. Homosexuality.

"I do not believe that any of you require a history lesson, but the old Tsarist regime criminalised same-sex activity on grounds of what they called 'morality', undoubtedly guided by the Orthodox Church in the process. When the Tsarists were overthrown and the Bolsheviks took control, same-sex activity was decriminalised. In fact, Georgy Chicherin, the People's Commissar for Foreign Affairs at the time, was openly gay. His hard work kept the rest of the world from assaulting us at a time when we needed to stabilise, but then in 1933 Stalin recriminalised homosexuality. This was after Soviet science had turned on its head, mostly due to Comrade Stalin's influence, switching from the idea of homosexuality as a natural part of human sexuality to the idea that homosexuality is a mental or physical illness. The recriminalisation proved most useful for Comrade Stalin as it gave him and the NKVD yet another charge to direct towards potential enemies, and no subsequent Soviet leader has bothered to change anything. I believe that it is well past time for us to do away with such an archaic piece of legislation."

Zharkov paused and quickly evaluated the facial expressions of the Politburo members before continuing.

"There has not been an evaluation of homosexuality by our scientific community for quite some time. So we shall say that one has been conducted and that it's been ongoing since January. The finding shall be that same-sex attraction is indeed a natural part of human sexuality, and therefore we shall decriminalise same-sex relations between men and set their age of consent at 16, the same as heterosexual relations. Thanks to the rather unique findings of previous evaluations we do not need to decriminalise same-sex relations between women because lesbianism was deemed not to exist, even though it quite obviously does, so we shall formally equalise that as well as there is currently no legislation concerning lesbianism at all. We will then follow up on that by legalising same-sex marriage but only in civic ceremonies; I do not intend to force this upon the Orthodox Church, not yet anyway.

"In my opinion this is an acutely needed reform. We no longer require 'homosexuality' as a reason for arresting dissidents or other enemies of the state because we can easily apply a myriad of other charges. There is little need for us to police the bedroom activities of the Soviet people as long as they are not harming anyone; obviously pedophilia will continue to be ruthlessly purged from our society. The current legislation seems to confuse homosexuality with pedophilia, and that means that there is a distinction which we must legally identify. By implementing this reform we shall be returning to how things were under Lenin and expanding upon that, but obviously if you believe that Lenin was wrong then you can state your opposition to this idea."

There was silence as Zharkov sipped at his tea once again.

"This reform will also offer assistance to our overseas supporters. At present it is far too easy for left-leaning intellectuals and our political brethren to be ridiculed for supporting the USSR because the criminalisation of homosexuality flies in the face of the ideology of equality. By decriminalising same-sex relations, we are demonstrating that the Soviet people have abandoned discrimination on grounds of ethnicity and sexuality, thus proving that the USSR is indeed a nation to be emulated. We would of course be revising and strengthening legislation against hate crimes, rape, and the like to take account of this change as well. So as you can all see, it would not only benefit individual Soviet citizens who would be free to love and marry who they wish, it will also benefit the Soviet Union as a whole by removing a valid criticism from the arsenal of our enemies and providing a new weapon for the arsenal of our proponents.

"Now, I am aware that the Islamic Front of Ichkeria may try to use this as another reason to attack us for our 'Godlessness', so I want the KGB and the MVD to step up their monitoring of potential terror suspects. Religious doctrine is far more harmful to Soviet society than consensual sex ever could be, when was the last time a gay man bombed a block of flats in the USSR? Precisely, never. Besides, without sounding too crass, from my time as KGB Chairman I know that at least one of you at this table might well appreciate this change in the law."

A wry smile flickered across Zharkov's features after that comment, and he pulled his spectacles to perch on the end of his nose before continuing, gazing at the rest of the Politburo like a teacher inspecting his students.

"Let's put it to the vote. Can I assume that the decriminalisation of same-sex activity and the subsequent legalisation of same-sex marriage is approved?"

As the Politburo tended to operate on the principle of 'unanimous consent', the idea was that members were asked if a proposal was approved, and if no-one spoke up then the proposal passed. The continued silence from the Politburo members over the next few seconds evidently impressed Zharkov, who nodded his head approvingly.

"Then by unanimous decision, we shall proceed with the proposal. Incidentally, I do not intend to rush this all into law immediately. We shall publish the findings of the evaluation, the state media will discuss it and remind everyone of the fact that Lenin decriminalised same-sex relations, then we can announce the decriminalisation on November 12th, which would be the 145th anniversary of Chicherin's birth...so state media will also make sure to remind the Soviet people of his contributions ahead of that occasion. We will also rename the town of Kirsanov in Tambov Oblast to 'Chicherinov' as that is as close to his birthplace as possible."
Last edited by Marimaia on Tue Oct 03, 2017 5:44 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Postby Marimaia » Thu Sep 14, 2017 2:02 pm

September 13th, 2017, 13:30hrs [UTC +1]
Presidential Palace
Bata, Kulandu

In terms of international diplomacy and planning, the small African nation of Kulandu could best be described as an afterthought. With a population of roughly 883,000 people, of whom just over 85% were of the Fang tribe, Kulandu was completely surrounded by the New African Republic on land while the Empire of Layarteb held the islands situated just off the nation's coast. The Kulandun economy had once been dominated by petroleum but a variety of factors had led to a decline in revenues, including increasing difficulty of extraction and substantial corruption; the national oil company 'KuPetrol', the national gas company 'KuGas', and the national liquified natural gas company 'LNG Ku' were all administered by members of President Michael Nmbega's extended family. President Nmbega was now approaching his thirty-fifth year in power, having overthrown his predecessor in a coup d'etat and subsequently installing his family and various sycophants in positions of power throughout the nation. Unfortunately this meant that President Nmbega had received very little advice in diversifying the Kulandun economy and he had focused as many resources as possible into oil and gas; as a result Kulandu had undeveloped reserves of titanium, iron ore, manganese, uranium, alluvial gold, tin, tungsten, and coltan, with previous indications looking promising for the presence of diamond deposits in the southeast of the nation. If the Nmbega regime had been less controlling and less corrupt then foreign companies may well have been operating to extract these resources and thereby enrich the Kulandun population, but a variety of corporations had deemed Kulandun operations to be loss-makers due to the gifts, one-off special payments, and 'administrative fees' which seemed to multiply once a foreign company attempted to do business in the nation. Even without the expected bribery, foreign corporations would have to spend a fortune on upgrading infrastructure and transport links due to the Nmbega regime's siphoning of state tax revenues to pad their own nests.

This mismanagement was not confined to the Kulandun economy. The Armed Forces of Kulandu (AMK) were, to be blunt, a joke. Consisting of just over 2,500 personnel in total, the AMK were poorly trained and just as poorly equipped. Their 10 APCs and 20 IFVs were inoperable due to a lack of trained mechanics, leaving the army with small arms, RPGs, and mortars to operate with. If soldiers had to be redeployed within the nation, the government requisitioned any available public transport to ferry the troops and their equipment around, leaving the ordinary citizens temporarily without public transport in the process. Kulandu's four attack aircraft and seven helicopter gunships were grounded at Bata International Airport due to the lack of mechanics as well, but to the regime's credit the Kulandun navy was operational. Consisting of one frigate, one corvette, and seven fast patrol boats, the Kulandun navy's primary task was to patrol the offshore oil and gas holdings. Of the AMK's nine generals, all nine were relatives of President Nmbega while only two of them actually had any real experience of military operations. In a clear demonstration of the regime's faith in their own military, the Presidential Guard were a separate unit comprised of 500 mercenaries recruited from overseas and paid for by the Nmbega family's fortune; although nominally outnumbered five-to-one by the regular military, even if the entire military were turn on the regime then the Presidential Guard would undoubtedly win every time.

On the thirtieth anniversary of his rise to power, President Nmbega had embarked on a massive vanity project which he justified as 'bringing Kulandu into the 21st century'. He had announced the construction of a new capital city named 'Oyala' which would be located one hundred miles inland and would therefore replace Bata, which was located on the coast. Oyala would be completely bordered by national parks and would be 'the shining jewel of Kulandu', but in reality President Nmbega was building the new capital to satisfy his own ego and provide his regime with a more secure location to govern from. Projected to house approximately 200,000 inhabitants, Oyala would feature a new Congress building (although the Kulandun Congress was a rubber-stamp assembly at best), a financial district, golf courses, luxury hotels, a number of new presidential villas, a new international airport, and a new university among the planned buildings, and a new six-lane highway would be required so Oyala could be connected to the rest of the Kulandun road network, such as it was. The money for this construction project was coming from state revenues and President Nmbega was regularly visiting the site to inspect progress, but this was unfortunately hindering the construction as on one occasion Nmbega actually demanded that a completed building be torn down and rebuilt elsewhere because he didn't approve of the view. Oyala had now been under construction for five years and the nation's shining new capital was still very much a construction site; all the while, only half of the Kulandun population had access to clean drinking water, and sustenance farming was the only avenue open to the majority of ordinary Kulanduns if they wished to make a living. President Nmbega's focus continued to be the completion of Oyala no matter how much it cost, provided that the cost did not empty his own pockets; to that end, it had just been announced on state television that a new tax was being introduced on the proceeds of agriculture.

In a small apartment in the current capital city of Bata, a group of young Kulanduns had gathered in reaction to the newly announced tax. While the inhabitants of the capital led a better life than the rest of their countrymen, there was a sizable population of young Kulanduns in Bata who had relocated there to find better jobs so that they could send money back to their families in the more rural areas of the nation. The group who were holding a meeting were all friends who worked in a variety of menial positions, and the most vocal of them was a man named Zackary Asumu who hailed from a small village in Kié-Ntem Province.

"Enough is enough! Nmbega's new tax is going to destroy our families, at this rate the only money that my family will be able to get is what I send to them!"

"What can we do though? The President controls everything, he wins every election, and the armed forces are on his side!"

Zackary shook his head at Adam Musabe, who had just expressed his concern. "Don't forget, I'm a cleaner at Bata International Airport. I've seen the military aircraft, they're just sitting there and a couple of staff members have been stealing parts to sell. When was the last time you saw an armoured vehicle on the streets? We need to show Nmbega that we aren't going to put up with this any longer. We should organise a protest!"

Adam's eyes widened. "If we protest then he'll call in the military and the police and we'll be arrested!"

Zackary's nostrils flared. "Then we'll wait until nightfall and we'll fucking riot! If he's going to ruin our families then we should ruin the businesses of his cronies! His nephew owns that department store on Liberty Plaza, we could break in and loot the place! If we can get enough people to loot and riot then the military and the police will be too busy to catch us all. We can show Nmbega that we won't stand for this crap. Hell, the military and the police have families too, I bet some of them are going to be affected by this!"

Joshua Ngomo cleared his throat. "Zack's right. If we don't do something now then Nmbega's going to bring in more taxes because he'll know that no-one will stop him. None of the other politicians are going to oppose him because they're all feasting from the same trough! If we wait a day or two then we can get more people organised and then one night, wham! Nmbega won't know what's hit him."
Last edited by Marimaia on Tue Oct 03, 2017 5:45 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Postby Marimaia » Tue Sep 19, 2017 12:54 pm

September 16th, 2017, 15:00hrs [UTC +2]
Mariyinsky Palace
Kiev, Ukraine SSR, USSR

"So they've had a couple of days to actually consider the decriminalisation now. Tell me Giorgi, what do the Politburo really think about it?"

KGB Chairman Giorgi Shvelidze smirked at Premier Zharkov's question, as if it had been asked in the presence of any other Politburo members then it would have caused some degree of resentment. The reason why Zharkov was asking Shvelidze the question was because, as a former KGB Chairman himself, the Soviet Premier knew damn well that the KGB had planted listening devices in the homes of Politburo members in the past and over the preceding couple of months Shvelidze had followed Zharkov's instructions to bug the home of every individual on the Politburo. Even though it was a Saturday, Chairman Shvelidze had been summoned to a meeting with the Premier at Mariyinsky Palace to discuss the situation further, and so they were currently sat in the Premier's office sipping tea while Stepan Krylenko occupied his now-traditional spot, standing at ease next to Zharkov's chair.

"Well Comrade Premier, for the most part they appear to agree with your reasoning. There are however two Politburo members who think that we are about to 'descend into degeneracy', they had a meeting late last night about it. Comrade Voloshinin and Comrade Kostroyev, to be specific. They believe that you are doing this to try and placate other nations who may dislike our system of governance, and that rather than being proud of the USSR you are somehow ashamed of it so you're trying to change it."

Zharkov frowned at that point. "Voloshinin and Kostroyev, you say? I can't say that I'm surprised but I am still saddened by their attitude. As First Secretary of Komsomol, Kostroyev's position is rather important to ensure that Soviet youth are informed that homosexuality is just another aspect of humanity, and Voloshinin is Minister of Culture so we definitely need him onside as well. If only there was some way that I could change their opinion, convince them that this is the right thing to do..."

Shvelidze reached down to his left side and picked up his briefcase, flicking through it before producing two folders. He cleared his throat loudly as he slid both folders across the desk to the Premier. "Normally I would not even consider volunteering these as it is not particularly good practise, as you well know, but you are a former KGB Chairman so I expect you've already seen these before. I'm simply refreshing your memory, Comrade Premier."

Zharkov smirked as he opened Voloshinin's KGB dossier first. "You are simply serving the Motherland, Giorgi. Nothing wrong with that. Hmm...well, would you look at that? We have a new entry, Comrade Voloshinin's new dacha outside Sevastopol has been furnished with foreign antique furniture, suspected to have been bought with state funds originally earmarked for the renovation of a music hall in Kaganovich[/size] (OOC Note: RL Chelyabinsk). [size=85]Wouldn't it be a shame if he were to lose his Ministry over that?"

"As you say, Comrade Premier. Take a look at Kostroyev, it's rather interesting."

Zharkov raised an eyebrow as he set down one folder and opened the other. "Let's see here then...he's got a lovechild in Stalingrad? Who's the mother I wonder...a Komsomol worker." Zharkov set down Kostroyev's dossier and thoughtfully sipped at his tea for a few moments. "Voloshinin will repay the embezzled funds and throw his unflinching support behind my proposal or he shall be dismissed from the Politburo and the Ministry of Culture. He will also submit to KGB scrutiny of his finances and spending habits or we shall go public with his corruption. Then a few months down the line, the KGB will discover further irregularities and he will be imprisoned."

Shvelidze nodded. "Of course, Comrade Premier. Kostroyev?"

"I'll call him in and present him with the evidence. He'll have a choice between resigning or having his wife informed of the situation, either way I shall see him gone. Komsomol should not be headed by some randy sixty-three year old. If he falls on his sword and resigns, inform his wife of the lovechild anyway. We'll make sure that she has the opportunity for a quick divorce, and we'll also make sure that the child and its mother are properly looked after. I'll start looking for prospective replacements, suitable prospective replacements."

"Yes, Comrade Premier. Is there anything else you wished to discuss?"

Zharkov shook his head. "No, that's all Giorgi. Thank you for your assistance."

Shvelidze nodded and gathered up the two KGB dossiers, carefully placing them back in his briefcase before showing himself out of the office. As the KGB Chairman pulled the door closed behind himself, Krylenko leaned down closer to Zharkov.

"If he's been going through the dossiers on Politburo members, I wonder if he's noticed how clean your dossier is."

Zharkov turned to look at him with a wry smile. "Your dossier's remarkably clean as well. I'm certain that he's noticed by now, if I'm honest the first thing I did as KGB Chairman was to dig out Premier Ilyina's dossier. One of the last things I did as KGB Chairman was to go through our dossiers and remove anything that Giorgi and others have no need to know. For example, the only people who know about your...experience...with meldonium-2 are you, me, and Professor Morovsky's team at Vector Institute. As it turns out, I probably didn't need to be so careful because Malia keeps me informed about his less routine activities. Lesson number one for a KGB Chairman, don't choose your new secretary from the typing pool which served your predecessor if your predecessor is still alive, or worse is now Premier."
Last edited by Marimaia on Tue Oct 03, 2017 5:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Postby Marimaia » Tue Sep 26, 2017 3:21 pm

September 18th, 2017, 23:07hrs [UTC +1]
Bata, Kulandu

While the coastal neighbourhoods of the Kulandun capital comprised of the government and commercial districts as well as several residential areas inhabited by the wealthier members of Kulandun society, further inland the outskirts of the city were dominated by the slums. Inhabited by impoverished Kulanduns who had made the journey to Bata in search of work which soon turned out to be unavailable, the city's slums possessed no electricity, no running water, and rampant crime. Street gangs extorted what they could from the inhabitants through the threat of violence while neighbours sometimes turned on each other in desperation for food or what little money they could get. The situation was greatly exacerbated by the fact that the Bata Police Department refused to enter the slums unless they had absolutely no other choice. The law enforcement were far more comfortable policing the wealthier areas of Bata because there was less crime and they therefore had an easier job. Worse still, the authorities did nothing to change this attitude because President Nmbega simply did not care about the slum inhabitants and their plight. His family and his cronies were comfortable, and the new capital of Oyala would be slum-free. In Nmbega's mind, enduring the slums now was a small price to pay for his eventual gleaming new city.

While the more presentable areas of Bata was normally far more peaceful on a Monday night than at the weekend, this particular Monday night would prove to be the exception to that rule. The slum residents had heard about Nmbega's new taxation plans and resentment had been growing ever since, as many of those in the slums had moved to Bata in search of work to supplement the incomes of their rural families. It was bad enough that slum residents were often at the mercy of unscrupulous employers who hired them on a day-to-day basis and often underpaid them, knowing that they could not afford any potential legal proceedings. The new taxation would effectively wipe out any benefit provided from money that they sent back home, and that was finally proving to be the last straw. The slum of Batensi had seen a small but growing gathering of angry inhabitants since about nine o'clock, and it was starting to get out of hand with no-one attempting to restore any form of order because it was already a no-go area in the eyes of the authorities; matters were not being helped by the humid weather which resulted in a night-time temperature of 26 °C. Chants of "Down with Nmbega" and "No More Tax" were starting to ring out across the impoverished neighbourhood, and word of mouth was now carrying that fact to the other ramshackle areas on the outskirts of the Kulandun capital, where opportunistic troublemakers and genuinely furious residents were beginning to follow Batensi's lead. As more and more outraged individuals vented their frustration to each other, people began to make their way from the slums into Bata itself.

Although he and his friends had been planning to loot a department store owned by Nmbega's nephew to vent their own frustration at the President's new policy, Zackary Asumu was still surprised to hear about the developing situation in the slums. Batengos who lived near the slum neighbourhoods had been phoning friends if possible or alternatively running round to their homes to tell them about the people now marching into the less impoverished areas of the capital, and there was a steady stream of individuals leaving their homes to join the impromptu protest march. Zackary quickly made the decision to join them himself, pulling on any clothes he had to hand before dashing out into the street to become part of the chanting mob. He soon managed to locate his two friends, Adam Musabe and Joshua Ngomo, amongst the crowd and the trio exchanged grins as they added their voices to the calls of the marchers. As the marching throng proceeded further into Bata proper, shops and other businesses began to be torched and looted as opportunists among the protesters saw their opening to try and turn the situation violent.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


As word filtered through to the authorities about the marching slum residents, the criminal damage, and the anti-Nmbega chants, the President was quickly informed of the developing situation and he responded in what he viewed to be the most effective way possible.

Many of the marchers were too consumed with venting their anger towards the government to recognise that they had not been met with a police presence or any opposition of any kind until they encountered a squad of armed soldiers who were blocking the street ahead of them, accompanied by an armoured personnel carrier decorated in the colours and crest of the Presidential Guard. Recognising that the police and even the capital's resident military units may not be up to the task of quelling the situation, President Nmbega had sent in his own private mercenaries to disperse the march. The marching crowd began to come to a halt as word of the armed personnel began to filter through from those at the front, although their chants of defiance continued unabated. A second squad soon arrived and disembarked from their vehicles, taking up position in a street to the right side of the crowd, while a third squad deployed to block off the street to the left of the bustling protesters. Having marched into the better developed areas of Bata, the protesters had inadvertantly positioned themselves perfectly to be hemmed in. As realisation set in about the position of the second and third squads of the Presidential Guard, several protesters began to look nervously towards the way they had just come, anxious that a fourth squad might arrive to complete the flanking of the crowd. Anxiety turned to fear and fear turned into hostility, and one increasingly fearful protester hurled a stone at one of the soldiers which bounced harmlessly off the mercenary's protective headgear. The mercenary responded by pulling the trigger on his semi-automatic rifle and opening fire into the crowd.

The protesters instantly began to stampede in different directions, many attempting to disperse while a handful of brave (or foolish) individuals tried rushing the Presidential Guard. This led to the rest of the armed mercenaries opening fire on the crowd in retaliation, cutting down civilians who had joined the march simply to vent their anger as well as troublemakers intent on causing as much mayhem as possible. As Zackary and Joshua ran as quickly as they could back in the direction that the crowd had marched, they realised that Adam was not with them; turning to see if they could spot him in the fleeing chaos, they caught sight of him running towards them before he cried out in pain and toppled to the ground, holding his leg. He was quickly obscured from their view by panicked individuals trying to escape the scene, and the two soon found themselves separated. Joshua decided to try and get back to his apartment and so continued fleeing back in the direction that the protest had come from, while Zackary simply ran on pure adrenaline with no idea of where he was headed as long as it was away from the chaos and carnage.

Once the Presidential Guard began reporting the results of their encounter with the protesters, ambulances began to be dispatched to the scene while the Bata Police Department started to patrol the wealthier areas of the city in case any fleeing marchers attempted to make further trouble. Bewildered from the chaos and confusion of the protest and his subsequent escape from the Presidential Guard, Zackary found himself wandering in a fairly well appointed neighbourhood of Bata in torn clothing. As he continued to walk and tried to collect his bearings, Zackary heard the increasingly loud and unmistakable sound of police sirens, so he ran down a small alley, climbed onto some bins and barely managed to scale the wall that the bins sat next to. Dropping with a thud into some bushes on the other side of the wall, he began to pick himself up off the ground when he heard the *click* of a rifle. Looking up he saw that a soldier in an unfamiliar uniform was pointing a rifle at him, so Zackary slowly raised his hands and managed to unsteadily rise to his feet.

"Move."

The soldier spoke in heavily-accented English and gestured with his rifle for Zackary to start walking; the young Kulandun was in no state to argue, so he began to wobbily make his way out of the bushes and onto the path where the soldier stood. As he did so and therefore got closer, Zackary recognised an insignia on the soldier's uniform and truly couldn't believe his eyes.

Admittedly Kulandu was not a diplomatic priority for any nation and would probably be seen as a dead-end or punishment assignment, but he thought that the Soviet embassy would have been more difficult to climb into.
Last edited by Marimaia on Tue Oct 03, 2017 5:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Postby Marimaia » Wed Sep 27, 2017 7:51 am

September 19th, 2017, 00:34hrs [UTC +1]
Embassy of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
Bata, Kulandu

Ambassador Bronislav Sayansky was not in the best of moods. Having retired to bed at 23:00hrs he had subsequently been woken by the sound of gunfire taking place elsewhere in the city, and it had taken several phone calls to the local police and eventually the office of President Nmbega before Ambassador Sayansky was informed that there had been some 'minor civil disturbance in a slum area of the Kulandun capital', but that the situation was being handled and would soon be concluded. As a diplomatic representative of a totalitarian regime himself, Sayansky read between the lines of the official response and instructed the embassy guards to be ready in case the embassy compound was attacked by rioters. Established during the tenure of Premier Ilyina, the Soviet embassy in Bata had been established in an already existing building in the Kulandun capital in an attempt to show respect to the local regime but Ambassador Sayansky had constantly complained about the height of the perimeter wall; after Premier Zharkov took office, the Soviet Ministry of Foreign Affairs had assured Sayansky that they would pursue the matter. With the outbreak of hostilities in Marmara Soviet authorities had been focused on more important matters than the perimeter wall of an embassy in a small African nation, so the matter still had not been resolved. Sayansky had recently decided to take matters into his own hands by having razor wire purchased from the embassy budget but the guards had not yet started the process of installing it along the top of the wall, and this had now resulted in a native Kulandun climbing the wall and dropping into the embassy grounds. The elderly Soviet ambassador was now sat in his office dressed in his pyjamas and a nightrobe sipping at a cup of coffee and mumbling angrily to himself as he waited for the guards to bring the trespasser to see him. While he was certainly in the twilight of his diplomatic career, Sayansky never imagined that he would be in a situation like this.

He turned with a scowl as two embassy guards marched the trespassing Kulandun into the nicely decorated office, pointing at the chair opposite the ambassador in an indication for their 'guest' to take a seat. The young man did as he was told and was visibly shaken by whatever he had been though thus far, looking down at the floor as he perched himself on the edge of the seat. Sayansky set his coffee down on the side table next to his armchair and leaned forward.

"What's your name?"

The Kulandun briefly looked up. "Za-Zackary Asumu."

"Why did you try to break into the embassy of the Soviet Union?"

"I didn't know it was the Soviet embassy. I heard the police, I climbed over a wall and found myself in the garden."

Sayansky frowned. "You were running from the police? Are you from the slums?"

Zackary shook his head. "No, I live in the Kudana neighbourhood. We were protesting against the new taxes and the Presidential Guard showed up...they started shooting."

"You mean the new agriculture tax?"

"I'm from Kié-Ntem Province, my family works a farm and I send money back to them. The new tax would bankrupt them." Zackary looked up at Sayansky. "Nmbega will ruin everyone in this country but no-one else in the world gives a damn! As long as he gets his new capital, the rest of us can scrounge in the dirt!"

Sayansky sat back in his armchair and made a 'hmm'. "So you and others were protesting about the fact that the President's new taxes will ruin your families, and his response was to have you all shot by his Presidential Guard? That explains all the noise." The ambassador picked up his coffee and took another mouthful, the cogs turning in his brain as he considered the predicament of the young man sat opposite him. Sayansky's eyes finally lit up as he came to recognise a potential opportunity to remind the Soviet Ministry of Foreign Affairs that he was still of relevance.

"Ask for asylum."

Zackary's confusion was evident. "Wha-"

Sayansky gestured with his hand as if to coax the words from Zackary. "Ask for asylum."

Zackary blinked repeatedly, looking around the office before finally turning his eyes back to the elderly Soviet diplomat. "Um, I ask for asylum?"

Sayansky nodded approvingly. "Very well then. We have some guest rooms, they're not particularly wonderful but you can make use of one while you're here. Have a shower and try to get some sleep, we'll get you some fresh clothes for tomorrow. Is there anyone we should try to contact about you?"

Zackary couldn't believe how surreal this night was turning out to be. "No, but you could try to find out about my friends? Adam Musabe and Joshua Ngomo. I think Adam was shot during the protest, I don't know where Josh might be."

The ambassador pondered this for a moment. "We'll see what we can do, if this government doesn't try to stop us of course. I'll contact my government in Kiev and see what can be done about all this, we can't just sit back and let President Nmbega murder his own people when they refuse to continue being exploited by him."

Sayansky stood and gestured for one of the guards to take Zackary to one of the embassy's guest rooms; once they left the office, the ambassador turned to the remaining guard.

"Get me Lieutenant Okulov."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


A couple of minutes later, the embassy's security officer marched into Sayansky's office and snapped to attention, saluting the ambassador.

"You asked to see me, Comrade Ambassador."

Sayansky took another mouthful of coffee before responding. "Comrade Lieutenant, I want the razor wire in place along the perimeter wall before sunrise. The embassy guards will be kept on alert for any more potential trespassers regardless of whether they are civilians or government employees. We are about to embark on a course of action which might cause some degree of hostility from the local regime. I know that the embassy personnel are up to the task, and that your men will be able to handle anything that is thrown at us."

Okulov nodded. "As you say, Comrade Ambassador. I shall see to the razor wire personally."

After the lieutenant left the office to take charge of preparations, Ambassador Sayansky slurped another mouthful of coffee before walking to his desk and picking up the telephone.

"Put me though to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Kiev. Yes, scramble it please."
Last edited by Marimaia on Tue Oct 03, 2017 5:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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The Reborn British Empire
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 101
Founded: Sep 07, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby The Reborn British Empire » Thu Oct 05, 2017 12:42 pm

REMOVED
Last edited by The Reborn British Empire on Sat Dec 30, 2017 1:31 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Layarteb
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 8416
Founded: Antiquity
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Layarteb » Fri Oct 06, 2017 7:43 pm



• • • † • • •



Wednesday, September 13, 2017 | 14:00 hrs [UTC+1]

Bata, Kulandu | Embassy of the Empire of Layarteb
1° 53' 14" N, 9° 48' 24" E






To the Empire, the Republic of Kulandu was a nonentity, an afterthought really. The economy of Kulandu was a one-trick pony with oil making up three-quarters of the economy and natural gas making up nearly all of the balance. Only 3% of the economy of Kulandu wasn't oil-based or gas-based, which meant it had nothing to offer the Empire. Furthermore, the Empire's four islands in the Gulf of Guinea netted plenty of oil themselves and a 26,000-acre oil field off Bioko Island was complemented by a sizeable gas field. It was the proximity of Kulandu to these territories that prompted the Empire to maintain relations with the corrupt dictatorship; though, it was only one of three factors, the second being the fact that Kulandu was surrounded on three of its four sides by the New African Republic. Politically, the country had nothing to offer and its military was in such poor shape that the Empire couldn't even sell it arms. The military of Kulandu was so pathetic it wouldn't even rate as a nuisance if it fully focused its efforts on annoying the Empire.

The Empire, in establishing relations, certainly erred on the side of caution. A 5-acre plot of land had been purchased, relatively easily given how corrupt "President" Michael Nmbega was. It sat only about eight hundred meters from the end of the runway at Bata's airport and less than four hundred meters from the Soviet embassy, which stood in stark contrast to the Layartebian embassy. The latter was protected on all four sides by high walls, razor wire, and a contingency of guards. The embassy's staff both lived and worked within those walls, venturing out only to certain areas of the city, chiefly those areas protected by their wealth where they offered a very intense and superior nightlife experience than within those four walls. Nmbega's palace was barely fourteen hundred meters away and the headquarters of his personal guard was about eight hundred meters. That personal guard was the third reason for the embassy's presence as Nmbega had employed Manchurian Global's PMC division as his private force.

Nothing that Nmbega could do was viler to the Empire than this and part of the focus of the embassy's intelligence staff was to watch Manchurian Global's mercenaries, of whom five hundred were employed. They had light armor, helicopters, and enough strength to crush the actual military of Kulandu, which seemed more like a glorified parade force and even that they screwed up regularly. Heading the embassy was Ambassador Ronald Lopez, who at the age of fifty-nine was looking forward to retirement. He generally disliked the country of Kulandu but as an elder statesman, he was a top-notch schmoozer and when it came to Nmbega, schmoozing was the only, effective tactic. The man was bent three ways to Sunday but he was easily steered the way Lopez wanted to steer him when the Empire needed something, which admittedly wasn't much, given Kulandu's insignificance to the Empire on any diplomatic plane.

Until now, Kulandu had largely flown under the radar but when news of Nmbega's proposed tax hike hit the embassy, everyone therein knew that it would be the beginning of the end for the dictator. Nmbega had been burning through funds to construct a planned city in the country's interior, which aimed to serve as the new capital. He was paying upwards of $300 million per year just to fund the Manchurian Global mercenaries and to top it all off, he was siphoning off money for his own personal slush funds at a geometric rate. The wealth disparity in the country was stark too. Five percent of the populace was considered wealthy and these were all friends or family members of Nmbega. They were appointed to all of the governmental and military posts and they siphoned their own money here and there. A "middle class," if it could be called that, consisted of the next fifteen to twenty percent of the populace. These were business owners who weren't necessarily part of Nmbega's circle but who managed to establish themselves to a point where utilizes and food were of no concern to them. That left everyone else who toiled away daily for pathetic wages. The country's infrastructure had largely fallen into disrepair thanks to Nmbega's massive efforts to build Oyala - the new capital. There were few workers left to take care of Bata's crumbling sewer and water system, its insufficient power grid, and its decaying roads and buildings. To compound matters, the city's populace grew as more and more rural workers came to Bata to find jobs that they could use to support their families. This only pushed an already taxed system beyond the breaking point.

To impose a tax upon the citizens of the country was like carrying a stick of lit dynamite down a very large corridor surrounded on all four sides by gunpowder. It was going to explode, it was just a matter of where down the corridor and how much of a chain reaction was going to happen. To say the least, Nmbega's days were truly numbered. In light of the announcement of the tax, the embassy went into a lockdown situation. Ambassador Lopez knew to expect unrest and he didn't know how long I would take, only that it would occur. He didn't want the embassy to become a target. The country's military and police forces couldn't be trusted to protect Nmbega, which was why he had his mercenary force. Yet, Lopez didn't how the military and police forces would react. They were led by cowards and sycophants who didn't belong playing military video games, let alone leading men into actual combat situations. If a coup or a civil war broke out, these officers and generals would be the first to flee, which meant that the military would be a disorganized mess. Whomever was the most charismatic would rise to the top and Lopez didn't need the embassy to have to play politics during this.

• • • • ‡ • • • •


Monday, September 18, 2017 | 23:15 hrs [UTC+1]

Bata, Kulandu | Presidential Guard HQ
1° 52' 51" N, 9° 48' 38" E






In the headquarters for the Presidential Guard, the HQ staff had been in an all-hands-on-deck situation for several days now. The tax announcement had sent shockwaves throughout the city and paid assets throughout the city had warned of growing resentment towards Nmbega with all likelihood of action. The Manchurian mercenaries were smart in this department. Throughout their entire deployment to Kulandu, trained interrogators and former intelligence officers went through the city and gathered information on people who could serve as potential spies. When the time came, these people were approached with generous offers. They were asked to keep their eyes and ears open and report from time-to-time. They would not be asked to harm their fellow Kulanduns and they would not be asked to put their lives on the line. They were only asked to be observant and for that, Manchurian provided money to their families. Dozens of these spies existed throughout the country and they provided good intelligence to the mercenary group.

One of these spies had been in Batensi when the first crowds began to gather shortly after 21:00, and by 22:00, the HQ staff knew that something was brewing. The crowd started small but as word spread, it grew exponentially until it was a giant mob of angered people. Batensi was one of many slums in Bata and it was particularly impoverished with none of the basic necessities needed to survive in the modern world, chiefly because it had popped up and none of the workers capable of supporting it were anywhere by Oyala. When the crowd finally decided to take action, Manchurian's HQ staff knew it and the red flags were raised. The first course of action was intelligence and a Scan Eagle UAV was launched and flown towards the areas where activity was being reported.

This particular UAV had a 24-hour endurance and a good optical system that could provide high-quality video for Manchurian's HQ staff. The thermal imaging and night-enhanced systems would provide invaluable in this situation as it would help the ground team maneuver into ideal positions. That ground team was Bravo Unit, one of four platoon-sized elements of mercenaries that was equipped with light armor to give them a massive advantage over the Kulanduns. Each unit was made up of forty-four men in four Boxer MRAV, wheeled APCs. They were thus broken into four, 11-man squads with three men serving as the vehicle's crew and eight men serving as dismounts. Each of the four Boxers was equipped with a remotely controlled weapon's station. Two of the vehicles mounted the .50-caliber M2A1 Browning Machine Gun while the other two mounted the Heckler & Koch GMG, a 40-millimeter, automatic grenade launcher. Against the Kulandun military, these weapons would have devastating effects but against unarmed civilians, it was truly overkill.

Beyond the APC's weapons came the weapons of the infantry squads. Between those thirty-two men, there were enough small arms to give any military platoon a run for their money. All of it was in the hands of Mike Banes, serving team leader of Bravo Unit. Banes was thirty-six years old and came to Manchurian following a dishonorable discharge from the Imperial Layartebian Military. He'd been the squad leader of a Green Beret OD-A unit. During one deployment however, his unit came under ambush from a prepared and well-trained squad of guerilla forces. Banes opted to break up the ambush, which he did successfully with the loss of only two men killed and one man wounded. The casualties would have been all twelve of them had he not acted so quickly. However, in the aftermath he learned that one of his men was a double agent, assisting the enemy and had led Banes and the others into the ambush. Rather than any semblance of military justice, Banes executed the operations sergeant in the middle of an army camp. No fewer than forty-five people witnessed the cold-blooded murder. When all was said and done, Banes was dishonorably discharged as an example that such an action was not permissible. He would face no charges however as he had executed someone who caused the deaths of two soldiers. Banes went to Manchurian Global afterwards, forsaking his citizenship with the Empire and joining as a team leader. He had thirty-one men under his command and his salary averaged out to a gross pay of $1,100 per day. Nmbega was paying top dollar for Manchurian but he was getting his money's worth in men like Bravo Unit, Team Leader Banes.

Bravo Unit had departed from their staging area near the Presidential Palace shortly after 22:30 hours. Using information from the Scan Eagle, they maneuvered into a position advantageous to them as the angry mob left the slums and headed into the wealthier parts of Bata where Nmbega's family owned businesses such as nightclubs, hotels, and restaurants. It was here that the mob could really send a message to Nmbega. Unaware of what was happening, the mob managed to stay the course and Banes' vehicles followed HQ direction, essentially boxing in the mob into what could only be described as a funnel of death. It was before midnight when the two groups finally clashed.

The mob had fallen into a trap and yet they continued to advance, suddenly realizing that it was the Presidential Guard and not the police or the military. In what was perhaps a state of confusion or idiocy, one of the mob's members launched a heavy stone that he'd picked up along the way. His intention had been to throw it through a window of a jewelry store but now it was a missile for the armed men in front of the crowd. Unfortunately, for him and his foolishness, his aim was too good and the stone clocked one of Banes' men clear in the head. Though protected by a Kevlar, ballistic helmet, the strike by the stone had certainly rattled the mercenary, throwing him off balance. The response was swift and it was damning all at once. Normally in situations such as these, the mercenaries would attempt to deescalate the situation before opening fire but prior to their departure, they received an updated set of ROE, which came from Nmbega himself. Nmbega explicitly ordered that should the crowds turn violent, they were to be engaged with lethal force. Those orders were agreed upon by all staffers and the mercenaries were told the ROE as they arrived on-scene.

Simply following those ROE, the mercenary opened fire. The single pull of the trigger changed everything though. His select-fire rifle was set to semi-automatic and so only one round was discharged but the high-velocity round was well aimed and the man who threw the rock crumpled to the ground a split second later after the round split his head in half. What came next was a chain-reaction. More mercenaries opened fire, believing that the crowd was armed and so it came that Banes' men would make Nmbega quite happy as they mowed the crowd down, unleashing their rifles and light machine guns with little regard for the status of those in front of them. In Kulandu, the rules were different and they took orders from Nmbega himself.



• • • † • • •


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Marimaia
Diplomat
 
Posts: 825
Founded: Antiquity
Benevolent Dictatorship

Postby Marimaia » Sun Oct 15, 2017 8:07 am

September 19th, 2017, 09:10hrs [UTC +2]
Mariyinsky Palace
Kiev, Ukraine SSR, USSR

Yuri Matveyev clutched the situation briefing tightly as the door to Premier Zharkov's office opened and Stepan Krylenko gestured for him to enter. As the Soviet Minister of Foreign Affairs, Matveyev had spent the last few hours uncovering what had taken in place in Kulandu after Ambassador Sayansky had contacted the Ministry about the civil disturbance, and it was now time for him to brief Premier Zharkov on the matter. Upon entering the office he was greeted by the same scene he encountered every time he walked into Zharkov's place of work. The Premier was sat at his desk working away at who-knew-what with a glass of tea nearby, always in the same spot on the desk, and as per usual Zharkov did not immediately acknowledge Matveyev's presence. Instead he was invited to sit by a gesture from Krylenko, who swiftly set a steaming cup of coffee in front of the Minister before taking up his traditional position next to Zharkov. Matveyev set the briefing folder down on the desk before him and went to take a sip of coffee, finding himself being addressed by Zharkov before he actually had a chance to take a drink.

"You have something for me, Comrade Matveyev?"

Matveyev set the coffee back down and handed the folder across the desk to the Premier. "Yes, Comrade Premier. It appears that we have a potentially developing situation in Kulandu."

Zharkov peered over the rim of his spectacles at Matveyev with a frown. "Kulandu? I know that name from something."

"It's in Africa, Comrade Premier. Central Africa, to be more precise. The little rectangular one that's surrounded by the New African Republic on land with Layartebian islands off the coast."

"Yes, of course. President Nmbogo, isn't it?"

Matveyev cleared his throat. "Nmbega, Comrade Premier."

Zharkov waved his hand dismissively. "Whatever. I've never met him and I doubt I ever will, he didn't even congratulate me on becoming Premier. Anyway, let's see what we have here..."

Matveyev finally had the opportunity to sip at his coffee as Zharkov perused the situation briefing, taking thoughtful sips of his tea as he did so and occasionally showing pieces of information to Krylenko, who leaned down to read from his position standing next to the Premier's right side. After a few minutes Zharkov set down the folder and peered at Matveyev once more.

"Why was it so easy for someone to scale the wall of our embassy?"

"Well, Comrade Premier, your predecessor insisted that we use a locally constructed building as a gesture of respect, and there's never been any trouble in Kulandu so my predecessor didn't see it as a priority. After you came to power and I became Minister of Foreign Affairs, we had to deal with the Marmara situation and British independence from Dutch rule, and the height of an embassy wall in some tinpot little African country slipped down the list of things to address. Besides, who ever thought that anyone would try breaking into a Soviet embassy? He may have gotten over the wall but he was instantly apprehended by one of the guards."

Zharkov raised a disapproving eyebrow before continuing. "So Nmbega needs more money for his new capital city, which is essentially a vanity project, and he's going to raise that extra money through new taxation on the one source of revenue that the majority of the people have open to them. The Kulandun people finally stood up to protest and so he had the protestors shot, but one of the ones who escaped the shooting ended up scaling our embassy wall and is now claiming asylum?" Zharkov let out a slight sigh and leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers as he thought about the situation for a few moments. "This could be quite an opportunity."

Matveyev set his coffee down after taking another sip. "Ambassador Sayansky proposed that we use Zackary Asumu's asylum request for publicity, showing the world that we care about the citizens of Kulandu. After a bit of discussion we decided that we might be able to get more mileage of it than simple publicity. If we make it known to the Nmbega regime that we're harbouring a survivor of the protest in our embassy then we might be able to goad Nmbega into a public confrontation."

Zharkov nodded. "Push him enough and he might try something against the embassy, or at least give us an opportune moment to have him be seen to be acting against our embassy. My first anniversary as Premier is coming up soon and it would look rather splendid if we had either liberated or were in the process of liberating oppressed masses from a tyrannical and exploitative dictator, don't you agree?"

Matveyev grinned in response. "I shall inform Ambassador Sayansky that the Soviet government will officially support him and his actions in dealing with the Nmbega regime."

"Tell him to be as confrontational and overbearing as possible. If we can get this little tinpot dictator nice and angry then we might get our opening without having to actually do anything ourselves."

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Layarteb
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 8416
Founded: Antiquity
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Layarteb » Tue Oct 17, 2017 5:16 pm



• • • † • • •

Tuesday, September 19, 2017 | 06:30 hrs [UTC+1]

Bata, Kulandu | Presidential Guard HQ
1° 52' 51" N, 9° 48' 38" E






"Why don't you stand front and center right there Barnes," said Howard Santiago, acting Vice Commander of the Manchurian detachment to Kulandu. They were in the commander's office and Brian Pearson was not in one of his better moods. Notorious for his temper and his ability to hold a grudge, Pearson wouldn't have been anyone's first choice to lead a 500-man detachment of mercenaries but Kulandu wasn't high on anyone's list of luxury postings and he'd done his time enough to get to where he was. President Nmbega felt differently as the two men were, in some regard, cut from the same cloth, when it came to tolerance for stupidity and insolence. Nmbega was confident in Pearson and that was good enough of a reason to keep Pearson employed.

It had been a long night for Barnes and his unit. They had opened fire on protestors shortly before midnight and the engage had been brief but devastating with fifty dead and over one hundred injured with some figures settling at one hundred and twenty. It was difficult to ascertain because while the injured were going to hospitals, they were being rounded up by Charlie Unit and brought to prison, where they would remain indefinitely while Nmbega's corrupt justice bureau worked out what charges to levy against the protestors turned victims. Barnes and his unit had spent the majority of the night combing the streets, looking for those who weren't injured so that they too could be arrested. Fewer than fifteen individuals were rounded up by Bravo Unit though whereas Charlie Unit had rounded up more than sixty-five. It was apparent, though impossible to prove, that some of the doctors were shielding the identities of the patients and the nature of their wounds to protect them from the Manchurian mercenaries' handcuffs.

"Well last night was a fucking disaster Barnes," Pearson began, "what in the hell went wrong?"

"Sir, Bravo Unit established a cordon around the crowd as ordered and as directed. When we obtained visual contact with the crowd, a projectile was thrown towards my men, striking one of them. Upon examining the projectile, which was a large and sizeable stone, my men deemed it likely to cause serious or fatal injury. Action was taken based on the previously established ROEs and live ammunition was discharged into the crowd in self-defense."

"Self-defense he says,"
Pearson said with a sarcastic chuckle, "stones are not assault rifles!"

"Sir, given the conditions it was impossible to know that there were not individuals within the crowd armed with lethal weapons. They were hostile in nature and they had shown a willingness to cause injury with their stone throwing. I should add sir that they intended to set businesses on fire and were in the act of such when we engaged. They were not a peaceful crowd of unarmed civilians sir, they were a riotous mob."

"That may be so,"
Pearson conceded, "and arson is a serious offense! Yet this is a major disaster. The PR crisis we're going to be involved in will make Arak seem like a mild fuck up and that was a mess and a half! Now Nmbega might not care about PR but we're in a dangerous situation here. Perhaps you don't understand the political ramifications of this." It was a question but not framed as such and so Barnes did not answer until Pearson slammed his hand on the table, "When I ask you a question you answer it!"

"No sir I do not."

"Nmbega is an absolute moron. Few men are dumber than he is and yet he is our employer. He pays us handsomely. He pays YOU handsomely,"
Pearson pointed right at Barnes who remained at attention as if he were back in boot camp being dressed down by the DIs. "Nmbega's tax announcement angered three-quarters of the population and what's more, the population completely sees him for what he is. They've had enough; what do you think last night was about? Now with this act you've basically legitimized their protests. The headlines will read that mercenaries slaughtered civilians; you know the media doesn't care about facts. Nmbega has no popularity rating to reduce but this will galvanize the populace against him. What you've started yesterday evening was akin to a revolution. Do you know what this country is going to look like in the midst of a revolution?"

"I can guess sir."

"Well don't because you'll just be guessing at your own idiocy! I don't care that you were following ROE this should never have happened. Nmbega doesn't know it but I do and do you know why it shouldn't have happened?"

"No sir."

"Because now we're going to be asked to kill the populace wholesale and while I could give a rat's fucking ass about these illiterate baboons think, I care very much about losing our contract. If Nmbega is toppled; and trust me, he will be if the population rises up with enough resolve, we lose our contract. That means we lose our salary and we have to explain to corporate why we're out of a contract. This is all because of your unit Barnes."

"No excuse sir."

"No excuse is right! I would relieve you of command but Santiago here has vouched for you to remain where you are. The moron who fired the first shot is gone; I'm blacklisting him. If I have to hang this entirely around his neck, I will. Hell, I'll hand him over to the people to be torn to pieces; I don't care. I want my contract!"

"Yes sir."

"You're on guard duty from now on, your whole fucking unit. They're useless in the field so you get to babysit Nmbega. You can fuck that up big or you can get your ass right. In the meantime, your unit is on my shit list. Get everything squared away and get some fucking discipline to them before I see to it that Bravo Unit as a whole gets sacrificed for our contract."

"Yes sir!"

"Dismissed,"
there was no salute but Barnes turned on his heels and walked out of the office. This would go on his record and certainly hurt chances of promotion or a leadership position in another posting but he got off relatively light, considering. Still, he knew that his leadership was now under question and confidence was lost in his ability to lead properly. Guarding Nmbega was shit duty and everyone knew it. There was no prestige in it either. The posting was dull, there were inspections of uniforms and weapons twice daily, and to make matters worse, Nmbega's personal staff treated the mercenaries like hired help, perhaps even worse than hired help because they were all foreigners and not Kulandun.

• • • • ‡ • • • •


Tuesday, September 19, 2017 | 12:45 hrs [UTC+1]

Bata, Kulandu | Embassy of the Empire of Layarteb
1° 53' 14" N, 9° 48' 24" E






Ronald Lopez had spent the better part of the morning with his political attaché going over the events of the previous evening. Terri Walls was thirty-two and quite an attractive woman. She was also Lopez's mistress and his wife Emma was none the wiser. For Ronald, the affair was extremely hush-hush, so much so that even the security staff was unaware of it. In the history of ambassadorial mission affairs, this was perhaps the most secretive. If it wasn't number one then it was number two. For Ronald it wasn't about anything other than attraction and vice versa for Terri. They worked closely together and as happens, emotions become crossed and things happen as they do between consenting adults. Ronald felt no shame in it and neither did Terri but each knew that it would go no further, it was an agreement they had with one another. The two maintained a solid working relationship, a hard task no less and when they were working, they were working; there were no hints or innuendos about the affair.

Now it was the early afternoon, and Layarteb City was beginning to come online as the shifts changed and coffee was consumed. Lopez was sitting behind his desk when the phone rang, the number identifying the extension as his secretary. "Sir I have Layarteb City on the line for you."

"Okay transfer them over then."

"Yes sir,"
and with a click, the line transferred, the marvels of not-so-modern-but-certainly-reliable technology.

"Ambassador Lopez here, with whom am I speaking with?"

"Lopez this is Minister Fisher, I'm joined by the Emperor."

"Sir, a pleasure to speak with you,"
Lopez offered immediately, "and I correct in assuming that this call is about last night's events?"

"You are Ambassador,"
the Emperor said, "I want to know what happened. We don't have the best intelligence picture from your station and that is a separate call I will have but please tell me you have concrete information."

"Yes sir I do. Are you aware of President Nmbega's tax announcement?"

"Yes he is read in on it,"
Minister Fisher said.

"Then sir you should know that last night a sizeable crowd of protestors from the slums assembled in an ad-hoc demonstration against Kulandu's ruling class. Sources indicate that they intended to set fire to several businesses owned by Nmbega's sycophants. It would appear that despite their lack of planning, Nmbega's guard unit was able to box them into a specific area. During the course of what I can assume was an anti-riot action, the mercenaries opened fire killing as many as fifty and wounding over double that number."

"That's more than the intelligence brief explained. How is it that you have this information?"

"Sir our political attaché has a direct contact with individuals within Nmbega's administration who are willing to part with the facts versus the embellishments."

"That is a good source then,"
the Emperor said, "what does this mean for Kulandu?"

"Sir I can only imagine that the people will see Nmbega as worse than they already do, which is a magnificent feat that only he could do to himself. I think we should be alert for uprisings."

"Will the people see the embassy as at fault for these mercenaries just because Manchurian Global is a Layartebian company?"

"They may sir, they don't really distinguish nor do they care that Manchurian Global's PMC Division is not under the jurisdiction of Layartebian law. I have already ordered security to beef up protection around the embassy."

"We'll be watching the situation closely Ambassador. I want to put some weight on Manchurian Global next. Expect to see some changes,"
the Emperor said and the call was terminated moments later, leaving Lopez to wonder what he meant by "changes."



• • • † • • •


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User avatar
Marimaia
Diplomat
 
Posts: 825
Founded: Antiquity
Benevolent Dictatorship

Postby Marimaia » Tue Oct 24, 2017 3:45 pm

September 19th, 2017, 14:30hrs [UTC +1]
Embassy of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
Bata, Kulandu

Dressed in a fresh shirt and trousers courtesy of his Soviet hosts, Zackary Asumu was sat alone in the dining room of the Soviet embassy eagerly devouring a freshly cooked meal. Having already eaten a hearty bowl of borscht with sour cream, Zackary had not realised that it was in fact only the starter, although he quickly reached this conclusion when his bowl had been taken away and a steaming plate of beef stroganof and rice took its place. He let out a loud belch and hastily covered his mouth as Ambassador Sayansky strolled in clutching two glasses of sweetened tea, placing one in front of Zackary before taking the seat next to him.

"Growing lad, obviously got an appetite. You liking Soviet cuisine?"

Zackary nodded as he took a sip of tea. "This is delicious! I bet Nmbega and his cronies eat like this all the time."

The elderly Soviet diplomat nodded. "No doubt. You know we buy as much local produce as possible, aside from the extra-special ingedients that come from home your food is almost entirely Kulandun in origin. By all rights everyone in this country should be able to eat like this."

The thirty year old Kulandun paused and frowned. "Have you heard anything about my friends?"

"Not yet. Due to Kulandu's size and the fact that the world has an unfortuante tendency to forget about this nation, our KGB station is, well...not exactly large. We do however have three agents who are currently checking hospitals to see if we can find Adam Musabe and Joshua Ngomo. They're going around in an embassy car so Kulandun authorities will get into quite a bit of trouble if they stop them for anything."

"Does it really work like that?"

Sayansky chuckled. "Not usually, but these are anything but usual circumstances. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs has consulted with Premier Zharkov himself, and we have been authorised to do whatever we deem appropriate and necessary in this situation, so we're checking the local hospitals for your friends, not that it'll take long since there's only, what, three sites. Our agents will display their identification if asked, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind of who they are. Should we find your friends, we have a somewhat flimsy pretext upon which to 'take them into Soviet custody'."

Zackary looked disbelievingly at Sayansky. "What pretext?"

Sayansky shrugged. "We believe that they were complicit in your attempted break-in. All a pile of steaming horseshit obviously, but the Kulandun authorities would be moronic to try to stop us. I have permission to throw our diplomatic weight around and make a real nuisance of ourselves, and I intend to do exactly that."

"What if Nmbega tries to do something about that?"

"Then the Soviet Union will respond. Unfortunately we cannot just 'rock up to the party' as they say, courtesy of the Layartebian presence around here. If we act without an excuse then they'll undoubtedly try to stop us."

Zackary set his tea down and scowled. "They'd actually stop you from helping us?!"

Sayansky nodded and took another mouthful from his glass. "They control the islands off Kulandu's coast, so they have a vested interest in keeping your nation exactly how it is. Those troops who shot everyone, the so-called Presidential Guard? Mercenaries. Layartebian mercenaries. President Nmbega uses the money he steals from your people to pay Layartebians to shoot you when you step out of line. Yet they say we're the bad guys."

"They're bastards!" Zackary slammed his hands down onto the table in anger, causing his plate and cutlery to shift a couple of inches away from him. "If there was any justice in this world, Nmbega would be dead, the Layartebians would be kicked out, and Kulandu would be run by someone who actually gave a damn about the people!"

"Justice may yet come, comrade. Kulandu now teeters on a knife's edge between continued oppression and liberation. All it needs is a good hard shove."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


September 19th, 2017, 15:00hrs [UTC +1]
Kulandu National Hospital
Bata, Kulandu

While paling in comparison to similar medical facilities elsewhere in the world, Kulandu National Hospital was the primary provider of medical care in the Kulandun capital. Kulandu National was much larger than her two sister facilities and therefore saw much more in the way of footfall; Bata General was older and only about half the size of Kulandu National, and while Nmbega Presidential Hospital was newer and far better equipped, it was primarily reserved for use by the nation's wealthy and Nmbega's cronies. As such, any protestors who were wounded and apprehended during the events of the previous night had been brought to Kulandu National for treatment. Unfortunately the hospital was a safe place for their recovery as a small army of police officers had been stationed in and around the facility to keep an eye on the 'vandals and looters' as official press releases had described them. The state owned 'Kulandu Herald' daily newspaper had buried the story on page 14 while the privately owned 'Bata Tribune' had run a scathing front page article on the night's events before their offices were raided and the editorial staff taken into custody; the Tribune's owner, a wealthy Kulandun named George Taluu, had been summoned to the Presidential Palace to discuss the disloyalty of his employees. Despite the best efforts of the Nmbega regime to confiscate all copies of the Bata Tribune some had already been purchased by private citizens, and the events described within were being quietly discussed in several homes across the city.

The police on patrol outside Kulandu National were understandably confused when a black ZIL-117 sedan bearing Soviet diplomatic plates pulled into the parking lot and two Caucasian men stepped out, dressed in immaculate black suits while a third identically dressed individual remained in the driver's seat. As they approached the main entrance of the hospital the two well dressed individuals were approached by a police officer, who held out a hand to halt their progress.

"What do you want?"

Without missing a beat, one of the individuals opened his jacket and produced his identification, speaking in a thick Russian accent. "KGB. On assignment from the embassy of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics."

"What?!"

"We're on official embassy business. If you want to obstruct us then you can explain to President Nmbega why the USSR is pissed with him."

The Kulandun officer's eyes quickly widened at the mention of Nmbega. "Go right ahead."

User avatar
Marimaia
Diplomat
 
Posts: 825
Founded: Antiquity
Benevolent Dictatorship

Postby Marimaia » Wed Nov 01, 2017 1:22 pm

September 19th, 2017, 17:10hrs [UTC +1]
Embassy of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
Bata, Kulandu

Zackary rushed down the main staircase of the embassy building and hurried through the main hall towards the open front doors after receiving news from Ambassador Sayansky, pausing as he saw the black ZIL-117 sedan pull up at the main entrance to the building. Three suit-clad Soviet personnel exited the vehicle, two from the front and one from the back; the one who had exited from the rear of the sedan popped the trunk and brought out a collapsible wheelchair, taking a few moments to set it up. Once the wheelchair was prepared, the other rear door was opened and two of the Soviet agents moved to help Adam Musabe out of the sedan, carefully maneuvering him into the wheelchair on account of his heavily bandaged leg. They then began wheeling him into the embassy, at which point Zackary rushed over with a broad grin.

"Adam!"

Adam quickly developed a similar grin and he threw his arms open to hug his friend. "Zack!" Adam's expression quickly turned to confusion once their hug ended. "What the hell is going on? I was in hospital and next thing I know, the KGB are wheeling me out and telling the police that I'm under arrest for aiding with a break-in at their embassy!"

Zackary chuckled. "You're not in any trouble, they just said that to get you out of there. Things are getting a little crazy, I'll tell you about it."

The two friends made their way to the embassy's ground floor lounge where they were left to chat, with an embassy official bringing tea and coffee for them a few moments later. Zackary proceeded to tell a particularly animated account of the events which had transpired since the failed protest against President Nmbega, while Adam sipped at some coffee and frowned as he attempted to digest the whirlwind which had apparently been unleashed.

"Wait, Zack. You're telling me that the Soviets came and found me as, what, a favour to you? I don't get it. Why are they so concerned about the people of Kulandu now?"

Before Zackary could respond, the accented tones of Ambassador Sayansky provided the reply to Adam's question. "Simple, comrade. We did not know that the Kulandun people were ready to overthrow their oppressors."

Making a brief apology for interrupting, Sayansky took a seat next to Zackary in the nicely decorated lounge, positioning himself underneath the portrait of Premier Zharkov which had evidently been more of a priority to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs than the embassy's actual security. The elderly Soviet diplomat took a mouthful of his own coffee before continuing.

"As I explained to Comrade Asumu earlier, the presence of the Empire of Layarteb in this region ties our hands considerably. If we moved to overthrow Nmbega without a pretext then they would hypocritically accuse us of imperialism and move to stop us. However, if we are supporting a popular uprising or responding to aggressive acts by Nmbega towards our personnel then we can better justify our actions and the Layartebians will find it far more difficult to oppose us while staying on the 'side of right'. Incidentally, I hear that there's a British frigate in town at the moment. They won't know it yet but they could be of great help to us, but that's for another time."

Adam winced slightly as he shifted in his wheelchair. "So we've been stuck with Nmbega because the big powers of the world are too busy quarreling to do what is right? Why doesn't that surprise me? Let me guess, you big players want to counter each other's influence here because of the oil?"

Sayansky shook his head. "No, actually. The USSR has more than enough oil and gas within our own borders so that's not our motivation here. The Layartebians though, well they do own those islands off your coast and that gives them access to the nearby oil and gas fields. As long as they have access to the resources they could not care what happens to your people, and they would stop us from intervening because of the threat to what they would consider 'their' oil."

Zackary nodded furiously in agreement. "He's right, Adam. Why else do you reckon Nmbega employs Layartebian mercenaries as his Presidential Guard? The Layartebians are in bed with Nmbega and his cronies, as long as they get their oil without any trouble they don't give a damn about our plight! Well things are gonna change soon, and then we'll see how high and mighty the Layartebians really are!"

Wow, he's really getting into this, thought Sayansky as he listened to the passion in Zackary's voice as he condemned the Layartebians. We might have exactly what we need right here.

"Comrade Ambassador, have your people found out anything about Joshua's whereabouts?"

Sayansky snapped out of his thought process and smiled slightly at Zackary's use of the term 'comrade'. "All we know now is that he wasn't at any of the hospitals. You two know him best, so where would he go?"

Zackary and Adam looked at each other briefly before Adam answered. "Try his apartment first. If he's not there then he's got a girlfriend who lives a few blocks from him, I'll write down the addresses for you."
Last edited by Marimaia on Thu Nov 09, 2017 8:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
Marimaia
Diplomat
 
Posts: 825
Founded: Antiquity
Benevolent Dictatorship

Postby Marimaia » Thu Nov 16, 2017 4:13 pm

September 19th, 2017, 18:33hrs [UTC +1]
Bata, Kulandu

Despite the limits on their resources in the nation of Kulandu, the KGB were still one of the most formidable intelligence agencies operating within the African state's borders. Admittedly this was mostly due to the fact that the Soviet security agency had a ruthless and sinister reputation around the world, as there were very few rank-and-file law enforcement personnel in Kulandu who wished to incur the wrath of such a terrifying organisation, especially when KGB agents threatened that the USSR would launch reprisals against President Nmbega if they were hindered and that Nmbega would then launch reprisals against the personnel who hindered the KGB in the first place. They had never had to use that particular line of threat until today as the vast majority of KGB operations in Kulandu had been restricted to surveillance, but even their current mission was not exactly taxing for the three KGB agents who were attached to the Soviet embassy. The orders from Ambassador Sayansky were simple: proceed to a specified address and collect the Kulandun male who resided at that address. If he was not present, then proceed to a second address; if he is present at the second address, collect both him and any female Kulandun with him. The embassy's black ZIL-117 sedan had navigated the road network of the Kulandun capital with remarkable ease given the police checkpoints which had sprung up during the afternoon in response to the previous night's disturbances, as the vehicle's embassy plates and the sinister manner of the agents within had successfully bypassed any sense of duty on behalf of Bata's police force. Upon arriving at Joshua Ngomo's apartment building the KGB agents simply had to flash their credentials for the building's superintendent to inform them that Joshua was not at home, and he helpfully let them into Joshua's apartment so that they could confirm that he was telling them the truth. Satisfied that Joshua was elsewhere, the Soviet personnel simply left without so much as a "thank you" and made their way to the address of Joshua's girlfriend, Raquel Obiang.

As the sedan approached the second apartment building, the vehicle's occupants observed a Kulandun police car parked on the opposite side of the road. It was unclear whether the police vehicle was simply parked up or performing a 'stakeout', so the sedan proceeded to pull in just in front of the police car and then reverse as far as possible without actually coming into contact with the vehicle. Two of the KGB agents then exited the sedan and crossed the street to enter the apartment building while the third observed the two occupants of the police car via his rearview mirror. Upon entering the apartment building, the two agents quickly located the building's superintendent and produced their credentials.

"Vyhovsky and Minassian, KGB. We are looking for Raquel Obiang, is she at home?"

The elderly superintendent's eyes widened in shock and his voice trembled slightly as he replied. "K-KGB? Oh, um, yes, I think Raquel is home. I'm sure I saw her earlier, her boyfriend was with her."

Vyhovsky fixed the superintendent with a penetrating glare. "Joshua Ngomo?"

"Yes, I think that's his name. What would the KGB want wi-"

Minassian bluntly interrupted him. "Do you really want to finish asking that question? You will accompany us to her apartment, assist us in gaining access and then return to your office. Speak of this to no-one and your cooperation will be noted."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Joshua and Raquel exchanged concerned glances when they heard the knock on her apartment door. Typical of most apartments in the Kulandun capital, it consisted of one bathroom, one bedroom, a kitchen and a living room. While it was certainly affordable to those who were fortunate enough to gain employment in Bata, the apartment had precious little space for someone to hide.

"Who is it?"

"It's only me, Raquel. It's Oliver."

Raquel relaxed slightly and nodded at Joshua. "It's only the superintendent."

After crossing the compact living room, Raquel opened the door and smiled at Oliver, who gave a slight smile in return. "What's the problem, Oliver?"

He slowly shook his head as he turned to walk away. "I was never involved. I never knew they were here."

Raquel frowned at Oliver's rather unusual behaviour, then gasped with fright as two black-suited men stepped into the doorway and produced their identification.

"KGB. Joshua Ngomo, Raquel Obiang, you will accompany us to the embassy of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Now."

Raquel took several steps back from the doorway while Vyhovsky and Minassian followed her into the apartment. Joshua got up from the sofa and stared in disbelief at the approaching individuals.

"KGB?! What the hell have we done to the KGB?!"

Minassian smirked slightly. "We have two friends of yours at the embassy, Zackary Asumu and Adam Musabe. Based on last night's events, they expressed the opinion that the two of you would be far safer with them than here."

Joshua's confusion only deepened. "Zack and Adam are at your embassy? I...what? How the hell-"

Vyhovsky raised his hand to cut him off. "If you want to stay here then so be it, I'm sure that the police car parked across the road is only there for show. If you want to stay in the embassy, which is considered Soviet soil and is guarded by Soviet personnel, then come with us. Ambassador Sayansky has granted permission."

Raquel obviously shared Joshua's confusion, but finally looked to her boyfriend and shrugged slowly. "If the police know you were at the protest last night, then I say we go to this embassy. How would they know about us if they didn't have Zack and Adam there already?"

Joshua shook his head vigorously. "They're the KGB, people say they know everything."

Minassian chuckled darkly. "While that is certainly true comrade, on this particular occasion you have nothing to worry about."

After looking back and forth between the two KGB agents and Raquel, Joshua let out a defeated sigh. "I guess it'll beat worrying here."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The two Kulandun police officers sat up with great interest as Joshua Ngomo and Raquel Obiang exited the apartment building alongside the two black-suited individuals. They watched as the two Kulanduns were escorted to the black sedan and climbed in, followed by their escort; as the sedan pulled off and began to proceed along the road, the police officers quickly radioed their home station to report that two Kulandun citizens were being driven somewhere in a sedan with Soviet embassy plates.

User avatar
Layarteb
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 8416
Founded: Antiquity
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Layarteb » Sun Nov 19, 2017 6:48 pm



• • • † • • •



Tuesday, September 19, 2017 | 18:00 hrs [UTC+1]

Bata, Kulandu | Presidential Palace
1° 52' 29" N, 9° 48' 27" E






While the KGB was busy rounding up Zackary's friends, Barnes and his unit was stuck on guard duty outside of the Presidential Palace. Of all of the jobs in Kulandu, this was arguably the worst. President Nmbega lived the life of pure luxury. His compound was around 8.5 acres with a sizeable palace, associated buildings for palace servants, and an outdoor pool, privately reserved for him and his guests. The compound was circular, surrounded by undeveloped land and accessible only by one road, which had to pass by Manchurian Global's HQ. The entire area, assigned to his palace measured about 650 acres, which included the space allotted for Manchurian's HQ and some recreational facilities for him and his country's elite.

Nmbega and his elitist guests treated the Manchurian mercenaries like pure servants and disrespected them at every chance possible so for Barnes, being here was truly punishment. It didn't matter how much he was really making, working this close to Nmbega wasn't worth it. Then, adding to the fact that Nmbega was the least popular person in the country after himself, the likelihood of something happening only elevated the risk and lowered the reward. To add to the misery, Barnes and his men were in full kit and full uniform. The air temperature hovered around 80°F but the humidity was close to 100% making it feel like almost 10°F hotter than it was. The men could not drink enough water to stay hydrated and they were sweating like pigs as they carried their heavy gear and they patrolled around the Palace's grounds. Barnes found himself swapping out men after each patrol just to give his men rest in the cooler air of the air-conditioned guard barracks located near the Palace grounds' entrance, where he found himself stationed in this mess.

Barnes was the object of ridicule and Alpha Unit's leader, Paul Lyon, had really laid into him when Barnes came to relieve Alpha Unit. "What a fuckup," the cocky, smug Marine said, "here we are having to fix your fuckup. Way to go Barnes. Maybe I'll be able to get my kids Christmas presents this year; maybe not if we get canned out of here. Try not to fuck up here too. Don't shoot the President."

"Oh why don't you shove a dick in it Lyon,"
Barnes answered with a middle finger as he took over the office, "now get out of here before I slip and shoot you through the balls." Lyon left with a smile and Alpha Unit trucked off not long thereafter. Bravo Unit would be here for the foreseeable future, guarding Nmbega and being abused by the man, his staff, and all of his grotesque cronies. If the country did go to hell, the Presidential Palace would be a prime target and that meant Barnes and his men would have to provide cover long enough for Nmbega to slip into his private helicopter for escape. In that time, Barnes and his men would likely come under fire and after Nmbega departed, they would be the source of rage for the populace. If he and his men survived the ordeal they would count themselves lucky.

Naturally, this gave him something to do and Barnes opted rather than to feel sorry for himself, to work on an escape and evasion plan in the event that the Presidential Palace came under attack by armed civilians. He had to think about the forty-three men under his command. He had four Boxer APCs under his authority and each one was to hold eleven men: eight dismounts and a three-man vehicle crew. Two of the APCs were armed with .50-caliber heavy machine guns, one was armed with a 40-millimeter grenade machine gun, and the fourth was armed with a 7.62-millimeter Gatling gun that could bark rounds at 4,000 rounds per minute. Unless they were armed with RPGs, an armed populace could do little but block and aggravate the crew of the Boxer. They could throw Molotov's but the Boxer was protected against them and with the hatches buttoned up, they could not gain access to the vehicle. They could attempt to block the driver's view but cameras built into the armored hull would give his driver a full 360° view with which to drive. He did not want to run people over, knowing that this would likely galvanize the populace to killing him and his men but he had little alternative except if he could procure some tear gas grenades. He could load them into the smoke grenade launchers on the exterior of the vehicle and use them to drive away the people without having to open fire with his weaponry. This he would make a priority. He knew there were other things he could do but he would need to procure the materials first and that would prove to be the hardest challenge. For now, he set himself on getting tear gas grenades and finding a way to rig them to launch from the grenade launchers on the vehicles' RWS mounts.

• • • • ‡ • • • •


Wednesday, September 20, 2017 | 11:19 hrs [UTC-5]

Layarteb City, New York | Fortress of Comhghall
40° 41' 28" N, 74° 0' 58" W






When the Emperor called, you came. It did not matter who you were or what you did, his invitation for a meeting was never a request and so Joshua Barron, Chairman and CEO of Manchurian Global, sat in the anteroom with his Angela Cuevas, Senior Vice President of General Counsel of Manchurian Global. Joshua had chosen his best suit for the meeting, a suit that gave him a feeling of power and confidence, a suit he often wore when making difficult deals. Angela wore a skirt suit of her own; adhering to the strict dress code of the Fortress of Comhghall, something Joshua had been reminded of when the appointment had been scheduled by the Emperor's receptionist the evening before. Now, the two corporate officers sat not more than ten feet from Judy Mitchell, who was busying herself with a number of tasks from her day-to-day functions.

At 11:30, when the meeting was scheduled to begin, the Emperor opened the doors to his office and invited in both Joshua and Angela, shaking their hands. Inside, the two corporate officers saw the entire Cabinet gathered and no one appeared pleased to see them. The Layartebian government and Manchurian Global had a very contentious relationship with one another. The government had made it a policy since the earliest days to prevent corporate influence from corrupting the nation again, as it had in the days of the Republic. Many corporations did not survive the first decade of the new Empire of Layarteb but somehow, Manchurian Global did. Further adding to the friction was the underhanded way that Manchurian Global acquired the Suez Canal, blocking out the Layartebian government entirely. The icing on the cake was the corporation's Defense Contracting Division based in Cairo because it was not allowed on Layartebian soil. In accordance with Layartebian laws, this division operated independently so as to avoid any formal ties back to Layarteb City.

This would be the subject of today's meeting and the Emperor started off, after everyone was comfortable and the doors were closed, with getting right to the point. "So it would appear that Manchurian Global went ahead and screwed up again," referring to the Arak Incident that Manchurian Global's PMC unit was involved with just a few years earlier. "Now your mercenaries are operating in Kulandu protecting President Nmbega and they've opted to shoot up a crowd of unarmed protestors. Tell me what you have to say for your corporation Mister Barron?"

"Sir,"
Joshua began, repeating something that he and his lawyer had rehearsed on the car ride over, "in accordance with Layartebian law, Manchurian Global's Defense Contracting Division and its private military contractors, not mercenaries, are not subject to the decisions or the directions from myself or my board of directors."

"A well-rehearsed line,"
said Minister Cooper of Justice.

"Ma'am I apologize but that is the truth of the matter, which is fully legal as signed off by this government," Joshua added. "What these private military contractors do is not subject to our oversight."

"I do believe that is nonsense,"
said the Emperor, picking a fight with the most powerful CEO in the country. "Just because it's legal on paper doesn't mean it isn't sketchy and that means I'm going to let Minister Cooper here and her ministry go to town on Manchurian Global. You can bring in all the lawyers you want but when push comes to shove, we'll find if there's a link violating federal law."

"Sir, with all due respect, that isn't a wise fight. Manchurian Global maintains a lot of contracts with the Layartebian government at fair pricing. We would be required to step away from many of them in the event of an official investigation, as per law."

"We'll rebid them,"
said the Emperor defiantly, "because your mercenaries, because that is what they are. This moniker of 'private military contractor' is just a euphemism to make something sound better. A garbage man is still a garbage man no matter what you call him. Your mercenaries have jeopardized the future of an entire country and beyond that the foreign policy of this nation." Joshua stayed silent on the advice of Angela and the Emperor took this as quite insulting. "There will be deep consequences for these actions and I can promise you that no matter what 'punishment' you think Manchurian Global can do to this country and this government, we can do a lot worse in return."

"Sir, I must respectfully refer this matter to my attorney as the hostility of this meeting beckons an emotional response, which at this time is not helpful,"
answered Joshua. Neither of these two men were willing to break their stance and the Emperor pushed hard.

"Effective immediately, the Ministry of Finance will be reviewing all contracts associated with Manchurian Global both here and abroad. If we find any improprieties there will be punitive action. All new awards will be put on hold pending further review of the process. Furthermore, the deployments of the Defense Contracting Division will be put under major scrutiny and we will be speaking with nations around the world to curb their influence and their power. Mister Barron, you can refer this to your legal counsel and you can sue this government until the end of time but this will not stand."

"Sir, my client would like to raise this matter in a court-of-law rather than at this table. We respectfully request that this line of questioning cease,"
Angela answered.

Minister Cooper narrowed her eyes at the lawyer and spoke for the table, "Very well but know that the entirety of my ministry is dedicated to uncovering every impropriety your corporation has. You have been warned."

"Your presence is no longer required,"
the Emperor answered and both Joshua and Angela stood, bid their farewells and left. They would spend the entire ride off the island and back to the office on the phone preparing everyone for the coming shit storm but before they reached the corporate headquarters, agents from the Ministry of Justice, with warrants in hand, entered the building and began their search. Subpoenas were ready the moment Joshua Barron and Angela Cuevas stepped out of the car and it didn't matter how many calls they made, nothing could be done.



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• The Empire of Columbia •

User avatar
The Reborn British Empire
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 101
Founded: Sep 07, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby The Reborn British Empire » Mon Nov 20, 2017 10:18 am

Commander Luke McAvoy LVO RN
British Legation, Bata, Kulandu
Saturday 19th September 2017, 1900hrs Local Time


Commander McAvoy settled his peaked cap onto his head as he stepped out of the diplomatic vehicle that had ferried him from the harbour where his ship was alongside. McAvoy had been invited to dinner with the British Minster; even without everything that was going on it was expected that the Captain of a vising Royal Navy warship would be hosted at the British Legation. He had been picked up by two officers of the Royal Diplomatic Constabulary; the British law enforcement agency responsible for the general security of British diplomatic posts overseas, the law enforcement liaison role, and the only law enforcement agency in the United Kingdom to be operated by the Foreign Office. The RDC was a highly specialised force; it’s officers were required to both serve in a manner that reflected only credit upon Britain, whilst also being far more like a paramilitary force than anything else; they were after all charged with the defence of the diplomatic posts long enough for a military unit to respond to relieve the mission. Looking around McAvoy could see two RDC officers in smart dress by the gate, but they were visibly backed up by heavily armed officers in tactical gear; making clear that no matter what was happening outside the walls, it would be foolish to try and intrude upon the British Embassy.

Of course, this was totally understandable, to those that might not respect the principles of diplomatic immunity, such as an enraged crowd, a foreign embassy was an isolated target, it only made sense to make clear that it possessed the ability to defend itself. Likewise, a British Warship alongside in a foreign port, one that was not a naval base anyway, also made a tempting target; it was much for the same reason that McAvoy had given orders to increase the visible deterrence force on the upper decks of his ship for the duration of their stay in Bata. It was better, after all, to dissuade an attack than to actually have to defend against one.

McAvoy thanked the two Constables before heading towards the main Embassy building. He was met on the steps by another man wearing naval uniform; also bearing the rank insignia of a Commander, and his face broke into a smile as he recognized the officer in question.

“Jack Harper, as I live and breathe,” McAvoy said wryly as he held out his hand. “How long has it been?”

“Luke McAvoy,” Commander Jack Harper replied. “Three years; since we served together on the Norfolk.”

“Indeed, what the devil are you doing here though?” McAvoy frowned. “You should have your own command by now.”

“Took the wrong woman home from a mess dinner,” Commander Jackson replied sheepishly.

“Really, Jack? An Admiral’s Daughter?” McAvoy groaned. “That’s supposed to be a stereotype of fiction!”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know she was an Admiral’s daughter at the time,” Jackson shook his head with a heavy sigh. “As soon as Admiral Spencer found out about it, he arranged for my name to be dropped from the command list and had me posted here for ‘professional development.”

McAvoy grimaced. Admiral Sir James Spencer was the Second Sea Lord and Chief of Naval Personnel; it was unwise to earn the ire of any flag officer, but if there was one who could scuttle your career without much difficulty it was the Second Sea Lord. At the very least Harper’s career would be stalled until there was another Second Sea Lord. It wasn’t right, and McAvoy knew that the Admiralty as a whole was trying to eliminate such abuse of power, but it was also human nature and he knew that it was unlikely to ever fully succeed. As long as the flag officer in question could justify his actions, he had the protection of his rank. It didn’t help that Sir James Spencer was a particularly bitter and vindictive sort; a hell of an officer but a mean bastard none the less

“That’s bullshit,” McAvoy said bluntly. “Defence Attaché to this place, that’s below an officer of your calibre.”

“Perhaps, but given the state of the AMK it is appropriate that it be a naval officer assigned here; their Navy is probably the only part of their military worth a second look at,” Commander Harper replied with a shrug as they headed inside. “Your beautiful Surprise is unlikely to be at any real risk from them, but given that the Navy is the most potent arm of the AMK, it is something we ought to bear in mind.”

“Point taken,” McAvoy nodded graciously.

Commander Harper led the way through the building until they reached their destination, being promptly waved inside by the secretary who had clearly been expecting. As the entered the room the man behind the desk stood to greet his desk; Stephen Chandler, Her Majesty’s Minister to the Republic of Kulandu. Unlike the vast majority of world governments, the United Kingdom now operated a tiered diplomatic service. Diplomatic Missions to the global powers and other major regional powers were full Embassy’s, staffed by an Ambassador, however most missions were Legations, and led by a Minister; both had the authority to speak on behalf of Her Majesty, but the Ambassadors were higher ranked. Given the importance of soft power for Britain’s international influence, being able to raise a nominally unimportant country’s diplomatic mission to a full Embassy was a very useful tool in getting what Britain wanted.

“Good Evening, Commander,” Chandler said, offering his hand.

“Good Evening, Your Excellency,” McAvoy replied, shaking the offered hand. “Thank you for your invitation.”

“It’s my pleasure, Commander, it is not often that we get much excitement here in Kulandu,” Chandler commented wryly as he gestured to comfortable sofas for his guests to sit in whilst they waited for dinner. “I must say that between your arrival and the deteriorating situation, things are getting more interesting here.”

“The Navy does like to be of use,” McAvoy smiled, then frowned. “Are things looking as bad here as it sounds like?”

“Worse, perhaps,” Chandler sighed. “Indeed, I want to talk to you briefly about them before dinner.”

“Of course, Sir,” McAvoy nodded.

“You are already aware, of course, that the Presidential Guard opened fire upon a crowd of protestors last night, killing several and wounding far more; naturally this has led to a situation where there is a great deal of tension on the streets,” Chandler replied grimly, leaning back in his chair. “There is a great deal of concern that the situation could escalate further; once a government starts firing on its own citizens thigs tend to go badly quickly, I wanted to ensure that you are aware of how dicey the situation is, so you can inform your crew.”

“Are you recommending that I deny my sailors shore leave at this point, Minister?” McAvoy queried.

“It would be something worth considering, Commander,” Chandler replied bluntly. “The last thing we need is a British sailor getting caught up in all of this.”

“I would tend to agree, however it will not go down well with my ship’s company,” McAvoy sighed. “If we are denying shore leave, we ought to get underway sooner rather than later.”

“I would request that you not do that, Commander,” Chandler replied. “I am aware that I cannot give you a binding order, but I would ask that you remain for the next few days as we see how this all turns out; I know everyone in this Legation will feel better if you do.”

“You anticipate a need to abandon the legation, Minister?” McAvoy frowned.

“No, but there might be a need to remove non-essential personnel; I would not trust the local airline’s ability to get us safely to friendly territory,” Chandler replied. “Your ship is far closer in any event, and has the ability to defend itself… do you have any Marines aboard?”

“I have a section from the RN Brigade,” McAvoy replied, referring to the Royal Naval Brigade, the infantry force maintained by the Royal Navy for the protection of its bases and ships, as well as boarding parties, when Royal Marines were not available. “All eight of them.”

“Eight fully trained sailor-soldiers, backed up by armed sailors, ought to be enough to keep a crowd back, if the need arose to evacuate the legation,’ Chandler commented dryly. “Don’t you agreed, Commander?”

“Perhaps, Sir, but the RN Brigade is specially trained for defensive fighting and maritime boarding operations,” McAvoy replied carefully, he knew that a bad word from a British Minister would not go down well with his superiors. “They’re not trained for urban operations in a hostile environment.”

“Perhaps not, but you’re all we’ve got,” Chandler replied. “Like I said, I can’t order you to stay, but I would much appreciate it.”

“Very well, Minister,” McAvoy nodded. “We’ll stay.”

User avatar
Marimaia
Diplomat
 
Posts: 825
Founded: Antiquity
Benevolent Dictatorship

Postby Marimaia » Wed Nov 22, 2017 1:49 pm

September 20th, 2017, 09:15hrs [UTC +1]
Presidential Palace
Bata, Kulandu

As he descended the immaculate white staircase to the ground floor of his residence, Michael Nmbega adjusted his silken black pyjamas and glanced out of a nearby window at the beaming sunshine of another fine day in Kulandu. Presidential life certainly seemed to suit the seventy three year old who had crafted himself the image of 'Father of Kulandu', having ruled for thirty eight years with a combination of cronyism, bribery, and when necessary, oppression. During his time in power Nmbega had gone through four Vice-Presidents and had now positioned his twenty nine year old son Michael Nmbega Jr. as his fifth Vice-President; although it seemed to signal that Michael Jr. was being groomed to succeed his father, Nmbega Sr. had no intention of stepping down in the near or distant future. In his own words, the only reason for President Nmbega to ever stop being President would be death. His own mortality was the last thing on his mind this morning as he reached the foot of the staircase and began casually strolling towards the dining room for breakfast, a slight smile appearing as he caught the scent of a freshly cooked meal. While the majority of Kulanduns saw subsistence farming as their primary source of food Nmbega enjoyed a luxurious diet, as did his family and cronies. Many of their food items were shipped in from other nations with no regard for cost, just another aspect of a lifestyle which was completely out of touch with the daily existence of the general Kulandun population. More benevolent and civic-minded leaders would have spent state revenues on their nation and their people, but Nmbega was anything but benevolent and civic-minded despite official government statements declaring his 'parental nature' towards his citizens.

The dining room was decorated in white wall panelling with fine gilding, while the furniture was similarly coloured; a large portrait of Nmbega had pride of place, hanging on the wall directly behind his chair at the head of the table. The Kulandun President paid no attention to the two smartly uniformed maids who awaited him, instead simply taking his seat at which point the maids quickly placed his first dish before him. While Nmbega was consuming his eggs and bacon, Michael Jr. entered the dining room clad in a stylish white short sleeved shirt and a pair of tan chinos. He took his own seat at the table and waited for his father to acknowledge his presence, dismissively waving away the maids as they approached to enquire if he wanted anything. After downing a mouthful of coffee, Nmbega Sr. finally addressed his son although he did not pause his breakfast.

"What is it?"

"Well, according to the reports from the Bata police....the KGB have taken away three of our citizens. One from Kulandu National Hospital and two from an apartment building elsewhere in Bata. They showed up at Kulandu National in an embassy car yesterday afternoon, flashed their ID and then wheeled out a patient. The same vehicle was then spotted yesterday evening when they escorted a man and a woman out of an apartment block and bundled them into the car."

Nmbega Sr. paused. "Our police allowed foreign intelligence agents to arrest Kulandun citizens? What the hell are we paying them for? More to the point, what do the KGB want with Kulandun citizens?"

"The officers stationed at Kulandu National said that the KGB arrested the patient for aiding with a break-in at their embassy, but that's the first I've heard of any break-in. The thing is, the patient they arrested was taken to Kulandu National late Monday night. With a gunshot wound."

That particular piece of news caused Nmbega Sr. to set down his fork. "You're telling me that the Soviets have arrested one of those fucking rioters?" He gestured at his son with his knife. "You tell them that I want them to release their prisoners immediately, and they need to remember that this is my country, not theirs. We're not in the USSR, we're in Africa, and in Africa I outrank those bastards. I'll not have them prevent me from exacting justice on insurgents and criminal scum. Anything else?"

Nmbega Jr. shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the idea of having to talk tough to the Soviets. "Mother's aircraft will be arriving back in the next hour or so."

Nmbega Sr. beamed at that. "Good, I bet she's got lots of presents! Any fool can go shopping in Bermuda, but we know that the Cayman Islands have the very best."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


September 20th, 2017, 10:30hrs [UTC +1]
Bata International Airport
Bata, Kulandu

If Zackary Asumu had reported for his shift instead of being holed up in the Soviet embassy, it was highly likely that his temper would have flared at the sight of the Nmbega family's Gulfstream V aircraft touching down and maneuvering towards the private hangar where it was stowed away when not in use. As First Lady of the Republic of Kulandu, Elizabeth Nmbega (referred to as "Mother Lizzie" in state propaganda) had no interest in wielding power as that was her husband's purview; she was content to simply spend state funds on herself and her family. To this end she often had expensive items shipped into Kulandu at great expense, while four times a year she would take the Nmbega private jet and fly across the world to personally splurge on a high-end spending spree. On this particular occasion she had flown to the Cayman Islands in the Empire of Layarteb; while Bermuda was better known as a glamorous playground for the rich, the Nmbega family preferred to act as though they were the 'elite of the elite' and therefore enjoyed shopping at less popular sites as if they knew something that no-one else did. As per usual Elizabeth Nmbega had returned to Kulandun soil with a considerable collection of high quality and particularly expensive luxuries ranging from designer clothing and toiletries to the latest gadgets and electronics, as well as a small number of attendants to carry her purchases for her.

Usually her arrival back in Kulandu would not be an event of significance as the airport staff were used to her comings and goings, but the current charged climate was not helped in any way by her presence. As the Gulfstream V approached its usual hangar, the pilot had to bring the aircraft to a halt as the hangar doors were still firmly shut; looking out of the cockpit windows, he swore loudly as he saw several of the airport staff approaching the plane, shouting and shaking their fists. Quickly unbuckling his safety belt, the pilot opened the cockpit door to warn Elizabeth Nmbega who was sat at a table, calmly sipping a martini while wearing a stylish red dress with matching wide-brimmed hat.

"Ma'am, I suggest you call the palace. It looks like there are protestors out there."

She set her drink down and glared at him. "Protestors?! In Kulandu?! What the hell is going on around here?"

After glancing out of her window to confirm the pilot's claim, she tapped in the password for her brand new smartphone and dialed the palace, going straight through.

"It's me. There are protestors at the airport, I can't get off the damn plane! Send someone to get rid of them!"
Last edited by Marimaia on Wed Nov 22, 2017 1:50 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Layarteb
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 8416
Founded: Antiquity
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Layarteb » Wed Nov 29, 2017 8:18 pm



• • • † • • •



Wednesday, September 20, 2017 | 10:45 hrs [UTC+1]

Bata, Kulandu | Presidential Guard HQ
1° 52' 51" N, 9° 48' 38" E






Carol Watson was seated at her desk reviewing a series of spreadsheets when her cell phone began to buzz and ring incessantly. Reaching over to where it sat, she flipped it over and saw that it was a call from President Nmbega himself and that could only mean some bad news. Normally he had one of his functionaries call and reserved calling Carol only for when he was extremely aggravated or demanding. She knew this could only mean bad news but she had an obligation to answer it before it went to voicemail, lest she want to receive repeated calls each one with a more irate President than the last one. "Mister President sir," she said as she put the phone to her ear after hitting the talk button on the screen. "What can I help you with this morning sir?"

"You can help me fucking wife!"
Nmbega began, his blood pressure already elevated to excessive levels and his temper flaring. Carol wondered if he could induce himself into a heart attack and pass the country to his son who might just be a better long-term investment.

"Where is your wife sir?"

"She is at the airport and she cannot get off her aircraft. Fucking rioting traitors there!"

"We'll take care of it right away sir and I will call you personally with the resolution."
Carol answered and Nmbega hung up the phone, probably to throw his own tirade wherever he was. A situation at the airport was no good for Manchurian Global for two reasons and primarily because the airport was under the administrative control of the arm, which meant heavy firepower was needed in case the on-site commander wanted to flex his muscles. Carol, knowing that time was of the essence, picked up the phone and dialed Pearson's line extension. Several floors above her, he answered and she got right to the point, "Pearson, we've got a situation at the airport and I just had a personal call from Nmbega himself. His wife just landing and it appears the locals aren't letting her off the plane."

"Probably one of her shopping trips,"
Pearson answered, "I'll have to check with Intel if we even know she was out of the country. I'll get some men down there right away."

"Good who are you sending and in what capacity? Nmbega is going to want to know."

"Lyon's unit, Alpha, I'll send them down in force. Hopefully four APCs will be enough to get the people to disperse given what Bravo did the other night."

"I'm going to the TOC for updates in case I need to update him live."

"Meet you there,"
Pearson said just before cutting off the call. He was only a few meters from the TOC but Carol was several floors away and she'd need to code through two doors to get there so needless to say, she wouldn't be there nearly as quickly as Pearson would. Still, she got right on it, locking her computer and shutting her office door behind her so that it too locked. With only her cell phone, her keys, and her ID, the ID clipped to her belt, she moved briskly into an elevator and commandeered it to the TOC on the sixth floor. There, she stepped out and immediately had to pass through a checkpoint, which was a non-issue considering her access level. She would have to pass a second checkpoint to gain access to the TOC, again a non-issue.

"All right Watson," Pearson said as he approached her at the entrance door, "Alpha is leaving in five mikes in full force. I've got Santiago over there talking to our army liaison at the airport. This might be a cakewalk or it might turn into a shit show, we're not going to know until we get there. Did Nmbega call you back?"

"Not yet, but I expect…"
Her phone began to ring, "There he is." She answered it, "Mister President sir, we have a platoon of men suiting up right now with four armored personnel carriers to go escort your wife off of that aircraft. Sir we may need you to speak directly with the airport commander."

"I will call him myself and find out why he is so incompetent that he cannot do this job!"

"I will call you once our men arrive at the airport sir."
Again, Nmbega abruptly cut off the call, probably to raise hell with his Defence Minister about why the Kulandun military was too inept to handle the matter themselves. In truth, the military was probably more than happy to let Manchurian Global sop up the bad press, lest they be seen as murderers and bloodthirsty oppressors. There was a betting pool within certain circles within the Intelligence Staff that the military would turn heel and side with the rebels if a revolution broke out and there was good money on the military initiating a coup themselves. If they did so, Manchurian Global would mow them down and effectively shut down the coup. The Kulandun military was outclassed on every level by the 500-man detachment from Manchurian Global even if they outnumbered the mercenaries handsomely.

Outside of the HQ, Alpha Unit's four APCs were on the move or "Oscar Mike" within four minutes. From their parking position to the hangar where Nmbega's wife was sequestered, it was all of six kilometers and they wouldn't be stopping for anything. Moving out of the parking lot and onto the main street, the four APCs kept a tight formation and pulled through the first traffic circle, a small one, without yielding way. Two drivers had to slam on their brakes to avoid smashing into the 27.5-ton APCs. They took the second exit and quickly hit a much larger traffic circle and again, they blew through it to the angry honks of drivers who had to avoid the APCs by any means necessary. Quickly, they passed through it and entered the main stretch of highway, a six-lane road evenly divided. Lyon's vehicle was in the lead and his driver quickly blew around slower-moving cars, tearing through at 90 km/h, which was 40 km/h above the posted limit. They were on the stretch for less than 1,500 meters and then into another traffic circle, which was small like the first one. They slowed down to avoid tipping but still went through recklessly. They took the second exit and barreled on ahead, continuing to drive 40 km/h above the posted limit of 50 km/h.

After another 1,400 meters, they hit the final roundabout and blew through it again. This time a driver wasn't so lucky and he smacked into another car in an attempt to avoid the four APCs as they came through without yielding. For the APC drivers, this wasn't even noticed and they continued ahead, each one following the one in front except for the lead vehicle, which was setting the pace as Lyon's urging. The four APCs sped around the airport road, moving into oncoming traffic twice to go around slow-moving cars that were abiding by the posted limits. A police officer sitting in his car running a speed trap wouldn't even both to chase the APCs, knowing that they were Manchurian Global and thus Nmbega's private security force. It wasn't long before the APCs reached the military checkpoint at the airport's service area. The gate was down and a guard waved to the APCs to slow down but Lyon's driver did not have it in his mind to slow down. Comically, the guard dove into the both as the four APCs barreled through the shoddy, wooden, beam gate, turning the long 2x6 into a splintered mess on the road in their wake.

Five hundred meters later, the four APCs were at the aircraft and they quickly went into a combat formation. Lyon's vehicle parked to the aircraft's 10 o'clock position and covered the front while the other vehicles parked at 6 o'clock, 8 o'clock, and 3 o'clock. The four armored vehicles had their RWS stations active and pointing at the airport workers. For ten seconds after the fourth vehicle parked, nothing happened, and then all four ramps lowered and thirty-two armed soldiers exited the vehicles, and took up a line around the aircraft and the APCs so that each APC was connected to the next by a line of armed troops spread out and both standing and kneeling, their weapons pointed at the scores of airport workers unwilling to let Nmbega's wife off the aircraft. It was now the workers' move.



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Marimaia
Diplomat
 
Posts: 825
Founded: Antiquity
Benevolent Dictatorship

Postby Marimaia » Sun Dec 03, 2017 9:12 am

September 20th, 2017, 10:50hrs [UTC +1]
Bata International Airport
Bata, Kulandu

The courage (or stupidity, depending on one's interpretation) which had led the staff at the Kulandun capital's international airport to demonstrate their disdain and anger towards the excesses of Elizabeth Nmbega rapidly dissipated as the APCs parked up and disgorged armed soldiers onto the tarmac. While it should have been anticipated that the Nmbega regime would respond in such a manner to the situation, especially due to the fact that the nation's First Lady was involved, being faced with professional troops proved to be sufficiently unsettling to the airport workers that their collective intent dissolved into individual self-preservation. Some dropped to their knees and put their hands behind their heads in an attempt to prevent themselves from becoming targets of any weapons fire, several turned tail and began to run in various directions away from the deployed Manchurian Global forces, while others simply froze in place, unable to think straight as fear of their potential death gripped them.

With the situation shifted dramatically in her favour, Elizabeth Nmbega ordered the crew of her Gulfstream to lower the exit steps. Once the steps had been deployed "Mother Lizzie" imperiously exited the aircraft, lifting her head higher as she stepped onto the tarmac in her designer red high heels. After making her way around the front of the aircraft she positioned herself behind a kneeling mercenary and glowered at the remaining protestors.

"Who in the hell do you think you are?! My husband is President Michael Nmbega, the man who built this nation with his own hands! It is because of him that you live in a free and independent Kulandu, rather than being a subject of Windhoek! It is because of the Nmbega family that you all have jobs! We give you stability and security, and you repay us like this! You're all a bunch of ungrateful bas-"

She paused her tirade upon catching eye of the approach of General Anthony Bioko, the on-site commander of Bata International Airport, who was accompanied by eight uniformed soldiers of the Armed Forces of Kulandu. While it may have appeared strange at best to other nations that Kulandu had a general commanding an airport garrison, for Kulandu it was just another example of the Nmbega family's rather unique style of governance. In all the Armed Forces of Kulandu were 'blessed' with no fewer than nine generals, who operated under the Minister of Defense. However, these nine were all related in some way to President Nmbega, who had appointed them all to the rank of general in order to avoid any potential infighting or jealousy; as a result, only two of Kulandu's nine generals had ascended to that rank with any real experience of combat. General Bioko was not one of these two. A third cousin of President Nmbega, Bioko had been appointed as a general because he knew how to look the other way when necessary, and his lack of military aptitude had resulted in the Manchurian Global troops deploying before he even realised that there was a developing situation. Dressed in combat fatigues with a black beret which bore the insignia of the Armed Forces of Kulandu, the fifty-nine year old general and his men reached the scene and promptly saluted Elizabeth Nmbega.

"Mother Lizzie, what seems to be the problem?"

"What seems to be the problem?! My aircraft was the target of rioters, if it hadn't been for the Presidential Guard these dogs could've killed me! Where the fuck were you?! You're the commander of this airport, try actually commanding something!"

Bioko's hesitation in replying only served to further fuel her tirade. "Arrest them, you moron! Round them up and arrest them all!"

"If we arrest them all, then we won't have enough staff to man the airport."

"Then call in the ones who are off! Have them work double shifts, I don't care!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


September 20th, 2017, 12:10hrs [UTC +1]
Embassy of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
Bata, Kulandu

"She had them all arrested?"

Zackary Asumu regarded Ambassador Sayansky with an expression of sheer disbelief, shaking his head before rubbing the back of his neck as he considered the news that the Soviet diplomat had brought to his attention.

"So our nation's international airport is now going to either be understaffed or staffed with exhausted workers because the First Lady had practically the entire morning shift taken into custody? This is insane. I mean seriously, this is fucking insane! It's been, what, two days and Kulandu's on a slippery slope to fuck-knows-what."

Sayansky nodded in agreement, making several 'hmm' sounds as he did so. "This is what happens when tinpot dictators meet genuine resistance. They lash out in frustration with no regard for how it might affect their nation or their citizens. If only there was an alternative leader for the Kulandun people, someone who represented the opposite of Nmbega..."

It took a few moments for Zackary to realise that Sayansky was staring at him. "What? Oh...wait. No, you don't mean me?"

Sayansky shrugged and smirked slightly. "Why not? Stalin once worked in a refinery storehouse. Lenin once worked as a barrister's assistant. Both men rose up and became Heroes of the Revolution, from humble origins they are now beloved by millions of people who live better lives than they would be able to if the Revolution had not taken place."

Zackary shook his head dismissively. "I'm not a Lenin or a Stalin though. I'm an angry airport worker who accidentally dropped into the grounds of the Soviet embassy."

"Was it by accident, or was it fate?" Sayansky chuckled at Zackary's questioning expression. "I kid, I kid. In all seriousness though, you would be the perfect alternative to Nmbega. Young, passionate, you work with your hands...you're a worker. Workers of Kulandu Unite! Who are the people going to prefer? The well dressed old man who has lined his pockets while advancing his family and cronies at the expense of the people, the man who wants to waste billions on a new capital city which is not needed....or they have the young airport worker who simply wants everyone to have a better life."

"I wouldn't have a clue where to begin though."

"Nonsense! You have ideas about what to do, everyone does. You have friends who you can talk to about your ideas. Not only that, but I think I can safely say that you'll have over three hundred million Soviet comrades willing you onto success."

Zackary let out a loud 'hoooo' and sat down heavily in a nearby armchair. "Two days go by and I'm suddenly being touted as a national leader by the Soviet ambassador."

Sayansky let out another chuckle. "They do say that a week is a long time in politics. Thing is, you're not going to become the heart of the Kulandun revolution sitting there. You need to get your message out to the people, and we can help you with that. Lenin and Stalin distributed propaganda leaflets, you can stand on the balcony of my office upstairs and address the people with a megaphone. We've always had one on hand in case we needed to address a crowd, it's got a microphone attached so that you're not obscuring your face while speaking."

"Wait a minute, you want me to stand on a balcony and give Nmbega a clear shot at me?"

"If he were to try and assassinate you while you're up there, he'd be killing an asylum applicant on Soviet soil. We'll post a couple of guards up there with you, you'll be fine."

User avatar
Layarteb
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 8416
Founded: Antiquity
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Layarteb » Sun Dec 03, 2017 6:50 pm



• • • † • • •



Wednesday, September 20, 2017 | 11:10 hrs [UTC+1]

Bata, Kulandu | Bata International Airport
1° 54' 31" N, 9° 48' 18" E






"Mother Lizzie" had been on the ground now for forty minutes and she was still at the airport, something that increased her irritability exponentially as each minute passed. She'd expected to land, get into her car, and return to the Presidential Palace right away. If she could have flown from the airport to the palace via helicopter, she would have rather than be on the ground with the "peasants" as she saw the people of Kulandu, not that she really had to interact with them. Elizabeth Nmbega's personal car, which had naturally been purchased with state money, was a 2015 Rolls-Royce Phantom VII, which had been up-armored with one ton - literally a ton - of armor to protect it against bullets up to the common calibers used by assault rifles. The white saloon car was a luxury beyond any others and its purchase, modification, and transportation alone could have easily fed over a thousand people for a year.

Her car - and driver - were waiting just outside of the airport's perimeter, having been warned ahead of time by the pilot that a "situation" had developed. Her driver opted to stay away for the simple reason that he knew Elizabeth would not suffer a single "peasant" hand on her vehicle and it was entirely likely that the vehicle would have been surrounded by airport staffers who just so happened to protest her very existence. Now he was waiting for the "all clear" to be given and it was taking much longer than Elizabeth wanted. First, the mercenaries had shown up and a third of the protestors had dropped to their knees in fear of being shot and another third to run as quickly as they could, hoping that as a moving target they were harder to shoot. The other third merely stood there like deer in headlights.

The mercenaries didn't bother to detain anyone. Instead, they held their line with their weapons aimed at the protestors. Those who'd ran had quickly found themselves corralled in by the formation and those who managed to run out of the semi-circle soon found themselves face-to-face with eight armed men bearing the uniform of the Kulandun Army and being led by General Anthony Bioko, third cousin of President Nmbega and presently the man in charge of the airport. With a snap of his fingers, his men quickly began to corral the airport workers into a circle where they could be easily watched until the Bata Police arrived. Bioko had personally called for the police force to come with enough trucks and officers to carry away fifteen "traitors to the President" as he called them. The police could be slow to respond but with General Bioko barking orders, they'd move quicker than lightning.

As Bioko placated Elizabeth, he found himself increasingly nervous by the continued presence of the mercenaries. They'd maintained then line and though the mercenaries had relaxed their weapons, they far outnumbered Bioko's men and would outnumber the police as well, adding to the fact that these were forty-four men in full kit with armored vests, a lot of ammunition, and well-maintained assault rifles. Bioko wasn't sure that his men's weaponry was even up to par, though he knew that he'd issued directives that his men were fully responsible for his own weapon. Bioko figured that if he drew his pistol and fired at the mercenaries he would only succeed in hurting one of them before his men were cut down. He estimated that the firefight might last ten or fifteen seconds at most and he wasn't comfortable with this at all.

Finally, when Bioko though he could leave Elizabeth for just a moment without her having a conniption fit, he walked over to Lyon, who he presumed to be the commander because he was the one man whose uniform was slightly different. In battle, he would have easily identified Lyon as the commanding officer and killed him for the purpose of inducing disarray to Lyon's men but somehow Bioko knew that with Lyon dead, the mercenaries wouldn't lose their effectiveness. "I am General Anthony Bioko, commanding officer of His Excellency President Michael Nmbega's armed forces at Bata International Airport. And you are?"

"Paul Lyon,"
Lyon answered, "Alpha Unit Leader, Manchurian Global. That's a long title you have there General Bioko."

"Maybe,"
General Bioko answered annoyed that he was speaking to someone so low on the totem pole. Lyon was the equivalent of a lieutenant, a good many ranks lower than Bioko was. Just as the Nmbega's expressed superiority when dealing with anyone in their country so too did Bioko express it whenever he had to speak to a lower ranking soldier, whether they were officer or enlisted. Of course, all of the officers in the Kulandun military were in some way related to or influenced by Nmbega, so they were family - in a way - to Bioko. "You've certainly made a mess out of this country in the past thirty-six hours. Were you responsible?" Before Lyon could answer, Bioko stepped on his words, "Of course you weren't. None of you will be the ones 'responsible' and none of you will have the guts to point out he who was. Let me tell you Paul Lyon, Alpha Unit Leader, you are a peasant to me and this show of force of yours is going to protect nothing," Bioko's voice was low enough that only Lyon could hear him - and a few soldiers close enough to be in earshot. "To these people one Layartebian is the same as all Layartebians."

"It's not my fault your country lacks a proper education to distinguish between two different people,"
Lyon answered sharply. Bioko might have been a general but Lyon reported to a different chain of command, which meant he could speak to this general without fear of insubordination and he really dug into Bioko. "If you trained and disciplined your soldiers I wouldn't need to be here. The fault is on you and your fellow officers who, if the shooting starts, will run and hide while those boys over there die. Me? I'll be with my men on the front line. Can you say the same?" Lyon didn't give General Bioko a chance to answer, instead he called over his shoulder, "Madam Nmbega, should I have your vehicle brought forward now that we have the situation contained?"

"Yes, bring it at once!"
She ordered and Lyon nodded.

Turning back to Bioko he said with a smug smile, "I've got work to do." He turned and gave a thumb's up to the pilots who were still in the cockpit. With a call, the pilot told Nmbega's driver that it was okay to bring the Rolls-Royce forward. Bioko had returned to his men now and the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance indicating that the police were approaching. Lyon walked over to where Elizabeth Nmbega was standing. She was eyeing the airport workers with a look of complete superiority about her. Lyon thought that had she a gun she would have executed them right there for disrupting her morning. "Madam Nmbega, we have your vehicle coming now. We're going to go ahead and get your things loaded up right away and get you back to the Palace."

"Absolutely,"
she said as if the mere fact that she'd been told this was unimportant. "What else would I be doing?" It didn't matter who she was speaking to, the woman was insolent to everyone. Lyon just nodded and walked back to his men. He detailed one squad to keep their guns handy watching both Bioko's men and the prisoners while the rest he had load up into the APCs. He remained outside of his, watching as the white Phantom VII flew onto the tarmac and came to a gradual and comfortable, silent stop next to the aircraft. The driver got out and immediately opened the door for Elizabeth Nmbega who stepped into it and let the door be shut behind her. Quickly, the driver opened the trunk and darted onto the aircraft. He emerged with the pilots and as many bags as the three of them could carry, quickly loading up the trunk of the Phantom VII to capacity except there were more bags and Nmbega strictly ordered and none be laid atop any other ones, claiming that everything was both expensive and delicate. Six bags thus would not fit and could not be fit into the trunk. Her driver suggested that he carry two in the front and proposed to put the rest next to Nmbega in the back.

To this, Elizabeth roared, "I will not be treated like a common slave and be forced to carry bags with me! Put them in the armored tanks," she said, dismissively. Her driver, knowing it wasn't worth arguing, ran over to Lyon and explained the situation.

"Is she serious?" He asked the driver.

"Yes she is."

"I'll go talk to her,"
Lyon walked back over to the car where the window was lowered. "Madam I would not suggest we put the bags in these vehicles."

"Why not, they are armored, are they not protected?"

"Madam, the vehicles are very dirty inside and there is limited room. The bags would be ruined."

"Well then have your men make space!"

"They would still get dirty Madam. The vehicles are not as well riding as your car is either. The likelihood of anything fragile being broken is very high. Our APCs take bumps in the road very roughly."


Elizabeth Nmbega was forced to make a choice. She could continue with her pushing and shoving of the bags onto Lyon or she could just accept that they would ride in the car with her, as they had done in the plane for she forbid them to go into the baggage compartment. "Very well, put them here, quickly! I want to be away from this place."

As the police arrived, the last of the bags was placed gingerly on the floor behind the driver where there was ample room to take several more. Lyon spoke to the police chief for a few minutes, Bioko had his words to say to the man, and then finally, Lyon walked back to the Rolls-Royce where the driver lowered the window. "All right we're getting out of here. We'll put you in between us. Make sure you pay close attention to the vehicle, we keep a tight formation." The driver nodded and within the next thirty seconds, the convoy formed up and was gone, leaving the airport at high speed just as it had entered. Nmbega was still displeased.



• • • † • • •


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Marimaia
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Benevolent Dictatorship

Postby Marimaia » Thu Dec 14, 2017 2:45 pm

September 22nd, 2017, 18:30hrs [UTC +1]
Embassy of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
Bata, Kulandu

"People of Kulandu! The days of our oppression at the hands of Michael Nmbega are coming to an end!"

Standing on the balcony of the Soviet embassy, dressed in a simple white shirt with black trousers, Zackary Asumu had evidently discovered a talent for improvised rhetoric. Clutching a megaphone in his right hand while he held the device's microphone near his mouth with his left hand, Zackary was now on his second day of addressing the Kulandun capital city from the relative safety of the embassy, as ever with two Soviet guards flanking him and keeping a careful eye for any potential trouble. Zackary's first day had been something of a damb squib with only a handful of Kulanduns bothering to stop and listen, but as word continued to circulate about Mother Lizzie's antics at Bata International Airport and people began to gossip about the 'shouting young man', his audiences on the second day proved to be slightly larger; with the workday finished and evening having arrived, the was a decent sized crowd of about seventy people standing outside the gates of the Soviet embassy. Some had heard the rhetoric before and wanted to hear it again, while others were listening for the first time.

"Michael Nmbega and his family are thieves and murderers! Kulandu has oil, yet do we see any of that money spent on the people? No, instead it goes into the pockets of our bastard President and his rotten family! Our military, the supposed guardians of our nation, go without funding while Nmbega hires Layartebian mercenaries to protect himself and his cronies! Our families work hard to grow crops to feed themselves and make a little bit of money, but Nmbega wants to take that from them so that he can build a new capital city which we don't even need! Think about that! This city, our capital city, which has existed for hundreds of years, is not good enough for Nmbega. You know why?

"It's because he wasn't the one who built it. Everything in Kulandu must have his name on it, or the name of his bitch wife, or the name of his bastard son! If something doesn't have the right name on it then it is worthless to him! He can't take credit for building Bata so he must build a new capital to replace it. Worse than that, he would see our people starve so that he can have his new ego project. Nmbega and his filth care nothing for the people of Kulandu. He does everything he can to keep us quiet, and meek, and compliant. When we speak up, he has us arrested or shot!"

Zackary stepped aside and gestured towards the open screen doors, at which point Adam Musabe wheeled himself out onto the balcony. Zackary's voice took on an additional tinge of anger as he continued.

"This is Adam Musabe, a man who I am proud to call my friend. We marched as part of the protest against Nmbega's new agriculture tax a few nights ago. Rather than listen to our concerns, Nmbega had his Layartebian thugs open fire on us! Adam was shot in the leg, doctors say he might have to walk with a cane for the rest of his life because of the damage! All because he had the nerve to say no to our bastard President! How many of you know people who marched in that protest, and how many of you have actually seen them since? How many of you have been told that they're being 'kept for observation', or that it's a 'police matter'? Adam was taken to Kulandu National Hospital and placed under police guard. Even though he'd been shot in the leg, even though he was wounded, the Nmbega regime's first thought was to make sure he couldn't get away. They've done the same to every single protestor who was wounded that night. It took the KGB, the fucking KGB, to get him released!

"How about what happened at the airport? 'Mother Lizzie' came back from a shopping spree on the Nmbega private jet, airport workers protested and she had them all arrested! Think about that! While we scrape together money to send back to our families in the villages, while our families work themselves to the bone to grow food, the Nmbegas are flying around the world on their own private jet, spending our nation's money on themselves! While we are struggling to get by, they are dressing themselves in designer clothing and eating luxury foods which are flown in. They are not rulers, they are plunderers!"

Zackary gestured with his fist as the crowd applauded and cheered.

"You might ask where the rest of the world has been during all this? Why has Kulandu been left to suffer like this?! The answer is simple: the Empire of Layarteb! They hold islands off our coast, islands which are rightfully ours! They help themselves to the oil off those islands, oil which is rightfully ours! They hire themselves out as mercenaries to Nmbega, and they've never once tried to stop his exploitation of his people because they are exploiting us just the same! Nmbega and the Layartebians work together to exploit our nation and make as much money for themselves without giving a damn about the Kulandun people!

"The Soviet Union has wanted to intervene, but the Layartebians oppose that idea. The Soviet Union see our exploitation and want to help, but if they did it on their own then the Layartebians would intervene against them! We must stand up and say no more to our exploitation! The Kulandun people have suffered for too long, we have been silent for too long! We must show Nmbega and the Layartebians that we will take no more! Once we cast down Nmbega and chase out his Layartebian supporters, the Soviet Union has promised to step in and offer every support to a Kulandu which is ruled by the people, for the people! No more private jets, no more foreign shopping trips, no more plundering of our nation! We, the Kulandun people, must take control of our own future! If we stand united as one then Nmbega and his cronies will not be able to oppose our will! We must draw a line in our native soil and scream 'no further!', loud enough that they hear us across the ocean in the Empire of Layarteb! We are Kulandu, we have always stood apart and independent from the New African Republic because we are our own people! Now we must show that same spirit and destroy the Nmbega tyranny, drive out the Layartebians and make this nation work for all of us!"

As the gathered crowd became more vocal in their support and roared with approval, Zackary nodded and began to chant "Free Kulandu!", quickly finding himself joined by his audience. A police car arrived to try and determine what exactly was going on, but quickly accelerated away as the crowd turned their attention towards them.

User avatar
Layarteb
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Founded: Antiquity
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Layarteb » Fri Dec 15, 2017 12:09 pm



• • • † • • •



Friday, September 22, 2017 | 18:30 hrs [UTC+1]

Bata, Kulandu | Embassy of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
1° 53' 4" N, 9° 48' 16" E






Max Shepherd was fifty-eight years old and too old to be playing spy anymore but he was too stubborn to let his age get in the way of the only thing he felt comfortable doing, which was hiding in plain sight. He'd been doing it for the better part of the past thirty-five years and his spying had taken him all over the world, though he never quite imagined that his "retirement posting" would be Kulandu, a place so devoid of anything interesting that Shepherd had half a mind to assassinate President Nmbega's son just to see what would happen.

Shepherd had been born in Pittsburgh in 1959. His father worked in a steel mill and his mother waited tables at a diner. Growing up, he spent most of his time on the streets or alone, teaching himself how to get out of the trouble he often found himself in whenever he got bored, which was often. Shepherd's father left for work half an hour before Shepherd was even out of bed to go to school. His mother saw him off to school and did housework throughout the day. His father came home just before four in the afternoon and they ate supper together an hour later. His mother was gone by seven to work throughout the night. Often times he'd cut class early just to get into trouble on the roughest streets and, at the age of ten, for a short while, he was with a gang until they opted to rob a bank one day and get arrested. Shepherd wasn't with them but his father whipped him something fierce when the police came around to question him. Shepherd revealed nothing to them but his father knew better. He took it especially hard when his father died of a massive heart attack on Christmas Eve 1972.

Life got rougher for the next four years as Shepherd found himself angry and in high school. He spent most of his time with girls and the "bad crowd" than he did studying. On the day of his eighteenth birthday on April 1, 1977, the Layartebian Civil War began in earnest. Six days later, his mother was killed by shrapnel from a mortar round that had been fired indiscriminately by a squad of government troops trying to advance on a rebel-held stronghold. Shepherd joined the rebels by the end of the following week; he was part of the rebels, fighting in his hometown of Pittsburgh. Shepherd fought for the entire duration of the war and when it was over and the dust had settled, he'd been recruited into the Ministry of Intelligence specifically because he'd transitioned to working counterintelligence in late 1978 after several government infiltrators caused half of his platoon to be killed.

Shepherd's first assignment was in September 1982 and he hadn't looked back since. Now at the age of fifty-eight he had been to six of the seven continents and over one hundred countries. He'd wore nineteen separate identities throughout his three-and-a-half decades and he remembered them all. However, the end was in sight. He had arthritis, which was exacerbated by the colder climates - probably why he'd been shoved off to Kulandu. He had a number of war wounds that bore their scars over his body; and in his right leg, he had a metal plate that kept the bottom part of his leg working, courtesy of a car bomb some fifteen years earlier.

Shepherd's life and career culminated in what should have been an otherwise boring, useless posting that got him to the age of sixty with no real risk to his life. It was true that Kulandu wasn't a particularly stable place but the Ministry of Intelligence and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs both presumed that President Nmbega's reign wouldn't end anytime soon. That all seemed to be changing thanks to his monumental level of new idiocy. When the man had raised the idea of building a new capital, the analysts in these two ministries wondered where he'd get the funds, not expecting him to levy the kind of tax that he had. No one in his or her right man could have presumed the man would tax a populace with nothing left to tax. Everyone just assumed he'd make some corrupt dealings with the multinational corporations of the world or beg for loans from Windhoek's many banks. The tax was a signal that Kulandu's end was inevitable. The populace, with nothing left to lose, would finally see the conditions optimal to protest the rule of Nmbega.

True to these kinds of scenarios, the first protest had resulted in bloodshed and now that the government had shown its willingness to slaughter the populace senselessly, there was no going back. Shepherd read the writing on the wall and put in his own notes, "There goes my retirement;" yet in a way, Shepherd was pleased when Nmbega levied his taxes because it meant that "excitement" was coming. What Shepherd had not banked on was the involvement of the Soviets in the matter, presuming instead that the people would rise up and/or the military would launch a coup, both allied against the presence of the mercs. Nmbega would be captured and likely hanged or executed in some other undignified manner. His wife would probably be caught too. The rest of his family might escape and those individuals who'd bled the country dry would find similar fates, whether it was to be captured and execution or to avoid the wrath of the people via escape. The Soviet hand changed the dynamic greatly and until Zackary Asumu stood on the balcony of the Soviet embassy, the Empire had no clue of their involvement, despite learning that the KGB had "abducted" several Kulandun citizens from hospitals.

Shepherd stood in the crowd now surrounded by about six dozen Kulandun people watching this young Kulandun shout into a microphone about the excesses and corruption of the Nmbega regime, as if a man needed to shout it through a microphone for it to be realized. Everyone in the crowd knew they weren't being told anything new but to see it coming from the balcony of the Soviet embassy must have meant something different because they listened and suddenly cared. Shepherd laughed a little when Zackary's friend had been wheeled out onto the balcony, commenting to himself that this was a well-orchestrated performance. He wondered if it had been practiced ahead of time to make it so "flawless." Shepherd's smirk might have caught the attention of people around but perhaps they didn't care much for the man in mirrored, aviator sunglasses, smoking a cigarette, and watching as intently as they were.

"That's two," Shepherd said just under his breath at the second mention of "Layartebian." He took to counting it as a game. He'd get up to ten in all during his brief speech. As Zackary was finishing his speech, Shepherd had to suppress laughter again. The carefully choreographed speech had certainly found pleasure with the crowd but Shepherd knew that anything could motivate a crowd when it had nothing left to lose. At the shouts of "Free Kulandu," Shepherd turned and departed the crowd. He lit another cigarette and cleared his way of the gathering, shaking his head. "You dumbshit," he said to himself, referring to Zackary, "if you think the path to freedom is through the Soviets you're more gullible than that moron in charge." Shepherd returned to his office, missing the arrival of the police and their speedy exit not that it would matter. He wondered if Nmbega would be foolish enough to try to assassinate Zackary while he stood on the balcony orating to the crowds. It would have one of two effects, regardless of whether Zackary was dead or not. It would either scare the populace back into line that no one was safe or it would galvanize their spirits. Shepherd presumed the latter. One thing was for certain, it would amount to firing on the sovereign territory of the Soviet Union and accelerate Zharkov's ambitions, whatever they were.

By the end of the evening, Shepherd would pass on the intelligence to Layarteb City with the new caveat that the happenings in Kulandu were no longer the beginnings of a simple revolt but rather the hand of the Soviets at work. To what end would be easy enough to tell. The Empire had lain claim to and annexed the islands of Annobón, Bioko, Príncipe, and São Tomé in the Gulf of Guinea some six years earlier. With the annexation came large pockets of oil-rich and gas-rich territory that the Empire exploited. Being blamed for the existence of Nmbega was only partly true. Nmbega was reliable in his corruption and for the Empire that meant little challenge from the mainland but that didn't mean the Empire propped him up to stay in power, they certainly did nothing to remove him from power. It was a situation of apathy. So long as Nmbega didn't push the Empire's buttons, the Empire wouldn't push his. With the Soviets obviously making a play at Kulandu, it certainly changed the dynamic of the region and obviously warranted much more scrutiny by the Empire.

• • • • ‡ • • • •


Monday, September 25, 2017 | 08:30 hrs [UTC-5]

Layarteb City, New York | Fortress of Comhghall
40° 41' 28" N, 74° 0' 58" W






The Emperor entered his office, the last of the eight individuals of the Special Council to enter the office. Presently already was Chairman Barnes of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Minister Sanders of Defense, Minister Fisher of Foreign Affairs, Minister Flores of Intelligence, Deputy Minister Denton from the Interior filling in for her boss who was out of the country, Minister Cooper of Justice, and Robert Crawford, the NSA. Numbered and serialized folders sat in front of each person but all of them were closed. The covers of each folder led no one to suspect that this information was fit for public disclosure and they contained the most current assessment of Kulandu thanks largely to Shepherd's information. With the exception of the Emperor, everyone had read through his or her copy, each one uniquely differently, a counterintelligence method designed to identify leakers based on the uniqueness of the leaked document.

"All right let's get started," said the Emperor after he sat down and everyone else followed suit. "Kulandu is the topic, correct?"

"Yes sir it is,"
answered Minister Flores. "The situation on the ground has changed significantly over the weekend. Previously we were monitoring the efforts by President Nmbega to suppress ongoing civil unrest related to his imposition of new taxes. Our primary focus was on the mercenaries of Manchurian Global, of which Nmbega personally employs five hundred, one of the largest private armies in the world.

"This was a simple situation sir and one that we thought we had identified. However, it would appear sir that the Soviets are involved as well."

"The Soviets?"
The Emperor asked with complete disbelief, "What could they possibly want with such a backwards place like Kulandu?"

"Sir unknown at this time but our station chief has observed something unique, which is what affirms Soviet involvement. As far as we can gather sir, the Soviets have somehow managed to protect several Kulandun citizens within their walls, essentially kidnapping some of them from the local hospital. We did not think much of this situation until one of them began giving speeches from the balcony of the Soviet embassy. That individual, along with another, was observed on that balcony by our chief of station. The individuals in question were stoking up tensions within the crowd, essentially calling for a people's revolt.

"With the protection of the Soviet embassy, these individuals are essentially untouchable unless Nmbega wants to invade the sovereign territory of the Soviet Union. Despite his stupidity sir, we don't anticipate he will nor do we think the mercs will follow those orders. That would essentially nullify their contract since it includes certain clauses that allow them to avoid military action against another sovereign power."

"Still, what do the Soviets want with Kulandu?"

"Sir perhaps this is a move to offset our possessions in the Gulf of Guinea,"
Chairman Barnes answered.

"If it is sir," said Crawford, "it's a patently stupid move. The Soviets have enough gas and oil to outlast the Middle East if they're wise about it and Kulandu offers absolutely no resources whatsoever that they could utilize. Ultimately speaking, the Soviets have no benefit except to put their foot onto the continent of Africa and Kulandu is far from an ideal spot."

"Whatever Zharkov is thinking, it is a deviation from whatever strategic brilliance he exhibited over Marmara,"
the Emperor said, "how will they even link Kulandu to the rest of the Union?"

"Not very easily sir,"
Chairman Barnes offered, "there's no safe or easy overland route through Africa and even by air it will stretch the range limits of many of their aircraft meaning a lot of tanker support or reduced payloads. It's far from ideal in the sense of cost-effectiveness. Sea is really their only bet and they're exposed the entire way, whether it's through the Med or through the Red Sea. Since the Cottish passed Socotra to us, we have unprecedented access to the Red Sea and we obviously have total dominance over the North Atlantic sir."

"If they're thinking of way to 'strike back' at us with Kulandu and try to offset our territories in the Gulf of Guinea, they have more work ahead of them than they realize,"
offered the Emperor to the entire group.

"Sir we have an opportunity here," Crawford offered, "we can let the Soviets have Kulandu and all that comes with it. It will stretch their time, patience, and resources just to turn the country into some semblance of a 'useable' territory to them. The average Kulandun is not educated, he lives in a state of abject poverty, and there is little left in the country that the Nmbega clan hasn't sapped dry. The Soviets are going to get a lot more than they are bargaining for and if we play our cards right, the Soviets could just be digging their own grave."

Silence filled the room as everyone pondered the strategy that Crawford laid out for the room. When everyone had thought about it, the Emperor called for a short vote for the entire room. With unanimous approval, the plan was agreed upon and the Empire would not be interfering with Kiev's plans for Kulandu.



• • • † • • •


Last edited by Layarteb on Fri Dec 15, 2017 12:11 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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User avatar
Marimaia
Diplomat
 
Posts: 825
Founded: Antiquity
Benevolent Dictatorship

Postby Marimaia » Sat Dec 30, 2017 8:52 am

September 24th, 2017, 18:30hrs [UTC +1]
Embassy of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
Bata, Kulandu

By the fourth day of Zackary Asumu's inflamatory speeches from within the haven of the Soviet embassy, the young Kulandun's hosts had stepped up their involvement from simply allowing him to rant from the embassy balcony to passing revolutionary literature through the gates of the embassy compound. Zackary was in fine form on this particular evening, having refined some of his rhetoric and also having received more comprehensive statistics about Kulandu courtesy of an embassy request to the Soviet Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Soviet Ministry of Finance. As a result Zackary was able to tell his now-over two hundred listeners about the estimated income that the Layartebians were making from the oil and gas off the Kulandun coast and what that revenue could do if it was going to Kulandu instead, but this was not the primary thrust of his rhetoric. Instead he focused mainly on the known wealth of the Nmbega family and what the nation of Kulandu could do with the money that their President had misappropriated for himself and his cronies, as well as questioning just how much unknown wealth might have been secreted away around the world. Suggesting that billions may have been deposited in accounts around the world was certainly at the highest feasible end of any estimates but the figure still served a purpose, painting Kulandu as a nation which would have prospered greatly under the right administration and therefore helping to heighten the resentment felt by those listening.

Ambassador Sayansky was downstairs with a hot glass of sweetened tea, perusing the latest dispatch from Kiev which consisted of a compiled report on Kulandu from Department IX (non-NAR African nations) of the KGB's First Chief Directorate (foreign espionage and operations), specially declassified for the eyes of Sayansky and Zackary. The elderly Soviet diplomat found the report to be quite entertaining as it provided all manner of detail regarding 'Mother Lizzie' and her shopping jaunts, as well as specifics on other aspects of the regime's corruption; at the same time the report did give Sayansky pause because the amount of detail suggested that either the KGB agents attached to the embassy were far more competent and active than he had ever believed, or there were KGB surveillance operations active in Kulandu that he had never heard about. While he would feel more secure if it was the former, he knew that it was infinitely more likely to be the latter. Sayansky shuddered slightly at that thought as he considered that Premier Zharkov was the former Chairman of the KGB, and if the KGB had no problem setting up their own operations in a nation like Kulandu then who knows what sort of operations Zharkov might have been establishing with the entirety of the USSR at his command?

The approach of an embassy aide took Sayansky's attention from the report. "Comrade Ambassador, President Nmbega is on the phone."

"Put him through to here."

The aide turned on his heel and strode out of the lounge while Sayansky moved to the comfortable armchair which sat next to the telephone; a few seconds later a light on the telephone lit up and Sayansky answered.

"Mister President-"

"Don't 'Mister President' me. What the fuck are you playing at, ruskie?"

Sayansky smirked slightly as Nmbega was obviously not in the best of moods. "Whatever do you mean, Mister President?"

"Don't play stupid with me! You've got four of my citizens in your embassy and one of them is broadcasting false propaganda from within the embassy grounds! So what the fuck are you playing at?!"

"The four individuals in question were brought in by our security detail regarding an attempted break-in. We have since determined that the attempted break-in was in fact a misguided move in an attempt to request asylum, which all four individuals have elected to do. With regard to the so-called 'false propaganda', the individual in question is simply exercising his right to free speech, which I believe is still in the Kulandun constitution. It is nothing to do with the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics if the Kulandun people are listening to him."

"Your embassy staff have been observed distributing anti-government leaflets!"

"Actually we have handing out informational leaflets at the request of Kulandun citizens who have approached the embassy for clarification regarding the information being verbally relayed to them. I-"

"Enough! Your security apprehended Kulandun nationals on Kulandun soil and then took them back to your embassy. You're now allowing an anti-government insurgent to preach insurrectionist propaganda from within your embassy's grounds and you're openly assisting him in doing so! I suppose you think that you're safe within those embassy walls, that because your embassy is technically Soviet soil then I can't touch you? If you think it's acceptable to violate our laws and act with impunity on our soil, then explain to me why I can't do the same to you!"

"I would not presume to attempt to explain anything to you Mister President. You would not have risen to become 'Father of the Nation' if you needed to have things explained to you."

Sayansky's smirk formed into a broader grin as he could almost feel Nmbega's anger growing over the phone.

"I've obviously been too lenient with you. You have twenty-four hours to hand over all Kulandun nationals currently within your embassy or I will take action against you."

The Soviet ambassador jumped slightly as the phone was slammed down on the other end. After sitting in silence for a few moments, Sayansky walked back over to his previous seat and picked up his tea, sipping at it as he exited the lounge and wandered into the embassy's communications office.

"Comrade, do me a favour. Get Kiev on the line, see if you can get me through to Premier Zharkov. Highest priority communication."

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Layarteb
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 8416
Founded: Antiquity
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Layarteb » Sat Dec 30, 2017 8:09 pm



• • • † • • •



Tuesday, September 26, 2017 | 15:00 hrs [UTC+1]

Terceira, The Azores | Lajes Airport
8° 43' 50" N, 27° 3' 13" W






Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Matthew Schofield increased the collective and the MH-60S Knight Hawk shuddered as the power to the rotors increased and the helicopter gently lifted off the tarmac at Lajes Airport, a joint civil-military airport on the island of Terceira in the Azores. To Schofield's left was Ensign Robbie Gates while seated in the crew cabin were the two crew chiefs, Ben McMurray and Keith Everson, an E-6 and an E-5, respectively giving them the rates of naval aircrewman (helicopter) first class and second class. Schofield's aircraft was one of four belonging to HCM-258 embarked on the ILNS Layarteb (CVN-106), a Washington class aircraft carrier and the centerpiece of the 2nd Carrier Strike Group or CVSG-02, which included the nine warships of the 10th Escort Group. Together, CVSG-02 had left port only an hour earlier and they were steaming southward at twenty-two knots, an all-nuclear battlegroup that was headed for the Gulf of Guinea.

It had been just about twenty-one hours since CVSG-02 received orders to sortie. The battlegroup was in a 14.5-month availability status following a deployment that had ended in January and planned dock time due to start in March. Those orders had called for CVSG-02 to assume a position around the Biafran Islands, which was what the official name of the archipelago in the Gulf of Guinea was called, named so after a bight off the West African coast. There was always one Layartebian carrier group operating in the Gulf of Guinea, usually around November Station, which was a position approximately two hundred nautical miles south of Verela, the capital of the Republic of the Khorsuni Nation, a nation that was outwardly hostile to the Empire. At present, the 1st Carrier Battle Group or CVBG-01 was operating there with the 2nd Amphibious Ready Group or ARG-02 and its brigade of marines.

November Station was ideal for launching strikes against the Khorsuni capital, whether that be nuclear-tipped cruise missiles or a sizeable, conventional strike. It was not ideal for say a crisis in Kulandu because it was over eight hundred nautical miles away from the Kulandun coastline and no naval aircraft could fly that far with any payload. Ever since the Cabinet had opted to let the Soviets have Kulandu, a series of protocols had been initiated for the eventual abandonment of the Layartebian embassy. While nothing had been transmitted yet to the embassy for fear of giving away the game, the sortieing of CVSG-02 was the first protocol to be initiated. Soon, ARG-02 would depart November Station and head eastward to the Biafran Islands, making a port call to São Tomé Naval Base on what would be billed as a routine stopover. CVSG-02 would assume its normal cruise speed of twenty-two knots meaning that it would take seven-and-a-half days to travel the four thousand nautical miles to the Biafran Islands. At any point however, the battlegroup could go to flank speed and cruise as a unit at twenty-eight to thirty knots. Its top speed of thirty-four knots was possible but in an effort to deny Soviets that knowledge, they would not go past thirty knots. Just traveling at twenty-eight knots would knock as much as a day-and-a-half off the journey.

The Soviets would likely know that CVSG-02 sortied. Their spy satellites would have been easily able to detect the heat signatures as the nuclear reactors on all ten vessels were powered up from shore idle. Their next passes would show that CVSG-02's warships were no longer in dock and thus they would know that they were out there. Perhaps they might even have a submarine in the area to shadow the task force but it would be a noisy transit for the submarine trying to keep up with CVSG-02 and for sure, Layartebian SSNs were prowling the waters west of Cape Verde and the Canary Islands, and along the route only they were moving at tactically silent speeds and thus black holes in the water, insofar as sound was concerned. There was nothing that the Soviets could really do about CVSG-02 even if they knew where it was going.

For Schofield, the destination wasn't very important. He and his crew would go where deployed and fly where ordered. As a Knight Hawk crew, they were responsible mainly for search and rescue, and vertical replenishment. Knight Hawks around the fleet were even taking on mine clearing as a role but HCM-258 had yet to receive its equipment upgrades or training for the Archerfish system. It wasn't likely to happen until at least spring 2018 when the carrier was in its 7-month PIA period. HCM-258 would exchange its MH-60s for another four that were already modified and then they would train extensively with the system. That same upgrade would also allow the pilots of HCM-258 to utilize wing-kits for anti-tank guided missiles, unguided and guided rockets, and gun pods, giving the helicopters more teeth when it came to close air support during CSAR.

That was in the future though and not in Schofield's mind as he maneuvered the helicopter into forward flight. With the carrier an hour out, its air wing was beginning to depart Lajes for landing. Overall, sixty-eight aircraft made up CAW-22. A further twenty-four aircraft made up Rotary Wing 42 or RW-42, which was embarked on the escort vessels. For CAW-22, the aircraft would be arriving in shifts. First done were the drones, four MQ-8B Sea Scouts and four MQ-22A Fire-Xs. These were remotely piloted onboard by men in a drone-control room deep within the ship. Landing on the carrier was as much about bringing the helicopters onboard as it was about training. Next would come the six MH-60R Sea Hawks of HSM-257 and the four MH-60S Knight Hawks of HCM-258, Schofield's squadron. The twelve A-19A Tempest of VA-251, the twelve F-57B Wraiths of VF-255, the twelve F-58D Vipers of VFA-256, and the eight EF-46B Enforcers of VAQ-254 would arrive next. Their pilots would each be landing in what would be the first of many training flights while underway. The two C-16B Damselflies of VRC-252 and the four E-5A Scarecrows of VAW-253 would land last.

Schofield turned the helicopter to the right and then out over the edge of the island. The blue water below was dark and colorless thanks to the lack of unfiltered sunlight. Gray skies and a light rain had fallen over the Azores all day, making for choppy, dark waters and considerable amounts of inclement flying conditions. The winds were fifteen knots on the ground, nothing terrible and Schofield kept the helicopter low. The windshield wipers beat away the rain as he flew through a designated flight path around and to the east of the island before heading southward to meet the carrier. The flight was bumpy and the Knight Hawk rocked around a bit as it formed up with the other three helicopters of HCM-258 and the six of HSM-257, which were flying ahead. The MH-60Rs were anti-submarine helicopters fitted to carry torpedoes, anti-ship missiles, and other weapons of warfare. They also included dipping sonars, sonobuoys, and a radar designed to look for periscopes.

A few nautical miles from the carrier, the helicopters turned in their formation as the lead pilot acquired the wake of the warships. In the distance, the battlegroup was easily spotted and the helicopters formed up and prepared for landing, which they would do three at a time. First, the helicopters acquired the carrier and entered a landing pattern. Once authorized to land, they would fly up the port side of the carrier with good spacing between the three birds, match the carrier's forward speed, and slip to the right, landing onto the carrier sideways versus head-on as jets did. Then they would taxi to a parking position for the next three helicopters and so on and so forth until all ten were aboard. The helicopters would be towed onto the elevators and stored below deck in the hangar before the next wave of aircraft arrived.

Schofield watched the landings from a trail position and all six MH-60Rs came down beautifully and expertly. They had two green pilots with the bunch and they came down expertly enough in the rear positions of each group. Then came his turn and Schofield followed the squadron lead and slipped into position. The Knight Hawks opted to land two at a time because of space constraints with the Sea Hawks already on the deck. On cue, he slipped over the port side of the carrier and then dropped down onto the deck and that was it, they were aboard. Under direction from the deck crew, Schofield moved the helicopter to a parking position and began the power down sequence just as the last two helicopters came down onto the deck. All aboard, the two helicopter squadrons would be below deck in no time while the pilots headed down into a briefing room for the two squadrons where they would receive some more orders and information about the deployment.



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User avatar
Marimaia
Diplomat
 
Posts: 825
Founded: Antiquity
Benevolent Dictatorship

Postby Marimaia » Wed Jan 10, 2018 6:32 pm

September 25th, 2017, 11:30hrs [UTC +5]
Shirokorechenskoe Cemetery
Sverdlovsk
Sverdlovsk Oblast, USSR

Combined with Molotov (OOC: RL Perm) and Kaganovich (OOC: RL Chelyabinsk), Sverdlovsk formed the industrial hub of the Urals, playing a vital part in the Soviet economy with Sverdlovsk hosting a large number of defense manufacturers alongside factories churning out more general industrial and civilian goods. However, despite the claims of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, the USSR's planned economy did not always get things right. The economic stagnation during the 1990s and early 2000s had led to the flourishing of unofficial transactions and an entire economy which operated outside of official figures; the Soviet economy was starting to recover, but as it did so it inadvertantly strengthened those who had profited during worse times. Production quotas could be significantly different from the realistic production of a factory, not necessarily due to worker productivity but rather because other factories which supplied parts were not producing sufficient quantities of their own output to supply end-of-the-line factories. As factory managers were not overly fond of missing quota targets due to the potential chastisements and punishments awaiting them, they had become willing customers of those who operated outside of the planned economy. With no 'official' name but often referred to collectively as the 'Bratva' or 'brotherhood', there existed a breed of individual within the USSR that refused to play by the planned economy but preferred instead to exploit it for all it was worth. Factory managers who were running low on supply parts and therefore risked missing their quotas could turn to individuals who would provide the necessary parts, in return for rubles or favours owed. The managers never asked where the parts came from and this was just as well, because the parts had either been stolen from other factories or manufactured in small illegal factories operating out of old warehouses, abandoned bunkers, or in a few cases, even abandoned underground stations. Industrial parts were not the Bratva's only means of making a quick ruble however. Very often Soviet workers came to realise that they could embezzle a few units of just about any product to the Bratva for some extra money, and the Bratva would then sell on the embezzled goods at a profit, sometimes even selling it back to the concern which had been the victim of the embezzlement and had turned to the Bratva in hopes of making up the shortfall; these concerns occasionally had suspicions that they were buying back their own goods, but they could not easily report it because they themselves were engaging in illegal economic activity. Ordinary Soviet citizens who were on lengthy waiting lists for consumer goods often found it easier to go to the Bratva for the goods they desired, bypassing the lists and usually paying less than they would if buying from official channels, mainly because the goods in question had been 'liberated' from the planned economy in one way or another.

Depending on the willingness and attitude of a given Bratva organisation, they might also be profiting from contract killings, armed robbery, gambling, prostitution, and the smuggling of foreign goods into the USSR among the wide variety of options open to them. It was most often the case that only the most powerful organisations were able to successfully smuggle in foreign goods (and often smuggle out desired Soviet goods) due to the necessity of official collusion, and only the most powerful Bratva groups could afford to bribe, blackmail, or intimidate Soviet officials. Local Party chieftains could be persuaded to look the other way in return for the latest smartphone from abroad or a cut of the profits. The Soviet state did everything they could to deny the existence of such a pervasive 'shadow economy' in their communist utopia, but virtually every Soviet citizen knew of someone they could talk to about getting something 'unofficially'.

Shirokorechenskoe Cemetery had always been a resting place for the famous locals of Sverdlovsk, ranging from war heroes to poets, loyal Party members to scientists. On this particular morning, a crowd of black-clad individuals were attending the funeral of someone just as influential, albeit without official recognition of that fact. Tómas Margasov had been the head of the 'Margasovskaya Bratva', the organisation which had started under Margasov's father and subsequently risen to become the dominant group in the Urals industrial area as well as one of the most powerful groups in the USSR, as Margasovskaya Bratva had links to smuggling operations in Rostov-on-Don and Odessa. The funeral was attended by a variety of well-wishers and allies from the Soviet shadow economy as well as a few local officials who were there in an attempt to curry favour with the heir apparent of the organisation, Tómas's twenty five year old son Lisandr Tómasovich Margasov. His long hair tied back in a ponytail and dressed in an immaculate black suit with a black overcoat, black gloves, and a pair of tinted shades, Lisandr watched as his father's ornate casket was lowered into the ground, the newly crafted headstone paying homage to Tómas as a father and husband. At Lisandr's side stood his mother Kolenka, wearing a black fur 'cossack' hat and a long black fur coat over her plain black dress; the individuals surrounding were all dressed smartly in black as well, the vast majority of them male and varying in age. Once the Orthodox service was over and the priest offered his final condolences and best wishes to the family, the gathered attendees did not move an inch until Lisandr and Kolenka began to move, stepping away from the grave arm-in-arm towards their waiting ZIL-41047 limousine.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


September 25th, 2017, 12:30hrs [UTC +5]
Margasov Residence
111 Ulitsa Chkalova, Sverdlovsk
Sverdlovsk Oblast, USSR

It was only a short drive from the cemetery to the Margasov residence, a concrete block-esque "Brezhnevki" apartment building which had been effectively handed over to the Margasovskaya Bratva by the local officials in return for various 'considerations'. The old Stalinki and Brezhnevki apartment blocks across the Soviet Union had started being renovated or replaced during the late 2000s, and the Margasovs had acquired their building in 2013. The entire top floor of the apartment building had been altered to create what was a penthouse in all but name for the Margasovs themselves, while apartments on lower floors had been given to various lieutenants and underlings. The Margasov penthouse was outfitted with the very latest in modern gadgetry and appliances, some Soviet-made and some foreign; truly loyal Party officials or KGB agents would undoubtedly have a fit if they ever saw the quantity of Apilonian, Cottish, and Layartebian products within the penthouse's walls. The building's immediate surroundings were under observation not just by inhabitants of 111, but also Bratva members and informants who resided in blocks 109, 117, and 49 which shared the same central playpark with 111, as well as blocks 119, 119A, and 117A which were located across the street from 111. Most of the informants were ordinary citizens who kept a lookout in return for some extra rubles or a new appliance every now and then.

The penthouse now played host to those funeral attendees who were actually part of the Bratva, as well as the two individuals employed by the Margasovs as servants. A buffet had been laid out in the well-appointed dining room with a wide variety of freshly prepared food items while an expensive selection of drinks was on offer to accompany the food. After a short period of the attendant Bratva members toasting their former leader before renewing their loyalty to the organisation and their new Pakhan, Lisandr addressed his guests.

"Brothers, my father and his father before him refused to play by the rules. The Party claim that we live in a utopia, but if that were true then we would not be needed. We help the people while the Party help themselves. The 'glorious' Premier Zharkov has conquered Constantinople and judging from the way that the news has started reporting on the African shithole of Kulandu, the USSR will probably be 'liberating' them soon. While he looks abroad, we shall continue to do as we do. It's been almost a year since he came to power, he looks abroad and he looks to the IFI in the Caucasus but he has yet to look to us. The Bratva survived Stalin, Khrushchev, Molotov and Kaganovich, Brezhnev, Andropov, Gorbachev, Siloviki, Ilyina, and we'll survive Zharkov.

"When my father discovered his illness, he made it clear that he wanted me to succeed him. You all followed the word of your Pakhan that day, and I know that you will continue to follow the word of your Pakhan from this day. Now I know that some of you may have your doubts despite that. I'm twenty-five. I've got no tattoos. I graduated with a 5 when I did my mathematics degree at A. M. Gorky Ural State University." He shrugged and tapped his right temple. "This is my best weapon. The traditionalists will call me a 'bitch', they'll call me a pretender, they'll call me every name under the sun. They'll say that the Margasovskaya Bratva is in the hands of a child. So I say we screw them over every chance we get. Our friends will remain our friends, our enemies can go fuck themselves."

He grinned as the others cheered, then took a sip of champagne. "Karl, I understand that we have some Armenian guests coming to visit next week?"

Karl Bezrukov, the Margasovskaya 'Sovietnik' or 'Councilor', nodded at the question. Aged forty-nine, Karl had served as the trusted advisor to Tómas for several years and would now be performing the same role for Lisandr. "That's correct, Pakhan. Alishan Ghazarian is the boss of the largest brotherhood in the Armenia SSR and he was planning to come here in person to meet your father, but apparently a 'big opportunity' has reared its head in Constantinople so he's sending his nephew instead, Tirazan Bagratuni. It could be genuine, or it could be that he's sending his nephew to evaluate you because you're new."

"Hmm....I'll do my best to dazzle him then."

User avatar
Marimaia
Diplomat
 
Posts: 825
Founded: Antiquity
Benevolent Dictatorship

Postby Marimaia » Sat Jan 13, 2018 1:28 pm

September 25th, 2017, 19:00hrs [UTC +1]
Embassy of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
Bata, Kulandu

The Soviet embassy in the Kulandun capital had expected some form of action from President Nmbega's regime after his twenty four hour warning to the ambassador, but it was now half an hour past the end of the deadline and nothing had happened. No phone calls, no presence outside the embassy, nothing. Zackary's evening speech from the embassy balcony had gone ahead as planned, and the crowd had gotten slightly larger once again, while the embassy staff had been finalising contingency plans in case Nmbega went ahead and did something particularly aggressive to the embassy building. With the speech over, Zackary had now joined Ambassador Sayansky in the embassy's lounge along with Adam Musabe, Joshua Ngomo, and Raquel Obiang. Zackary was pacing back and forth while the others were sat around the room, all awaiting Nmbega's next move.

"We're past twenty four hours now. Let's see what Nmbega's actually made of."

Sayansky nodded as Zackary made his way to the lounge window, while the rest of the individuals in the lounge exchanged somewhat nervous glances. Finally Joshua spoke up.

"What do you think he might do?"

Sayansky sat further back in his armchair and let out a 'hmmm' as he pondered the question. "If he's sensible then he won't do anything more than lodge an official protest or issue an official expulsion, but he's so riled up at the moment that he's probably not going to be as sensible as he should be. I doubt that he's stupid enough to actually do anything violent towards the embassy, but he might try to take some action which stops just before the line that no-one ever crosses."

"I can see lights out there."

Sayansky turned his attention to Zackary, who pointed in the direction of what he was seeing. "I think they're police lights."

A few moments later, a Soviet embassy guard rushed into the lounge and hurriedly saluted the ambassador as he began to relay information.

"Comrade Ambassador, there are Kulandun police vehicles pulling up outside the embassy. Not just at the front gate, they appear to be surrounding the compound."

The elderly Soviet diplomat hauled himself out of his armchair just as an aide entered with a look of genuine concern clear upon his face. "Comrade Ambassador, President Nmbega is on the phone. We've put it through to here."

"Alright, good." Sayansky settled himself back into the chair and picked up the telephone which was positioned on a small stand next to it. "Mister President, what can I do for you?"

An expression of mild irritation flashed across Sayansky's features as he heard Nmbega chuckling on the other end of the phone. "Well well, comrade. I gave you twenty four hours to hand over my citizens and you refused. So here's how things are going to play out. I've ordered the Bata Police Department to put your embassy under twenty four hour guard, they won't set foot inside your compound but equally your people won't be able to set foot outside the compound without police permission. They also have orders to disperse any crowds that show up to hear to the lies being spouted by your little puppet man.

"I'm giving you another twenty four hours to hand over my citizens. If you miss this second deadline, then I will expel all Soviet personnel from Kulandu, by force if necessary. In the process of expelling you, I will get my hands on the Kulandun citizens that you are harbouring in your embassy. Oh, and to prove that I'm not messing around, the police are currently making their way around Bata gathering up any native Kulanduns who we know to be employees of your embassy. They will be placed under protective custody for their own good until this situation is resolved.

"The ball is in your court now, comrade."

Sayansky scowled as Nmbega slammed the phone down on the other end, then replaced his own handset and turned to the others in the lounge.

"If we don't hand you four over to him within twenty four hours, he's going to expel all Soviet personnel and grab the four of you as we're being kicked out of the country. As of right now, the local police have the embassy compound surrounded and won't let anyone out without their express permission. They're also rounding up any native Kulanduns who are known employees of this embassy; thankfully we don't employ that many locals, but the ones we do employ are to be put into 'protective custody'."

Zackary shook his head in disgust. "Shit..."

"So it's over then?"

Sayansky looked at Raquel Obiang and offered a slight smile. "Nothing's over until it's over. I dare say that Kiev will have something to say to Nmbega once we report this back."

User avatar
Layarteb
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 8416
Founded: Antiquity
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Layarteb » Sun Jan 14, 2018 2:51 pm

OOC: Written cooperatively by Layarteb and Marimaia.



• • • † • • •



Tuesday, September 26, 2017 | 08:30 hrs [UTC+2]

Cairo, Egypt | Manchurian Global Headquarters
30° 1' 17" N, 31° 13' 1" E






The situation in Kulandu was growing stickier by the day as President Nmbega grew more and more irrational. Manchurian Global's PMC Division was also in a difficult position thanks to the reunification of the Roman Republic the previous March. Roman oversight on the PMC entity meant that to continue to do business properly and without hindrance meant a move from Roman territory to elsewhere. A plan had already been put in place and on September 30, 2017, the Manchurian Global PMC Division would dissolve itself and offer its assets up for auction citing financial constraint. Naturally, they would be auctioned off quickly and re-founded within twenty-four hours to ensure that no one lost his or her job. The sell-off would align evenly with the end of the third quarter, making it a very clean and convenient business transaction. Legally-speaking, everything would be done to the letter of the law and the company was set to be re-founded under the leadership of Edward Harmon, an independent businessman with ties to Manchurian Global, though he was not an employee of said multinational corporation.

Harmon would move the company from Cairo to Rio de Janeiro where he would rent space in Manchurian Global's Rio de Janeiro HQ for a very friendly rate. The company would be rebranded to Aegis Specialized Protection, LLC and owned solely by Edward Harmon, President and CEO. Because of Layartebian law, Manchurian Global could not operate a PMC - or mercenary - entity as such was barred under Layartebian law. No one who served as a mercenary in any outfit could step foot on Layartebian soil - legally that was - without risking deportation or arrest. Layartebian citizens who joined mercenary groups were stripped of their citizenship and rights under Layartebian law and subject to arrest should they ever reenter Layartebian territory. Those who served as an employee of a mercenary company would have his or her entry to Layartebian territory barred just the same but also would be subject to having his or her assets seized should any exist within Layartebian territory. The punitive laws against people operating or working for mercenary companies made the Empire one of the harshest anti-mercenary nations in the world and it was done so by design.

The switchover from Cairo to Rio would happen on October 1, as soon as Harmon acquired the company. Legally-speaking, no one would be able to do anything and Manchurian's Cairo HQ would find itself with considerable space for rent as employees and operations left the building. The Rio HQ was already set up to resume business the moment that the switchover took place and surely anyone could see plainly that the move was orchestrated and well-planned yet not prosecutable since Harmon broke no laws by building an operations center. Manchurian's training center was located just outside of Rio de Janeiro and it would be no coincidence that the corporate HQ moved close to the 2,775-acre training facility. Navigating the Kulandun contract would be the most challenging.

The terms and conditions of the contract were very black and white with little room for interpretation and no gray areas. The mercenaries in Kulandu were there to protect President Nmbega and to provide for his security only. They could be used in a capacity to quell riots and protests as well as to put a stop to citizen uprisings; however, and this was blatantly clear, they could not be used against another national entity in any capacity whatsoever. It said these words plainly and that meant Manchurian's mercenaries could not be used to attack, siege, encircle, or commit any actions whatsoever against the Soviet embassy. Commander Brian Pearson had made this point very clear to his host the first time that they spoke and referred the country's despotic ruler to the contract. President Nmbega grumbled but in the end, this was why he sent forth the local police forces but that was not enough for President Nmbega and the man wanted the mercenaries he paid so well to do something. He wanted them to assault the embassy and arrest everyone inside, which Pearson told him was not only a breach of the contract but an overt act of war against the Soviet Union. Pearson advised President Nmbega to act otherwise and not to commit such a flagrant disregard of diplomatic protocol. If President Nmbega had given any indication that he would forgo his plans, Pearson would not have put an emergency call to Cairo.

Throughout the night, executive leaders of the entity, along with the legal counsel, reviewed and debated the situation. It was evident that President Nmbega was about to embark upon an historical-level act of idiocy and if he attempted to levy the mercenaries to do the job he found become extremely irate. The mercenaries would refuse as they had every right to do. Kulandu's own military was pathetic in its inferiorities and they would get as far as the front gate before being rendered combat inefficient whether through the use of acoustic self-defense devices or small arms from the embassy's guard staff. Pearson believed that a good volley of water balloons with paint could render an attacking squad useless, they were that inept.

When morning rose, the executives under the leadership of Bert Charles had their course of action set. Violating the terms of the contract would give Manchurian Global the legal standing to withdraw from Kulandu. The mercenaries would depart with their equipment and leave President Nmbega to obvious ruin. In doing so, President Nmbega would be able to avoid paying out the remainder of the contract though he did have to pay half of the remaining contract as a penalty for violating the terms and conditions. Naturally he would refuse to pay and for the mercenaries it would be a lost cause as it was doubtful he would survive long enough to be brought up an international tribunal for financial restitution. Yet despite this "ifs" nothing had yet been decided and it was up to Bert Charles to level the situation with President Nmbega. As the head of the company - though he had only days left in his tenure - he would be the ultimate man responsible for dealing with Nmbega's request, more so than the man on the ground, which did not anger Pearson one bit. In this instance he wanted the weight of corporate to deal with President Nmbega, thus alleviating him from the unpleasant job.

Bert put in a call to Nmbega at 08:30, passing through the switchboard operators and secretaries to reach the man himself within just five minutes of pushing "dial" on his office phone. He said hello to the man, asked him how he was fairing, and then brought the brass tax out quickly enough. "Mister President," he began, "it has come to my attention that you wish to utilize our personnel to take action against the Soviet embassy. I have been informed that Commander Pearson related the terms and conditions of our contract, specifically those barring action against the soil and owned properties of foreign nations.

"This is why I am calling your personally. We are proud to serve you and we wish to continue our contract but I must make it plainly clear that our personnel will not be allowed to do such a thing nor will they be allowed to act in any manner against the sovereign territory of the Soviet Union. If you should force them to do such a thing I am afraid we have to exercise our nullification of the contract based upon the aforementioned legal and binding stipulations.

"However we do not want to do this. You must understand that this is a 'last resort' for us. We want to continue to serve you and we want to ensure that you are acting in such a manner that is beneficial to your continued rule. I trust I do not need to spell out how the Soviets would react to such an action."
Bert said at length before allowing President Nmbega to respond, which was sure to illicit a monumental response.

At first, President Nmbega's nostrils flared but then his temper followed suit as he listened to Bert Charles before the petulance of a dictator being denied his way rang out in response. Those who had been in the President's office with him at the time of the call quickly exited the room, pulled the doors closed, and then either hurried off elsewhere in the Presidential Palace or took the risk of listening at the door to hear the Kulandun leader's explosiveness.

"You dare speak to me of terms and conditions at a time like this?! I am Michael Nmbega, President of Kulandu, Father of the Nation! I built Kulandu from a dirtball into the nation it is today, I have guided my people through calamity and prosperity, Kulandu would not even exist without me! Who are you, some little corporate pissant? Lecturing me over the phone because you don't have the balls to talk to me face-to-face! I've given your fucking company millions since I came to power; I'm one of your best fucking customers and you think you can disrespect me like this! If it wasn't for my money, your company would be some shitty little backyard operation begging for business! Your men are here in Kulandu to serve me, understand, to serve me! If I order them to surround the Soviet embassy then they should surround the fucking embassy, if I order them to storm the fucking embassy then they should storm the fucking embassy!

"Is this how you treat your best customer? Perform the easy tasks and then hide like fucking cowards when things get a little tough? I've got disrespectful fucking Russians running around my nation acting like they own the place, and when I tell your men to do what they're supposed to do, they get you to phone me to tell me that they're unwilling to come out and play?! If your company actually had some balls then you would realise that doing what I tell you to do will make your boys famous, no-one would fuck with you and you could command any fucking price you wanted! What a surprise though, when faced with a challenge you try to hide between your 'terms' and your 'conditions'. I'm the leader of a sovereign fucking nation! You're some shitty corporate suit hiding in your office from big decisions, you wouldn't last ten
seconds as a fucking national leader!

"If your men continue to act like pussies, hiding behind lawyers and 'terms and conditions' rather than doing their job and standing up to these fucking Russians, then you can all go fuck yourselves! If your men, the men I have bought and paid for, are unwilling to do what I'm paying for then they can all fuck the hell out of my nation and you can give back all the fucking money that your shitty little company has been lucky enough to get from me! If you won't do the job, I will find someone else to fucking do it!"
Nmbega paused to take a breath, granting Bert an opportunity to interject if he so desired.

The outburst from Nmbega was certainly expected as the man was famous for his temper and his self-righteousness. Bert had little left to offer the man whose outburst had produced a clear and decisive course of action. Nmbega had put an expiration date on his rule the moment he acted in any way, shape, or form against the Soviet embassy. If he thought Premier Zharkov would be dissuaded from action by a few hundred mercenaries than he was more deluded than any dictator in modern history. "Mister President, I am sorry to hear that your course of action is non-negotiable. I regret to inform you that your opinion of Premier Zharkov is not aligned with reality. He is a strongman with only the desire of 'empire' on his mind and Kulandu is but a speck upon his map.

"You will leave us with little choice but to begin contractual nullification. I do wish you to reconsider because while you have paid us handsomely, our net worth as a company will suffer little in the wake of this dissolution. I implore you, for your own sake and the sake of your people, not to take physical action against the Soviets. Though they have considerable land and ocean to cross, they will not allow such action to take place without response. You saw how they acted with regards to Constantinople. It is unlikely they would act differently to Kulandu."
From there, Bert left Nmbega to get in whatever final words he wanted and perhaps - though unrealistically hopeful - to reverse his course of action.

Despite Bert's rational and entirely reasonable words, he was unfortunately directing towards an individual who had evidently crossed the point of no return in that particular regard. Nmbega's response to Bert's entreaty was unsurprisingly negative as a result.

"You think that Zharkov is going to take Kulandu?! He only struck at Constantinople because they were next door. The Soviets don't have a hope in hell of taking Kulandu, my people would rather die than let Kiev take over! We will fight the Soviets with every ounce of our national spirit, we will suck them into a quagmire from which they will beg to escape! You say that Kulandu is but a speck on Zharkov's map, well I say that our victory over any Soviet invasion will put us on everyone's map! What a surprise, a company run by white Westerners underestimates the fortitude and spirit of black Africans!

"Fine then! If you wish to turn tail and run then
run! We will outlast the Soviets; we will outlast Zharkov! Curse your shitty little company and curse all of your cowardly mercenaries! Kulandu will handle this ourselves, and we will show the world that we are to be counted among the great nations of the planet!"

Nmbega paused to puff out his own chest and smile to himself about how he had so expertly put the corporate lackey in his place… or at least, that was how Nmbega viewed the conversation.

For Bert there was little left to say but to wish Nmbega luck on his endeavor, even if the words weren't very genuine. However long Nmbega had, Bert could not say. He knew it would take the Soviets some time to get its military assets to Kulandu but time was not on Nmbega's side. If he had any victories at all they would short and fleeting. The call ended and Bert initiated the protocols that would see Manchurian Global's mercenaries leave the country, though it would take a few days to pack everything up and get them aboard the transport ship that brought them there, the MG Atlantic Seafarer, a 15,000-ton merchant ship owned and operated by Manchurian Global. The PMC Division had hired out the vessel, naturally without trouble, to bring its men and equipment to Kulandu and it had sat tied up in Bata since its arrival, just in case a speed exit was required.



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