En Este Rincón (Semi-Closed Teremara. TG OP.)

by **Teremara Caretaker** » Sun Sep 09, 2018 11:13 am

In this corner of the region of Teremara, at the southeastern tip of Madurin, lies San Rosito, a small Spanish speaking nation that has had turbulent times throughout much of its independent history. Experiments in democracy were not even given enough time to fail, and after several dictatorships and revolutionary leaders, the current ruling junta of generals might be the longest ruling regime yet in its history.

The trio of generals took over in a brief, but bloody coup in 2007. General Gabriel Pedro Elizondo represents the ERSR (Ejercito de Republic de San Rosito - the army), while General Daniel Guarjeto is the head of the Policía Federal, and General Juan Garcia Arenas is commander of the air force. Admiral Jose Monsalve Herrero is the head of the navy, and while holding some power, is only considered a junior member of the ruling junta. The junta, while publicly promising its citizens and Teremara to put an end to the narco epidemic, has often turned a blind eye to the violence when their coffers are filled with narco pesos. Many local ERSR commanders are in the pocket of the cartels, making the war against the narcos near impossible as solely a domestic effort.

Another faction vying for the hearts and minds of San Rositans is the ELPR (Ejército de Liberación Popular de Rositan), Marxist rebels who champion the lower classes of San Rosito. In the past, they have tried to fight the narcos, and in turn been hunted down by the narcos, but have also been suborned to the narcos in helping to protect the jungle factories and the shipments when both group's end goals align. The government, ELPR and narcos have had this three way, side-shifting, power play going for decades.

Most would say the real power lies in the cartels. The most powerful cartel in the country is run by Diego Humberto Abramiento out of Rafindo, the second largest city that lies in the foothills of the Titán mountains. Rafindo is at the center of where all the coca crops come pouring in to be processed and distributed to the coast to be shipped out. Of course, some of it never makes it out of the country, with the small, but vibrant wealthy and upper middle class San Rositans of Rafindo, Santa Bella, Puerto Cristal, Nueva Vista and Luzagrada being generous consumers of the domestic product.

The greatest rival of Abramiento would have to be Enrique Garza Sendes, the leader of the cartel in Puerto Cristal, the capital of San Rosito. While they hate each other, the two largest cartels are reliant on each other, one handling the bulk of the production side, while the other, Sendes’ Puerto Cristal cartel, handles the bulk of the distribution. Both would like to eliminate the other and take full control of production and distribution. Neither have succeeded yet without causing brief, bloody wars that hamper both operations.

Despite its troubles, San Rositan beaches and resorts still attract international tourists, while ecologists and zoologists flock to its rich tropical forests. Teremara still wants to trade for rich San Rositan resources, which include exotic fruits, bountiful fishing and untapped mineral veins and jewel deposits.

With bloody violence rocking the area, tourists ending up in the crossfire, and a shocking increased flow of narcotics beginning to flood the streets of major Western Madurin and Tavlyrian cities, the world has begun to take more notice. Likewise, San Rosito’s northern neighbor, Reino do Brazil, has grown weary of having such a travesty at its feet jeopardize its citizens and its security. Collectively, the nations of Madurin and a few from Tavlyria have decided to act, with Arcerion leading the charge.

With the tacit approval and cooperation of the San Rositan junta, Arcerion has sent special operations and other military and law enforcement forces to help curb the cartel violence epidemic and restore order, as well as interdict the flow of illicit drugs out of the small republic.

That is the state that this corner of Teremara finds itself in during these times. Whether things can improve remains in doubt, and while there has been a lack of effort from the regional community up to now, there certainly is no lack of awareness of the situation at this point.

SAN ROSITO

Capital and Largest Port: Puerto Cristal

Second Largest City: Rafindo

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Junta Leadership
General Gabriel Pedro Elizondo: Commandant of the ERSR (Ejercito de Republic de San Rosito - the Army)

General Daniel Guarjeto: Commandant of the Policía Federales; the national gendarmerie. Often shortened to the PF.

General Juan Garcia Arenas: Commandant of Las Fuerzas Aéreas (the Air Force)

Admiral Jose Monsalve: Commandant of La Armada (the Navy) A junior junta member with no real decision making voice.

Cartels Leadership

Diego Humberto Abramiento: Head of the Rafindo cartel, the biggest cartel in San Rosito. He will do absolutely anything to maintain power. He is well aware of Sendes’ machinations to end him.
Territory: Northern mountains to the Reino do Brazil border, including Rafindo and Xolipatl.

Enrique Garza Sendes: Head of the Puerto Cristal cartel, the 2nd biggest Cartel in San Rosito. The moment he has the best chance of eliminating Abramiento, but not cutting off production of the narcotics, he’ll take it.
Territory: Southern coast, including Puerto Cristal, Estavida and Nueva Vista.

Pepe Vargas Lanzaro: Head of the Luzagrada cartel, the 3rd biggest cartel in San Rosito.
Territory: Eastern coast, including Luzagrada and Ezermia.

Commissar Miguel Maria Vargas: Commander of the ELPR (Ejército de Liberación Popular de Rositan); the small faction of Marxist rebels

Foreign Players

Captain Glecke: Commander of the 3rd Bn/Copenhagen Regiment; One of the Arcerion Army units sent to San Rosito to help the government battle the cartels and stop the flow of narcotics. The 3CR are just one of several military units from the Confederacy of Arco that are deployed or in the process of deployment to San Rosito and the surrounding area.

Captain Klaus Martello: NEDM (Neu Engollon Defense Militia) Liaison; an officer detached from the elite Theta Co/1 Bn/2nd Regiment of the DGC (Diplomatic Guard Corps), Martello was tasked with a secondary mission of establishing the whereabouts and activities of Emile Feldhaus and reporting back to the NESA station chief in Puerto Cristal.

Major Elias Lenoir: Liaison from the L'Armee de Gaulois - Gaulic Army (Terre des Gaules); an officer who has served in various elite Gaulic units, including a spec ops unit that did similar opioid interdiction missions in Qasifya. Currently, he is detached from the 7th Para (7ème Régiment Parachutiste)/2ème Div.

Captain Alberto Gabarnetti: Liaison detached from the 5th Marine Reg.; Roman Free States; The Roman marines handle most of the drug interdiction duties for the RFS. Gabarnetti was sent to observe Arcer forces to gain insight and tools to help battle Roman organized crime outfits and black market/smuggling operations.

Lt. Katia Sobolova: Falkasian Army Liaison, inexperienced and recently graduated from the Falkasian Academy of Military Science and Intelligence Services Secondary College (ISSC). Her raison d’etre for being in San Rosito is a closely guarded secret, known only to her and her handler in Falkasia, although unconfirmed rumors suggest it may be to scout locations for FSIS cell development to monitor the affairs of surrounding nations or to assess the technical capabilities of the participating nations.

Emile Feldhaus: Accountant/Money launderer for the Abramiento cartel; The Feldhaus’ are an infamous family of Neu Engollian criminals (with some exceptions). After fleeing Neu Engollon steps ahead of the law, Emile found employ with Abramiento and has built an estate and reputation of his own.

Sebastien Feldhaus: Arms broker with an exclusive clientele list. After fleeing Neu Engollon, he made his home base in Jamfar, Qasifya in southern Tavlyria. Through Emile’s brother Sebastien, the cartels have a link to the QLA terrorist group in Qasifya. The QLA have assassinated major Teremaran public figures and been responsible for major bombings in Western Madurin and Tavlyrian cities.

Michel Hettner: NESA Puerto Cristal Station Chief; Works out of the Neu Engollian embassy in Puerto Cristal, and is mainly officially concerned about Neu Engollian criminal involvement in the Republic of San Rosito. He is tasked with getting a fix on Feldhaus and apprehending him for extradition to serve charges in Geneva, but also working with the San Rositan government and Western Madurin allies (mainly The Confederacy of Arco) in interdiction efforts, which is a growing concern for all the governments of Madurin and parts eastward.

by **Teremara Caretaker** » Mon Sep 10, 2018 2:08 pm

TEREMARAN NEWSWIRE ~ ENGLISH EDITION

Judge Eduardo Rafael Pedramo

September 9, 2018

Teremaran News Agency

Rafindo, Titán State, San Rosito

Judge Eduardo Rafael Pedramo and four members of his family were killed today in a blast that also killed several policemen, innocent bystanders and neighbors in the Colinas de Alegría neighborhood of Rafindo in the morning hours of yesterday.

At approximately 7:25 local time, a van laden with a mass amount of explosives was detonated outside the gate of Pedramo’s family villa in the posh Rafindo neighborhood before police could move the suspect van from the front drive fronting Cumbre Calle. Judge Pedramo, his wife, and one daughter were killed immediately by the blast as they were entering a vehicle in the front drive of the villa. One son and a sister of the Judge were critically injured and later died from their injuries at a local hospital. The youngest daughter of Judge Pedramo and wife, Estrella, survived the blast with serious injury.

In addition, six police personnel, four bystanders, and three neighbors were killed in the blast, or in the hours following, due to severe injuries incurred by the blast. At least a dozen others were wounded by the direct blast or debris that was flung by the explosion, civilian and police. One neighbor was killed in the resultant fire started in his villa by the conflagration. In a subsequent press conference, Rafindo Police Chief Tomas Baragon has since claimed the explosion had the similar impact and equivalence of major aerial dropped ordnance. The explosion not only leveled the Pedramo villa, but also destroyed 4 other homes on the block and caused serious damage to 3 others, in which the Pedramo neighbors were killed and injured.

The Pedramo Villa was under 24 hour heavy protection following last week’s trial in which Judge Pedramo pronounced his judication upon the major drug cartel figure, Abramiento, who still remains at large.

Judge Pedramo is most noted for recently presiding over the September 2nd trial in absentia of Diego Humberto Abramiento, who was convicted of the murder of a local police chief, eight other police personnel, three soldiers and thirty four citizens. The sentencing trial was scheduled for less than a week from the occurrence of the blast.

Pedramo is noted for being one of the most vocal critics of government corruption and battling the influence of the drug cartels in local and federal government. He, along with a dwindling number of law enforcement and government officials have proudly proclaimed a 'crusade' to shut down the cartels. He has often received death threats to himself, family and colleagues since his appointment as Chief Magistrate to the 2nd Federal Circuit Court. Previous to this successful attempt, law enforcement officials had thwarted two previous assassination attempts.

It is speculated that members of the Abramiento cartel were involved in the bombing and the Rafindo mayor, José Gilberto, and Chief Baragon have called for a major investigation and manhunt to be aided by the federal government. No suspects are currently in custody as the driver of the van, momentarily apprehended, apparently escaped in the aftermath of the detonation.

~ Ursula Koecher Reporting, TNA

by **Teremara Caretaker** » Tue Sep 11, 2018 4:35 pm

TEREMARAN NEWSWIRE ~ ENGLISH EDITION

Reino do Brazil

September 11, 2018

Teremaran News Agency

New Frontier, Reino do Brazil

There has been a growing concern in the higher levels of the Federation government about the power and efficacy of the San Rositan drug cartels led by the infamous Diego Humberto Abramiento and Enrique Garza Sendes.

The Minister of Health reflected these concerns last night in the television program “What's Up?”, remarking that the Federation is being inundated with cocaine from San Rosito and that another military intervention is not out of the question by the current administration.
The government of San Rosito is, for the powers in New Frontier, a large cartel of corruption in itself, and a curse on the citizens of San Rosito and Reino do Brazil, and to a greater percentage of people across Teremara.

Public opinion in the Federation, especially in the border cities of Minho and Alcoa, reflects that there is considerable fear of another coming war across the border, when one hasn’t been experienced in the southern provinces for at least 3 generations now. The Federation government promises to keep actions contained on the San Rositan side of the border and to work with Western Madurin powers to maintain the peace and be discriminate in targeting cartel assets and operations.

~ Abelardo João Montes, TNA

[Most RP content courtesy of Reino do Brazil]

by **Confederacy of Arco** » Tue Sep 11, 2018 5:47 pm

El Languera Favela, Xolipatl
San Rosito

The shutter of the camera clicked furiously, taking photos of the ingoing and outgoing personnel. The operator utilizing the camera tugged at a cord plugging it into a nearby laptop, giving himself more slack, and continued to take photographs. In the panel van behind him, the intelligence analyst tapped away at the keyboard, using a concealed antenna to send the pictures to a nearby safehouse, then from there they’d be emailed off to one of the many intelligence centres at Arcerion’s budding support bases hemming in the San Rositan border.

“Skinny Jim’s back.” A gruff voice said, the bearded cameraman clicking furiously.

The analyst in the back zoomed in on the laptop, “Yeah, few more friends. Man what is it with these gangsters and face tats. It’s just weird man. No appreciation for laying low. Gotta let everyone know they are the hardest motherfucker around, ya know?”

The cameraman grunted, and then checked his watch, elbowing the driver, who was also reclined like the cameraman, but using binoculars. “You see anything I should be photographing, champ?” The cameraman said, looking over the camera’s lens to the small crowd of cartel jockeys loading ‘matresses’ into a waiting box truck.

The driver shook his head, and exhaled loudly rubbing his eyes, then placed the binoculars on the dash of their truck. “Fuck man, this is boring. Hey boss, want to hook me up with a granola bar?” The driver outstretched a hand behind the headrest into the formerly spacious, now cramped rear of the truck.

The surveillance team leader, a former paratrooper, chuckled amicably in a grandfatherly tone. “Yeah, chocolate or peanutbutter?”

The driver shrugged, keeping his eyes on the street in front of them. “Doesn’t matter. Whatever you grab first.”

The team leader reached into the bag, rummaged around, and pulled a snack out, handing it to the driver.

“Fuck! Peanutbutter. Damnit.” The driver cursed as he opened the packaging.

“I thought you said you didn’t care?” The boss laughed.

“I just said that because I am a difficult human being who has trouble making decisions.” The driver said, and everyone chuckled.

“Hey, eyes up that’s something new.” The cameraman said, the boos leaning in and taking the driver’s binoculars.

A late-model SUV with tinted windows and an accompanying late-model sedan both pulled up to the front of the building, and a flurry of activity took place. Men in gaudy chains, coloured shirts, and pastel suits got out, may of them clearly toting submachineguns or assault rifles with folded stocks, giving off the appearance of being a personal security detail.

The cameraman, sitting in the passenger seat, was furiously clicking away, taking cues from the analyst in the back. “No, go back to the pink shirt guy, yeah zoom in on his neck; okay yah can you et the hand tat, great okay keep going..” They worked as a team, the driver taking notes as he used his binoculars, spotting for the cameraman.

The boss let out a slight gasp, “Hey that’s a Abramiento guy – send that picture to higher for confirmation. Erik, he’s the one in the baby blue bowling shirt, lots of bling on his fingers.”

The analyst nodded, and murmured, emailing it as flash traffic. Within two minutes, a response came back, flagged red for important, and the analyst exclaimed. “Ho-ly fuck. Okay. Yeah the company wants this guy dead like, yesterday my man.”

The boss leaned over, and saw the profile, reading it quickly. He keyed his throat mic, depressing the push to talk attached to his hip-mounted radio. “Blue Two this is Blue One. You have eyes on military-age male, blue shirt, black hair, white sunglasses. Waiting outside the NAI, over.”

There was a pause, but the radio keyed, and the voice of their other surveillance team came in. “Two, yeah we’ve got him. Next to the rear passenger side door screened by the guy with the floral shirt, tan shorts? Over.”

The boss raised his binoculars, confirming. “One, yeah, that’s him. We’re gonna go kinetic, start your tear down now. Meet at the RV in fifteen mikes, over.”

“Two, roger out.” Hearing the team leader’s voice, the passenger opened the glove box, removing a small switchbox with a depress trigger on the side. He flicked the red switch open, but waited to arm.

Down the street, six hundred metres from the surveillance team but just ten metres across the street from the cartel officer was a dumpster filled with high-explosives, the walls of the dumpster facing the building lined with claymore mines. “Hey, Rolf.”

The passenger spoke up, not taking his eyes off the objective. “Yeah, want me to go hot?”

The team leader spoke quickly, “Yeah, pop off. Civilian casualties will get blamed on cartel violence. I don’t see anyone so there shouldn’t be any.”

“Goin’ hot.” Rolf flipped the arming switch, smacking the side of the device three times. Down the street, a dirty cloud of dust, flame, and shrapnel rocketed towards the cartel members, mangling and maiming all in its path, turning the front of the shop into a charnel house.

The captain was actually killed by the explosion rolling his SUV ontop of him, versus the shrapnel, but it got most of his security detail. By the time they were on their feet and assessing the situation, the red-brown van from down the street was gone, and people were screaming and moaning for help.

by **Teremara Caretaker** » Sun Sep 16, 2018 11:34 am

Monasterro International Airport
0849H Local, August 22nd, 2018

The airliner slowed to a halt, the ramp vehicle slowly approaching as the soldiers inside stood up. Overhead bins filled with patrol bags, carry on items were emptied, men laughing, tucking away music players, smartphones, tablets or books, as many had tried to occupy themselves on the hours-long flight from Kaptain Erhardt Germanovich Airbase, the transport hub for their Task Force. Junior NCOs took account of soldiers as they swept through the aircraft for left behind equipment, pretty Air Force stewardesses smiling as they ushered the infantrymen through, officers and NCOs milling about at the exit gate, checking off soldiers as the left from various lists, the Lance Corporals and Corporals herding the Privates to the baggage claim, where they gathered various assorted pieces of luggage, members of the Task Force’s logistics team hurriedly walking around with clipboards, talking animatedly on cellphones.

Of the many soldiers grabbing at their kit, some wore odd uniforms. A small ragged cadre, haggard from the extra hours of flying, had joined them, flying from their home nations to Arcerion to fly down with the 3rd Battalion of the Copenhagen Regiment, or ‘3CR’ as was embroidered on their rank epaulettes. The foreign officers left first, with the Battalion’s advance party, whilst the remainder moved to the exterior of the airport, most with their rucksacks on, carrying two or three duffel bags each, and straining under the weight, as personal pride didn’t allow them to use the baggage carts that some of the more junior privates had attempted to co-opt before being heckled and berated.

In the administration area, they milled about, ‘Hurry up and Wait’ very much in effect, but in those thirty minutes of idle ties, texts to loved ones were sent, and weapons issued from the secure cases, locked thrice but now open, each man finding his assigned rack number and performing a quick functions test of the weapon, out of habit, to ensure that it had survived the trip safely. Machine gunners did much the same, and the assorted men of the weapons platoons or special weapons detachments pored over their man-portable equipment like watchmakers, inspecting their kit to ensure it had also flown to this new land unscathed.

Coach buses, the kind used by foreign tourists of an elderly age on their vacations arrived, and the men and their personal gear were stuffed onto the vehicles, the large convoy departed, for yet another several hours of travel.

Arriving at Camp Krähe 4, Lance Sergeant Ernst von Bocke was exhausted. Bleary from travel, he just wanted to get assigned his tent, and find a spot to sleep. But such was not the life of an NCO. They took the time they needed to clear in through the orderly room, which had set up a series of tables, where orderly queues of soldiers waited, signing or filling out paperwork for their in-clearance, amicable clerks making small talk with infantrymen filled with self-loathing for choosing a job that could bore them this much. Ernst tried to forget that as he relaxed, having done most of his in-clearance early on. The last stop had been the Camp Sergeant-Major’s desk, where one of his Warrant Officers gave Ernst his tent assignment which held his section of eight soldiers, plus the six men of their platoon’s headquarters section. He sent a pair of young troops off to find the tent, and soon one came back, knowing the route so he could guide the section.

The last of Ernst’s soldiers cleared through, the last pair being his second light machinegun team, and he told the young Private to lead off, and they followed in tow, soon finding the tent. “Max, go find the sir and the Warrant, bring them here. Vlad,” he turned to his 2IC, “get me the mess times, find out about the gym situation, and I want a recce done of any drinking facilities.” Vlad had a wide grin, uncharacteristic of him, “You got it, boss man. Erik, Bart, you’re both boozehounds, go find the mess.”

Ernst set the rest of the section to setting up cots in their modular tent, the flap open. Their platoon commander, Captain Glecke, known affectionately as ‘Gramps’, was placed at the back. The reasoning for this was that as the most senior rank, he was furthest from the door, where the most noise was caused by the constant flow of soldiers. Warrant Lavro went across from him, then Ernst, and a smattering of Corporals and Lance Corporals down to Privates near the door. A tarp was put up to give the NCOs and Officer some privacy, and so they could use light at night to work and not disturb the troops, thereby effectively dividing the tent with the makeshift screen. All of this was done with little direction, routine for the infanteers, and by the time Glecke entered, he was happy to see that his cot had already been setup in the sweltering tropical humidity, and that a workspace had been prepared for him.

“Ernst, thanks the boys for me. Really appreciate you guys getting that done so fast.” The Captain said, dropping his ruck and beginning to setup home for the next nine months.

Ernst, chalk in hand, waved it off, “All good, sir. Any orders come down from higher?” He continued to listen as he lifted the flap to the tent, using the chalk to mark who slept where, so if someone needed to wake an unfamiliar face up they could find them.

“Not yet - I have an officer’s brief at 2230, but aside from that it’s gym, tan and laundry, my man.” Captain Glecke took out a shower caddy, hanging it up off the aluminum A-Frame of the tent, and started filling it with toiletries and books, amongst other homemaking things. The warrant was doing much the same, placing running shoes under his cot and dealing with the choice between where to place his bedside travel clock.

Ernst turned as he heard a commotion, seeing the two Privates assigned to get a lay of the land, and they came in mouthing off about the terrible beer selection and the apocalyptic wasteland of female talent. Ernst had wide eyes, and turned and he saw Warrant Lavro trying to stifle a laugh, and the Captain just shaking his head like a disappointed Dad. Seeing Ernst motioning ‘get the fuck outside!’ the two troops bolted, and Ernst just threw his hands up in the air in mock weakness, “Lord how do I reach these troops!”

The platoon command staff laughed, and they continued to spruce up the tent as members of 1 Section and the Platoon HQ set up their new home.

Later that evening, Ernst found his close friend, Grigory, a Sergeant in C Company, and the two went for a quick run. After, during the gym session, Ernst was sitting on the bench, taking a break, and saw helicopters overhead, packed with Arcer infantrymen as they headed off to hunt the narco-terrorists in the jungle. He waved, throwing up a pinky and thumb gesture for friend, and a few of the soldiers flying overhead. Grigory finished his chest press, and after re-racking the weight looked across at Ernst. “It is way fucking hotter here than during the workup. Like holy shit I could honestly wring myself out and create a liquid soldier version of me. Fuck.” Grigory said, wiping his forehead with the bottom of his shirt.

Ernst laughed, and then motioned for Grigory to give him his turn on the bench. “Yeah, like the inside of our tent is a sauna. I would personally hand out sexual favours to someone from the supply section for a fan.”

Grigory pointed at him, “Imagine what you’d do for AC!”

Ernst laughed, “Oh you would know, with your cushy hard barracks! Fucing C Company always getting the best accomodations.”

Grigory shrugged, “It would help if you better soldiers, you know, less charges and DUIs..” he trailed off, even though his company was notorious for disciplinary issues.

Ernst just shook his head, pushing his weight, when a pair of gunships flew extremely fast and low, and buzzed the camp, followed closely by another pair.

Ernst sat up, finishing his set, and looked at his friend. “Somebody’s in the shit.”

They both traded a knowing look. Ernst and Grigory had been close friends in their section, and fought through two combat deployments together, first as ordinary riflemen, and the second time as section 2ICs in the same platoon.

The Airport

He stopped on the tarmac as he watched the rest of his travel companions exit the plane. Dozens of young Arcers in fatigues with some gear in hand shambled out and past him and the rest of his colleagues that were there to observe, and in some cases, assist the Arcers in their attempt to stem the flow of illegal narcotics from San Rosito. The young soldiers collected duffels, rucksacks and other assorted non carry-on gear that had been dumped in a pile

The man with peppered white and brown hair fished out his pack of smokes, Valleys, the most popular brand from the Confederacy of Neu Engollon, and plucked the first one to poke its unlucky head out from a quick shake. He then dug out his battered steel lighter that had his unit insignia engraved in it, the 1st Battalion of the 2nd DGC Reg. He flicked it to life with years of practice and brought the flame to the cigarette.

“Can I get one of those?” A man with a thick Gaulic accent pointed to the pack.

Captain Klaus Martello instead pulled the first lit smoke from his lips and handed it to his colleague and nominal superior, Major Elias Lenoir. The Gaul shrugged, in stereotypical fashion, and took it. Martello extracted another one and lit it.

Lenoir struck up a rate bit of conversation among the liaisons. The flight in they had all kept to themselves, with minimal conversation, even with their Arcer minders.
“Did you bring anything big?”

“What do you mean ‘big’?”

“Something with some heat. D’accord?”

“More heat than those?” He pointed to the Valley cigarette on the Major’s lips.

“You know what I mean, Captain.” The Major grunted, frustrated at the Captain’s stalling.

“I have a NEG 26 and a Talon II Magnum pistol in my gear bags and enough ammo for one decent firefight. Beyond that, I hope to score some grenades off the Arcers. That’s about it.”

“You realize that they may find every excuse to abandon us at the support base? They are very responsible for us and are probably wary of getting us near where we might eat a bullet.”

“If they did their research at all, they know we can all hold our own. I wouldn’t have gotten this far in my career if I got too comfortable holed up in an officer’s base club. That being said, I’d do the same in their position.”

Martello was a Captain in one of the most elite Neu Engollian units, the Diplomatic Guard Corps of the Neu Engollian Defense Militia. The DGC had a broad mission range, having to do close protection for politicians, embassy personnel, foreign dignitaries, as well as go overseas to rescue citizens and assist in other various special operations missions. When they’d been offered the slot by the Arcer high command, Martello had been high on the list. There had only been two service people who were not DGC on that list, and they hadn’t rated that highly.

He eyed the colleague that had scored one of his semi-precious supply of Valleys. Lenoir was a bit shorter and older, with a little more grey flecked in his otherwise jet black buzzcut. He had a well lined, tanned face, prominent eyebrows, an aquiline nose and larger lips framed by a black, bushy mustache. The Gaul had done service in both the colonial paras and then special ops in his last few years in the field, before ending back up with the 7th Paras in a staff officer position. Having been bored to tears at his new staff job pushed through by his superiors, he had jumped at the chance to get out in the field again, even if it was to watch some Bosche cops playing soldier and pissing off the locals every chance they got.
The Gaul just shrugged again in reply, taking a long drag from the smoke. He did finally speak, changing the subject.
“Do you even speak Spanish?”

“Besides my native Frandit? English, some French and German. No, not really. Un cerveza por favor, Mamacita…, that’s about the extent. You?”

The Gaulic Major chortled.
“Well, more than that. I can get by in some Spanish and Portuguese. I would hold off on the ‘Mamacita’ part. That’s going to anger some hermanos.”

Martello shaped his finger like a gun.
“Bring on the hermanos. The Narcos.”

His nation, like Terre des Gaules and several other nations, was interested in seeing how they could stop the drug flow up to Western Madurin and other parts, as well as the flow of money back down. He’d seen pictures of the large estates in Puerto Cristal, along the coast, as well as elaborate jungle haciendas in Rafindo. One of them, somewhere in that stretch - nestled in that jungle, belonged to Emile of the infamous Feldhaus family, another concern of the Confederacy in this corner of the world. Feldhaus was the alleged master money launderer/accountant for the Abramiento Cartel, the most powerful of the San Rositan cartels. He, along with his exiled family, was also a major embarrassment to Neu Engollon. A secondary tasked mission of Martello’s was to gain intel on Feldhaus so that Neu Engollon could make a determination on what he was up to and if they should or could do anything about it.

The group of foreign adviser/observers, including Martello and Lenoir, grabbed their gear and hopped on one of the busses to the Arcer forward base, where they were guided along in the process by liaisons assigned to them by the 3CR command staff. When they got to the camp, they were assigned tents, but neither Lenoir nor Martello had the intention of staying in them for long.

The Camp

Whereas the Madurin nations had what some might call “good intentions,” there was still another entity within the mix that had differing ideas. The nation of Falkasia, hailing from the north-central part of Tavlyria, had sent an Army Officer of their own to observe the conflict. While understanding the tactics related to combating narcotics smuggling were important, her real mission was much more covert.

Katia, granddaughter to a rather prominent Falkasian Army officer of the early Soviet-era, spoke no Spanish. In fact, prior to this new assignment, she hadn’t even been stationed outside of Falkasia. The jungles and humidity were as new to her as was having unilateral freedom to control the course and implementation of her mission. There was no pressure, unless of course living up to the Sobolov family legacy was worth stating.

In this case, she shrugged it off. As they taught her at the academy, there was always a time and place for self-doubt off the battlefield. In an operation, she alluded to her favorite tactics manual, every action should be carefully planned but prejudicially executed. Her father had always said, echoing Grandpa, that she was too by-the-book. It had never concerned her. They had fought wars behind desks. She was knee-deep in the mud, or whatever it was that was now slithering up her fatigue leg.

She glanced away from her combat manual and looked down. A small spider, no larger than a quarter, was carefully inching its way up her leg. Her first instinct was to bat it away; hard. But her training kicked in and she began to breathe slowly. It was only a spider. There was a layer of cloth, of armor, between her and it. Anything it could do to her she could recover from. Anything she could do to it would be the end. She exhaled, and slowly began to slide it away. It paused before falling off to the floor, unable to resist against the power of her hand.

The mission was clear, at least in her mind. Her handler, an FSIS Intelligence Liaison with Central Army Command in Ekaterine, seemed to be otherwise clueless. More likely preoccupied with his other duties than to lower himself to babysit a First Lieutenant. She could handle a rifle well-enough. But working with others was never something she was particularly good at. Despite the group outside, she had mostly hid in her tent ensuring her body and mind were ready for the work at hand. By her research, cartels didn’t operate like any paramilitary organization in the world. Unconventional, brutal, but also lacking a strong central command and unifying purpose beyond selling drugs. This was why they often splintered and cannibalized their own. Cut the head off, and like the Hydra, two more would take its place. Destruction had to come swift and absolute. Kill the beast before it knew it was being killed, so there is no time for the life support to kick in. Hopefully they would move quickly enough to see it in action.

She just hoped she could pick up Spanish quickly. English would help, but her native tongue of Falkasian would be completely useless. She reached underneath her bedding for the small envelope she had been provided prior to leaving. It was not the best or smartest place to stash it, but if no one knew it existed, there would be no threat. Carefully unclasping the string tie, she removed the single page and re-read it again for the final time.

“Clear.” she reaffirmed herself without much pomp. “My mission is clear.”

by **Neu Engollon** » Sun Sep 16, 2018 10:03 pm

NESA HQ
Downtown Federal District
Geneva, Neu Engollon

The woman and man sat in the soundproof conference room in silence. The man continued to observe an array of photos on the table in front of him. Finally, he broke the silence.
“So, what exactly am I looking at here?”

“Photos of Emile Feldhaus.”

“I know who I’m fucking looking at, Deputy Director Gireaux, I asked what it is I’m looking at.”

“There’s no need to take that tone, Assemblymen Turatti. I have to think we’re on the same side here.”
NESA needed Council approval to conduct specific planned operations outside of the Confederacy borders. The way things were shaping, they might need approval for a whole company of DGC elite troops to be tasked to aid in a future NESA operation in Southeastern Madurin.

“What side is that?”

“The side that decides to do something about one of the biggest criminals the Confederacy has let loose on the world. ”

“I thought that was his father.”

“He’s certainly working his way up to that spot, hasn’t he? The whole fuckin’ family is a travesty. We have a responsibility to do our part in taking out a key part of the drug pipeline to the rest of Madurin and Tavlyria. Feldhaus is providing the money networks for Abramiento. That needs to...not happen anymore.”

“I think you overestimate the Confederacy’s responsibility in this. I don’t think this is our jurisdiction. The San Rositan government has allowed the Arcerion government to help shut down the cartels. I think that everything will be taken care of and we won’t have to lift a finger. Bodes well for the neutrality clause in the Constitution.”

Federal Assemblymen Turatti was not on the Federal Council himself, but he was very influential and a favorite of several of the Councilmen and women. He was a perfect conduit and he also knew how despised the Feldhauses actually were, but how connected they had been to several past assemblymen and other governmental administrators. Due to his proximity to power, he was also very privy to briefs on matters such as the current events in San Rosito.

Gireaux redirected the conversation back in the right direction.
“These are photos of Emile Feldhaus near identified San Rositan landmarks in Rafindo, Xolipatl and, even outside the Presidential Palace in Puerto Cristal. Proof that he’s operating there. We know he’s laundering money, we just don’t have all the pipelines. If we shut down the few we do know about, we lose them all. The rest will disappear and we will never get our hands on all of their operating budget.”

“You seem awfully fixated on getting their money, Deputy Director.”

“Again, your insinuation far outreaches your information. Money makes the world go ‘round, Assemblymen.The best way to shut the cartels down is to freeze up their money. Or would we be getting too close to other funds?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

“No, of course not. In any case, this is the money trail that is always being talked about in closed door Assembly and Council meetings. This is the outbound money that is not coming into legitimate businesses or government coffers.”

“I get it, Deputy Director. You’re so heavy handed with all this, but there’s forces at play that you don’t understand...or your boss. Where is he?”

“He’s not here. Just like the last three times we met. Where’s your boss...The President?”
Gireaux was often taking point these days, along with a couple of her colleagues of equal rank, as Director von Tindelberg was doing less face to face and slowly phasing himself out of the top seat at NESA. When he realized that the vindictive administration that took power away from the Central Federalist Party and the Council led by President Alainsburg didn’t also remove him from power at the agency, he realized that he would either die in the job, or leave it of his own accord.

“She has other matters to attend to.”

“Of course she does.”

“Well, we have each other to deal with, then, as always. What do you want?”

“We want to know that the administration will back us when we have a clear line to our targets and can bring them back to stand charges. That we don’t have any more obstruction to doing the job we were tasked to do.”

“Funny you should say that, because my bosses want you to reel in Feldhaus and do it quickly.”

“What the fuck?! Why did we go through this whole charade if we’re on the same page?!”

“Because I wanted to see you sweat. You do our bidding, Deputy Director. Not the other way around. My bosses call the operations. Got it?”

“Are we going to get our fuckin’ funding and clearance or what?”

Feldhaus Hacienda
South of Rafindo
San Rosito

The two men held the hug a bit longer, before slowly pushing away. They had a bit of an audience that looked on disinterestedly.

“Brother, it’s been too long. We have to do this more than twice a year.”

“We do. I am here now and ready to relax a bit before we get to business.”

“We have a couple days before the meeting. We can have some fun.” He spread his hand around out past where his brother’s helicopter sat on the helipad, the blades still lazily spinning at a slowed pace as the pilot went through his post-landing checklist. He had flown into Rafindo airport, where Emile had had the helicopter waiting for him. He would have liked to have greeted him in person, but there were reasons for him not showing his face in such a public venue.

He gestured still, past the flocks of flamingos on the estate grounds to the jungle beyond.
“Should we get a hunt in?”

“Hunt what?”

“Jaguars. They’re filthy thick around here. Take out some of my best pets.”

“I thought they were your pets?”

“You’re thinking of my tigers. Bella and Beelzebub.”

“Can’t you just sick the tigers on the jaguars?”

“No. It doesn't work like that, Bastien. Do you want to hunt or not? I can get some company up here, if you’d like to do that instead?”

“I’m going to be honest, Emile. That sounds more my speed, but...things are getting complicated with Daima. More serious maybe? I don’t know.”

“Oh shit! You’re getting soft on me, bro. We talkin’ a ring?”

“I don’t know. There’s a lot in the works right now. It’s just not the time for all that.”

“A lot in the works like what?”

Sebastien glanced around at his two Qasifyan guards that had accompanied him. They stood off to the side near garden beds. Beyond that, if one looked close enough, security, courtesy of the Abramiento cartel, prowled the grounds at strategic points where they covered key vantage points down the hills.

“I can’t get into details, but...My clients want way more guns, missiles, explosives and heavy ordnance. There’s a big push coming and they need more...More than you could imagine.”

“Yeah, same deal as always, bro.”

“No, man. This is different. We need to step it up. They also want to work on contacts here in Madurin. Get in on that and maybe send people up the chain. Up into Western Madurin and North and shit.”

Emile understood what was not being said as well as what was being said. The network between the Qasifyan warlords and the San Rositan cartels had been there for some time, with some stops inbetween. However, the threat that things could step up and possibly implicate his clients didn’t bode well.
“What’s in it for us? Besides potential blowback?”

“More money, more conduits for your clients’ operations Eastward, more reliance on the network for everyone. No blowback, bro. ”

Emile paused, not sure how to proceed.
“Let’s talk about this more over dinner tonight. We can hash out some details. You need to just relax right now, bro. Take a load off from a long flight. Some tequila or cane liquor...whatever, beer...We’ll make you feel at home. Let’s continue the business talk later, eh?”

by **Teremara Caretaker** » Sat Sep 29, 2018 11:05 am

Camp Krähe 4
Near the San Rositan Border

Two days into their arrival, the camp had been well established and they had set about to a routine. The Arcer troops of the 3CR patrolled and planned, while the foreign adviser/observers languished in the camp, bored to tears.

True to what Major Lenoir had suggested, the Arcer military command was not yet willing to be fully responsible for the safety of the foreign officers in their charge, so they simply kept them as out of the loop and away from the line of fire as possible. Their minder officers and NCOs would brief them on the daily overall plan and general events that they could get if they used their satellite linking devices to access all the regular major Teremaran media sites. They had full access to the mess hall/recreation tent and the tent that did double duty as a chapel, although only Major Lenoir, and the Roman Captain, Gabarnetti, seemed to avail themselves of this service. Beyond that, they were left to their own devices in Tent #8.

For the first day, conversation was basic and superficial. Most of the residents of Tent #8 kept to themselves or found things to keep them busy, like reporting back to superiors across the continent and begging them to put pressure on the Arcers to expand their role. Eventually, they got to know each other better and interact, some on a higher level than others. Lenoir and Martello got to be close, but that was no surprise considering the close relationship between their two nations and the solid alliance they had. As a rule, not every Gaul and Neu Engollian got along, but enough did and the official partnership between the two Western Madurin nations helped. The same went for the Romans, but Gabarnetti seemed to keep himself at a distance.

He wasn’t aloof or pretentious, but rather intimidated with the knowledge that both Martello and Lenoir were combat veterans, while he was not, despite a good deal of training. All were polite to Lieutenant Sobolova, but unsure how to treat her as she did seem to be aloof and tight lipped. They had Arcer minders that resided in the tent, but they also were tasked with other duties and were often off to another part of the camp or heading in country with the rest of their comrades. One Arcer infanteer, a Sergeant Otto Linzler, remained most days to watch them and began to warm up to them.

As the second day faded into night, Lenoir, the Gaul, had fortuitously and mysteriously produced a couple bottles of liquor, Glisandian vodka and a large 1.5 liter magnum of red table wine, and suggested they get to know each other better. They cleared one higher overturned crate and pulled up a variety of cots and lower crates for chairs.

Mugs and canteen cups served their purpose, and as the night grew darker, the camp light bathed tent atmosphere grew cheerier.

Martello took long moments to eye his compatriots. Lenoir was a grizzled veteran like him, for sure. The Gaul Major had served in Qasifya, and hunted terrorists in Dachine, but missed out on Glisandia. Sobolova was a bit more of a mystery, but seemed a little green to him, to be tasked with this adventure. She was too young to have seen action in Hutanjia at its high point, but could very well have had some experience in Gragastavia, from what he knew of events in that area and the never ending involvement of the Falkasians in their southern neighbor’s affairs.
Martello had also been to Qasifya during the intervention there, and also some other, much more brief overseas missions to thwart terrorists and rescue Neu Engollian diplomatic personnel and citizens in peril around the globe. He shared some stories, those that weren’t classified, with the group as he nursed his cup of vodka.

Neu Engollians were known for their tolerance, but that pertained more to beer than wine or hard liquor. The Gaul seemed to be doing some good damage to the wine, and the young Falkasian was holding her own with the vodka, to the surprise of no one. The Roman was stone faced, so it was a hard read for the DGC Captain on that account, but he suspected Captain Gabarnetti might dash out of the tent at any moment to hurl the remains of his dinner into the bushes.

Young Sergeant Linzler was completely shitfaced from whatever he’d been filling his cup. He stumbled up from the cot he’d been perched and somehow made it to a foot locker. He dug around and produced two more bottles from a private stash, schnapps and riesling, to the cheers of everyone.
“Hooray for Otto!”

Martello looked again over at Katia after Lenoir finished telling a joke that got some chuckles.

“So, what was your unit again, Lt. Sobolova? Have you served anywhere in this part of the world before?”

“I didn’t have one,” she stated emphatically, not a hint of the enormous quantity of alcohol she had consumed expressed in her crisply accentuated words.

She spoke excellent English, the common trade and diplomatic language for Teremara. As it was for most regions. It was taught in school, alongside Falkasian and its many derivatives, so everyone was expected to be fluent and conversant in it. There were just some things though, like alcohol, which were universal and transcended language.

“I just graduated. This is my first assignment.”

Rather than expose her lineage, she remained tight-lipped. They were allies here, but at any moment in the field they could easily find themselves at odds. They were in rugged wilderness after all, fighting an enemy whose only rule was to make as much money from drugs as they could.

Martello looked around at the other faces at the makeshift table, keeping his thoughts to himself. He wondered if he would happen to be next to the Falkasian woman in her first firefight. He didn’t totally relish the thought, but it wouldn’t be the first time he was next to a greenie in combat.

Lenoir, the Gaul Major, raised his steel camp mug.
“That’s okay, mademoiselle. You will do fine in your first engagement. We will make sure of it. Isn’t that right, comrades?” He emphasized his point by nudging Gabarnetti, who watched some of his wine slosh out of his mug with the bump, onto the hard packed dirt floor of the tent.

She smiled and nodded respectfully, not offering much more. Surrounded by superior officers, she had rested on her training. Represent discipline, and do not speak unless directly addressed by any of those above her. In the back of her mind, she understood that such conventions were outdated, but in this situation, they were more realistically unwarranted. Their nations had entrusted them, so as far as the scope of their mission was concerned, they were all equals regardless of the letters in front of their name.

“I understand you may have misgivings about going into the field with me. I assure you all that I shall hold my own. I may be inexperienced in fieldcraft, but I am not new to exchanging fire with the enemy. I am Falkasian, after all.” She stated abruptly, to her own shock.

It was as if the words had come from someone else.

Martello and Lenoir exchanged a glance. The Neu Engollian spoke first,
“Yes, Lieutenant, we’re saying that we trust you in that regard. What do you mean though, that you’ve exchanged fire with the enemy? I don’t quite understand how that’s possible if you have never engaged in combat?”

She smiled, inwardly to herself. The stage was set, she knew now. “On the shooting range…” she conceded with a subtle giggle, hoping the ill-timed punchline would perhaps redeem her from her previous undisciplined release.

Lenoir shrugged. Martello smiled, but didn’t look convinced. Linzler and Gabarnetti seemed too blasted and unconcerned.
“Eh..accorzu.”

Gabarnetti grunted, then downed the rest of his mug. The Roman stood up.
“I am famisher..ed. Somethin’ need to soak up all these alcohol. I will go and to see what foods they had over in the messes hall tent.”
After snickers by both him and his new comrades at his failing drunken attempt at Common (English), he proceeded to stumble over to the door and fumble with the hook and loop fastener patches on the flaps.

“Get me some of those famisher foods too, Gabbers!” Lenoir shouted mockingly after him.

The Roman officer stuck a middle finger through the flap, then withdrew it before he completely closed the flap fasteners back up. He got out in the fresh yet still humid night air, pulling out a pack of his own home brand of cigarettes, called ‘Saporfrescos’. He pinched one out of the cellophane and paper pack and put it to his lips as he watched a local army truck enter the front area of the camp. Arcerion soldiers gave it a once over, while an NCO hopped on the running board and inspected the paperwork of the San Rositan at the wheel.

Satisfied, the soldiers broke off to await the next challenge. The NCO stayed with the truck to direct the driver further into the camp to where it could be unloaded.

Gabarnetti had his smoke lit and was enjoying the first couple puffs as he proceeded to walk/stumble towards where he thought he remembered the mess hall tent to be.

by **Teremara Caretaker** » Sat Sep 29, 2018 11:51 am

Cartel Warehouse
Rafindo, San Rosito

The gruff man paced. He had a slight paunch that he liked to disguise with loose fitting guayabera shirts, and also divert attention with several gold chains around his neck. His guayabera shirt for today was a light mint green with native designs down the front brocades. The chains dangled charms: skulls, snakes, dice and oddly, a teddy bear.

He still moved spryly despite his age. Rather than try to fight baldness, he had embraced it, shaving his head. The dome tanned well, and he didn’t take to wearing hats too often, but the chains and multi toned, croc skinned boots more than made up for the lack of headgear. He had a large, bushy Fu Manchu style beard and mustache that was salt and pepper.

The most striking feature about him was his eyes. They were so brown they seemed cobalt at times in certain light. When he intensely locked his gaze on someone, whether it was one of his subordinates or a rival, it commanded attention and fear in equal measures. Diego Humberto Abramiento now had the warehouse balcony’s attention with those famous eyes.
“They killed Jorge!! They blew him up like little pissant boys using firecrackers on a toad! They killed my friend and trusted lieutenant, and you motherfuckers want to call that a minor setback! We need to get fucking revenge, and we need it now!”

“Jefe, you don’t know who even…”

“Of course I do, shit gibbon! It was those fucking Arcerios?...Arcos?...Arcaderos? The foreign fucks getting their asses tenderly kissed by the junta. Who else would it be? Sendes?”

“Well, maybe. We don’t…”

Abramiento continued to override his advisers.
“Of course it’s not Sendes. He doesn’t have the cojones to break our pact, the gaping weasel. The Federales like our coin too much. It’s the Arcers. We need to hit back hard and hit back now.”

“I don’t think that’s advisable, jefe. It could start a war.”

“The war is here, ass-clown. Open your donkey ears and shit caked eyes!”

“Que? I don’t even…”

“They are here, already. We’re their targets. They’ve struck the first blow. You...You shut your shit-sucking gob.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You…” He turned to one man that sat a distance at the table from the others. “You have my blessing to do whatever it takes. Send a message. They take an arm. We take both legs. Do you understand?”

The man he had addressed was garbed all in black, with a bolo tie, a black sport coat, snakeskin boots and shaggy black hair that framed a very long, angular face and pencil thin mustache. His face was craggy and deeply lined, but like Abramiento, it was a gaze that most of his contemporaries did not want on them. They called him El Demonio, and they also called on him to eliminate trouble, as he was the top enforcer for the Cartel.

He nodded, and simply uttered “Sí,” in a voice that could have been mocking the sound pebbles make ground across a glass table top.

“The rest of you - Get back to fucking work! And be smarter about your security. None of this nonsense about letting them get so close. They’re blancos, for fuck’s sake! We have a quota to fill, so don’t slack off. You let me and El Demonio worry about these pinche gringos.”

0548 Local Time
Near the San Rositan Border

Within a day, the plan was in motion. They knew that some supplies, those that hadn’t been brought by plane from Western Madurin, were coming into the camp via the San Rositan Army logistics chain. Abramiento had moles high in the San Rositan military and law enforcement upper echelons. It wasn’t difficult to lean on a few to get what he wanted.

The unwitting driver of the truck that day knew that he was helping the Cartel, but he wasn’t aware that he was sacrificing his life to do so. He had been told that he would be sneaking in audio equipment that would be used by another operative to bug the camp.

Being a simple man, he couldn’t really tell the difference between explosives and sophisticated eavesdropping devices, nor did he think to look much closer before restarting the truck to follow the rest of the road into the foreigner’s camp. It wasn’t healthy to have too much interest in El Jefe’s dealings, anyway. He got his extra pay and that was all that he really cared about.

The delivery was expected and Private Ovedo was directed to pull the truck over to the depot deeper inside the camp. The Arcer NCO hopped onto the running board of the truck, speaking cursory Spanish to guide the driver. Arcer infanteers darted about, clearing way for the larger vehicle as they went about preparing for the day’s operations.

Unbeknownst to all the foreigners in the camp, and the San Rositan enlisted rank driver at the wheel of the new arrival, a man observed from a far distance several hundred meters away; through expensive, high powered field glasses equipped with night vision as the aging truck wound its way into the camp.

The man in all black had a skinny, gaunt face that was deeply bronzed, lined and sported a thin mustache on thin lips. His gaze, when not focused through binoculars, tended to haunt anyone it settled on for too long. Satisfied that the truck had made enough progress, the man known as El Demonio (The Demon) reached down and picked up a clacker. He extended an antenna and pointed it casually outward, pushing a button. A small glass bubble above the switch, but below the antenna mount, lit to a rich amber color.

As they got a quarter of the way into the camp, Ovedo had enough time to wonder at an odd clicking sound. He turned his ear towards it with a furrowed brow, before the puzzled expression was frozen on as the head was sheared off in the catastrophic blast that followed.

The night sky took on an instant glow as the truck erupted.

Captain Alberto Gabarnetti took the last, not quite admirable or straight, drunken steps of his life across this dank military camp on the San Rositan border.
He had gotten closer towards the truck and had just enough time to blink as the front of his body was first roasted, then eviscerated and diced by hundreds of bits of shrapnel and truck parts that went from populating the general framework of the truck to a good quarter to a third of the Arcer camp.

The other foreign Madurinite military personnel ran, dove, ducked, were knocked out by the blast or died violently where they stood...

by **Reino do Brazil** » Tue Jan 22, 2019 3:50 pm

(Image)
Parliament

The Parliament of Reino do Brazil has approved by a majority of 157 mp(s) against 145 mp(s), the budget proposed by the Government to build a wall alongside the southern border of the Kingdom with San Rosito. The Parliament approved this step based on the argument that a physical barrier will make more difficult for the cartels to introduce illegal drugs in the territory of Reino do Brazil. The House is also giving green light for the use of real ammunition on border trespassers. The Parliament of Reino do Brazil is by issuing this Act, giving a strong sign towards the zero tolerance politics on drug trafficking.

Luisa Sommer
(The President of the House)

Joannes I Regnum Brasillis Rex

by **Teremara Caretaker** » Sun Mar 03, 2019 5:30 pm

Two Months on…

After the Arcer encampment bombing, events moved swiftly. The Arcer government decided that a pullout was the best move, after strong dissension at home from the public, the media, and many members of the government itself. Not only the cartel planted truck bomb, but ambushes on Arcer troops, and revelations that Arcer intel black ops teams had targeted top cartel leadership with indiscriminate car bombs that had killed civilians had all gone into influencing the decision. The fallout was getting nasty. The Confederacy of Arco had decided they had no more stomach for a messy drug war when issues closer to home drew their attention.

Within two months, the pullout was complete and the last ships and transport aircraft had left port and lifted off. San Rosito was back to being Arcer free. Even though the Generals of the San Rositan junta had worked with the Arcerion government as an ally, they, and the rest of the Puerto Cristal elite, weren’t sad to see the foreign interference gone.

The focus was now put back on the fight against the cartels and also, the ELPR, the Marxist insurgency that had been fighting Puerto Cristal for over 3 decades. However, there were skirmishes on the northern border with the Kingdom of Brazil, who was itching to topple the corrupt government and stem the flow of drugs north into the Kingdom. There were rumblings that the Brazilian Parliament would make intervention on their southern border an official policy. It wouldn’t be the first time they had invaded their smaller neighbor.

The other Madurinite and Teremaran advisers who had been attached to the Arcer forces stayed in country, finding themselves attached to a special mission based out of the Neu Engollian embassy in Puerto Cristal, but with freer rein to conduct missions with the San Rositan military in interdiction capacity.

Captain Alberto Gabarnetti, the adviser from the Roman Free States who had died in the Arcer camp bombing, was shipped home. He was buried with full honors in a military cemetary in Roma. The Romans declined to send any more personnel to San Rosito and bowed out of further involvement, just as the Arcers had.

The cartels renewed their activities with vigor, doubling their output and working hard to make up for time lost when they were hunted by the foreign soldados. There was no telling when the hammer would crash back down, and they lived every day with that credo.

This is the state of San Rosito, just two months on from where we left off...

[OOC: Arco has had to retire from NS for now, so we are writing him out and giving a soft reboot to this RP, without restarting a new thread. All past action is valid canon, but there are new events and characters on the horizon. Thanks for following.]

by **Neu Engollon** » Fri Apr 19, 2019 4:22 am

Ministry of Foreign Affairs
New Frontier, Reino do Brazil

Ambassador Klaus Voertner arrived with an aide, Étienne Davalo, and another important guest, Christine Minon, who was the NESA station chief/intel attache in New Frontier. They arrived in an embassy Tambora, fully decked with the crimson, gold and purple flags flying from stanchions over the headlights. The summit they were about to have with the Minister was not for public ears, but there was no reason to sneak when meetings with the Minister were frequent about routine matters.

Neu Engollon had very good relations with the Brazilian Kingdom, and they hoped to continue to maintain them. They were ushered into the Ministry with cursory security checks and met the Minister herself in the lobby.
Ambassador Voertner spoke first, as was his right,
“Minister Trindade, it is a pleasure to see you again. You remember Ms. Minon? And this is my aide, Étienne Davalo.”

Sancha Trindade was in the lobby accompanied by her secretary Bruno and her spin doctor João. There was a sense of discreet anxiety in the air. She greeted Ambassador Voertner, indicating the way to a small contiguous room with a tray with fresh tea, sherry and biscuits.
“Please Ambassador, would you like tea or sherry perhaps?”

Voertner nodded,
“Tea will be fine. It’s a little early in the day for me to imbibe with sherry, but thank you.”
His aide, Davalo, and Chief Minon also took tea and a couple biscuits. They all took seats in the room opposite their Brazilian compatriots. They took preliminary sips of their tea and munched a little bit of their biscuits. Truth be told, they had been pulled away from lunch, but it was the nature of their profession to be ready to drop everything and respond to diplomatic crises.

Trindade continued,
“Welcome Ambassador and thank you for coming to meet us on such a short notice. I do not want to take your time more that necessary. We have a problem. It's called San Rosito. 75% of the cocaine that enters the kingdom comes from there. The amount of money that we are spending on health care and rehabilitation is going through the roof. I just came from a Council of State with the Government and the PM and it was decided to probe our allies in order to implement a military solution. In other words, an invasion. Finish the field off and arrest the main heads… “

It was a bit of a shock, but other than glowering at Chief Minon, who should have given him a heads up that such a course of action was being considered by the Brazilians, he kept collected.
“Umm...That seems rather drastic, Minister. Last we heard was that the Kingdom was going to build a wall. Up to this point, the San Rositan government has been, if a bit reluctantly, working with the other Madurinite nations to put a stop to the cartels. We have advisers working with San Rositan army and national police units on destroying production and distribution. Those main heads...The junta generals, are no angels, but they are making at least a show of cooperating to improve the situation.

The narcotics flowing from San Rosito affect us all. Neu Engollon has our share of criminal activity, gangs and murders, based around San Rositan, as well as Wishtonian, drugs on our streets. I know the Gauls and Romans do, too. So, we understand the frustration...”

MInon looked ready to speak, but Voertner held up a slight hand, motioning her to wait. He went on,
“I know that relations between your Kingdom and the Republic of San Rosito have been difficult for a long time, but can I ask why your government feels an invasion is necessary instead of trying to work with Puerto Cristal?”

“Well, Ambassador, we are, as we speak, proceeding with the wall. We both know that the wall won't solve a thing, it's just an electoral move. The PM is very eager in winning the upcoming general election again. I am being pressured from both sides. It seems that the most coherent position is to play aside our allies. Let's play aside Puerto Cristal.
We can send a new ambassador there and maybe the Prince for a visit, though you understand that we are looking for results. Also, for your information, we are sending our carrier “NRB Infante” for maneuvers just outside San Rosito territorial waters. We both know that this decision is no more than a show of force. We don't want them to forget us.
Do you agree in us sending a new ambassador and proceeding with a state visit to San Rosito? We need results and we would like to maintain a military presence in SR.”

Ambassador Voertner sat back. It was a lot to take in. He took a couple more deep sips of his tea, leaving just a little bit at the bottom. It was at least good to know that the Brazilians were keeping a couple options on the table, full military intervention being just one of them.
“I understand that you are under pressure. I just hope that the Prime Minister is aware of how much pressure the Kingdom will be under if a military option is undertaken. Sure...some nations will be glad that someone is taking care of the problem, but...I’m thinking of Gaul here...I don’t know how they’ll react. Eventually, many might see it as an open bid at imperialism. I very much support sending a new ambassador and having the Prince visit San Rosito. I think it might have quite an effect and be much more diplomatically acceptable than the former option.”

Minon interjected,
“Ambassador, Minister, if I may? As long as we’re in full disclosure mode, I think you should know that the Confederacy is planning on sending a team, possibly even up to a full company of our most elite DGC troops on operations in Northern San Rosito to apprehend one of the top most wanted criminals in Neu Engollon - Emile Feldhaus. We also have some NESA intel officers that will assist in the operation, working out of the embassy. Right now, we believe he is acting as the chief accountant for the Rafindo cartel. We are determined to snatch him and bring him back for trial, maybe sending a message to the cartels in the process. Perhaps...the Kingdom would also like to participate in some pinpoint commando raids on known cartel locations? It’s a military
option, but not a dreaded, politically suicidal full invasion…And we are being tacitly supported by the regime in Puerto Cristal. They have given us the green light, in any case.”

The Ambassador cleared his throat.
“Yes, I do think there are expedient military options that are not full military invasions. Such as the actions we’re planning against the Feldhaus clan. I think that if given the alternative between a full invasion that would topple the regime in Puerto Cristal, and the introduction of special operations forces to just target the cartels, the leadership in San Rosito would be amenable to allowing some of your troops and support personnel into the Republic and it would be a less divisive solution to the established governments of Madurin?

The 45 year old dreadlocked Minister looked the Ambassador in the eye.
“Ambassador, that solution would be acceptable to my cabinet. I wasn't aware of your privileged relations with SR government. We could set up another meeting in two weeks or so this time with the Gaulic Ambassador. We want more in depth understanding of their motivations. I am clear on the subject for now. Ambassador, thank you all for coming.”

Voertner was taken aback a bit. It was a much quicker meeting than he had expected, and he could tell by Chief Minon’s face that it was for her, too. Especially considering the revelation that the Kingdom was ready to go to war over this issue.
“Oh, well...alright then. I don’t know that I would say ‘privileged’, Minister, as much as practical when it comes to our relations with the San Rositan generals. Sometimes you need to work with the devil you know in order to avoid the one you don’t, if you catch my meaning. Neu Engollon has never been in a position to unilaterally enact a military solution, besides. Anyway...
We will wait for you to get in touch with the Gaulic Ambassador, in the meantime, I think maybe also including our ambassador to San Rosito, or even our Foreign Affairs Minister might be in order as they would be able to shed more light on the topic than possibly I could. I have tried to keep briefed, but it is still difficult being somewhat removed from events down there. Perhaps a video link conference to include them, as well as the Gaulic Foreign Minister?”

“Well, Ambassador, I must say we are learning from Neu Engollon over this issue. Our meeting has been fulcral for us to define a course of diplomatic action that could be lead by your country. We must re-arrange a formal summit here in New Frontier with the Gaulic Ambassador, as well. In the meantime, we can send the Prince on a visit to San Rosito for a couple of days with the promise of building shelters for the poor children. We must secure the prince`s security. That will show San Rosito that we mean no more than our own well-being by fighting trafficking. Let’s walk for a bit, Ambassador. I would like to show you the Ministry's garden.”

Ambassador Voertner smiled as they came to more figurative even ground.
“I would be delighted, Minister.”

Station Chief Minon stood up as well. She took her cue that she wasn’t invited on the private garden walk.

“I will take my leave then, and probably just take a taxi back to the Embassy. Good day to you, Minister. Ambassador, I will see you back there later.”

The Ambassador’s aide stood up as well.
“I guess I will go with Chief Minon.”

“Thank you, Ms. Minon and Mr. Davalo. Yes, I will see you back there. Christine, do you think you could perhaps start to get in touch with your colleagues in the BGSE on this matter?”

“Yes, of course. I was thinking along those lines, as well.”

“Great minds…”

“Indeed, Ambassador. I hope you two have a pleasant time. Good day, Minister Trindade.”

They said their goodbyes and headed to the lobby of the Ministry. Meanwhile, the Ambassador and Minister headed out to the gardens.

2 Days Later
Ministry of Foreign Affairs
New Frontier, Reino Do Brazil

It took a couple days, but the meeting was able to be set up between the interested parties. The Romans were asked if they wanted to sit in, but turned the invitation down. They had lost all interested in the topic since their adviser had been cut down by the camp bomb blast and the Roman public had no desire to send a larger presence to help with interdiction efforts.

They arrived and were all ushered into the same conference room as before. The new addition to the party was Ambassador Claude St. Jean, the Gaulic ambassador to the Kingdom of Brazil. He was uncertain as to why the initial request had come from his Neu Engollian colleague instead of the Minister herself, but after following talks between all of them, he went along.

He walked in with a large laptop, as well as a bag holding connection cords.
“With your permission, Minister, I’d like to set this up. My boss, our foreign minister, as well the defense minister and the Director of BGSE, our security service, are waiting back in Paritte in a room similar to this one to be video conferenced in. Unfortunately, they couldn’t make it out here to New Frontier in person.”

The Brazilian Minister spoke,
“Monsieur St. Jean, Ambassador, Welcome to you both. Please let my staff help you with the hardware for the video-call. The Prime-Minister will be here in 30 minutes for his input.
Please sit down.”

Ambassador St. Jean nodded, “That would be appreciated. Thank you.”

They set it up, hooking up all the cords and positioning the large laptop screen on an appropriate height table and within minutes, the Gauls in Paritte were exchanging greetings with their counterparts in New Frontier.
Soon after, the Brazilian Prime Minister arrived and also greeted everyone in the room and on the screen.

In Paritte, one woman and two men sat in the room. The Minister of Foreign Affairs, Heloise Telaclan; The Minister of Defense, Alain Melarde; and The Director of Bureau Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure (BGSE), Luc Ressard. The BGSE was the externally focused intelligence/security bureau of Gaul, as opposed to the BGSI, which handled internal matters.

Minister Trindade got serious again once the pleasantries were out of the way:
“Monsieur, I believe that your nation has a military presence in San Rosito. My government will be sending HRH for a visit to San Rosito, a visit of good will if you may. The Kingdom would like to ask you to guarantee the security of the Prince during his 3 days visit. The Prince will travel on our Frigate, Sagres, that, once in the harbour will be open for visiting.
Sirs, we will be having a general election next year and although we are trying to push our programme through on fighting drug trafficking, we have done very little about it. The PM would be very happy if we could send a force with ‘Teremara Helmets’ to San Rosito.”

Ambassador St. Jean shook his head, knowing the answer to the Minister’s questions were well over it. He deferred to the higher ups in Paritte.
“I will let the Defense Minister answer to that.”

Melarde was quick to reply,
“Yes, I’m not entirely sure what you mean by there being a Gaulic military presence in San Rosito. We’ve certainly considered escalating it, but currently, there’s a handful of advisers there attached to the Neu Engollian embassy staff at the moment, and working with the other Teremaran advisors on interdiction efforts with the San Rositan government. Anything more you heard about a deployment was someone from our government overstepping their bounds a bit and I’d like to have a word with them.”

He glared at St. Jean, who shook his head vehemently.
“Non. It was not me.”

“In any case, I don’t know that half a dozen or less Gaulic soldiers would help to guarantee the safety of his highness, your Prince, more than your own naval frigate and its personnel.”

The Neu Engollian Ambassador Voertner cut in,
“I think I can clear up some confusion here. It’s maybe less secret, although not knowledge to the general public. However, I am authorized to discuss it today. A company of NEDM-DGC (Neu Engollon Defense Militia - Diplomatic Guard Corps) has been mobilized to be deployed down to San Rosito, not so much for security operations, as more towards clearing up a justice and national security matter dear to the Confederacy. Their primary mission being to apprehend Emile Feldhaus to bring him back to stand trial in Geneva. They are certain to arrive down there any day now. Feldhaus is in tight with the Abramiento Cartel, doing ‘accounting’ (money laundering) for them and hiding out in one of their haciendas. He’s an embarrassment to Neu Engollon, frankly, along with the rest of his family...That being said...I don’t see why some of the DGC troops, perhaps a couple squads to a platoon, couldn’t be diverted for a couple days in order to aid in guarding the Prince.”

Gaulic Defense Minister Melarde said,
“Minister, I couldn’t imagine your Prince being in better hands than the DGC, some of the most elite trained soldiers in the world. We certainly are looking into sending a small unit or two ourselves, but I don’t think they would be approved and mobilized in time to do any good for your purposes.”

Minister Telaclan chimed in, “As to this ‘Teremaran Helmets’ idea, I am intrigued, Minister. Are you suggesting a multi-national peacekeeping force under one command?”

The sliding doors opened and Prime Minister Bernardo walked into the room with a sympathetic smile.
“Gentlemen and ladies, good to have you here. I’m on my way to see the King and I would like to brief him with our decision. I am for the creation of a Teremaran peacekeeping force involving other nations, in order to face challenges like the one in San Rosito. It’s a hell of a job, the diplomatic effort it would take in involving most of Teremara, but it would be worth it and it would bring legitimacy for this situation, and future situations like it. Please tell me your thoughts.”

Defense Minister Melarde spoke first, as it was most pertaining to him: this new force’s creation.
“Well, Monsieur Prime Minister,...I do like the idea. Absolutely, it would be even past due time to get such a force up and running. However...The timing of getting the treaty signed and agreed to, then ratified by all the governments who would be involved; getting the structure of the force in place; figuring out basing and logistics; figuring out the command and the sensitivities that go along with some nations having to bow to the national commanders of others...Just...everything…”
He took a pause,
“...I believe that by the time that was all figured out and the force together, the problem would be full blown and out of control, with possibly the Republic of San Rosito in full catastrophic collapse.”
He paused again,
“I think that for now, an ad hoc force that could work together involving a much smaller pool of nations, but cooperating, and deferring to each others’ zones, that might be a temporary solution until we could get this Teremaran Peacekeeping force in operation. We will consider sending a larger force. I mean now, not later. I wouldn’t think anymore than a division at most. Maybe a small naval task force off the coast...We do have the Southern fleet...We could send the BNRG Conquérant and some escort ships.” As Melarde continued to muse, the force got larger. He stopped at the carrier task force, though.

The BGSE director, Ressard, finally broke in.
“I will admit that we don’t have many intel assets in country, if any.” It was a way of dancing around the fact that they might not want to compromise those assets. “I believe our brothers and sisters in NESA our thicker on the ground there.”

Station Chief Minon, who had remained pretty much silent until now, confirmed it.
“This is true. We do have assets in the capital and also nearer the Rositan-Brazilian border, both at the coast and Rafindo. We have been hunting for Feldhaus.”

The Brazilian Minister listened carefully and found herself thinking of how good it would be to catch Feldhaus first and then extradite him to Neu Engollon, showing off their intel capabilities. Reino do Brazil needed people on the ground - agents. They could not be entirely dependent on Neu Engollian intel, or any other Madurin security organization, when it came to their national security on the continent. And then there was the election issue. The PM needed to show results and there was nothing better than the display of a major military victory in the public media.

“Defense Minister, if I may, let’s discuss the financial issue. Who is going to pay the bill for the operation? We can take part in it, though we would like to eventually integrate a peacekeeping force with effectives on the ground. I believe you are right when you say that a Teremaran peacekeeping force would take too long to implement in the short term. One week would be enough to send a force wouldn't you say?”

Melarde grimaced.
“Well...Yes, your financial participation in an eventual Teremaran peacekeeping force would be most appreciated. I think that we wouldn’t want to turn down any Teremaran nation who would be willing to put funds towards such operations. I think there are more considerations to ponder, however...Such as Tavlyrian nations that might want to participate...Falkasia, Arkyatan, the Prostoreich via Figuerroa...god forbid, but...what if the Yellow Star Republic wanted to sign on? There’s a lot to mull over there. I am not sure that my government would be amenable to working with all of those nations. Let’s put that to the side for the second.

One week to put a force of Gaulic, Brazilian and Neu Engollian troops into San Rosito in a coordinated effort? It would be tight, but I would say maybe 2 weeks would be a better timeline to coordinate such an effort…”

Ambassador Voertner made a throat clearing noise in order to gain attention,
“I just want to make clear again, Neu Engollon is not looking to achieve any lofty goals here. As said before, we are only looking to commit one company at the most of DGC elite trained troops to capture one of our top most wanted criminal citizens.”

Melarde smiled.
“You underestimate me, Ambassador. I appreciate your nation’s limited goals in the region, but I would also like to point out the influence I have, even with your newer, isolationist administration. I think that we could convince Marshal Fernand, and your Federal Council to approve an expanded mission for the DGC troops that would be committed to San Rosito.”

Voertner shook his head. He had met Federal Council President Garavano and she was tough as nails, especially when it came to reining in the far reaching missions of previous President Alainsburg’s ‘security-for-the-region’ peacekeeping expeditions that had tested the bounds of Neu Engollon’s neutrality.
“Minister Melarde, I definitely wish you the best regards in that endeavor, but I wouldn’t put odds on you in accomplishing that task. Again, the best of luck.”

Melarde shrugged a hearty Gaulic shrug.
“We’ll see...eh? I know you think you know them better, but we have our ways.”

Prime Minister Bernardo got ready to leave.
“I have another engagement, but I’d like to have another meeting to discuss this further, with more Ministers and security officials from around the region. As for the temporary force, we will be sending a company of elite soldiers from the Kingdom, as well as two frigates to patrol the San Rositan coast. This would be under the Gaulic command, of course. We can’t have three or more separate commands. Then...well...We will go from there. Agreed?”

In Paritte, the Ministers and BGSE Director all agreed that they would get to work on the force and the next summit.
The Ambassadors and Minon also prepared to leave, shaking hands all around.
It was a very productive meeting, as far as these things usually went.
They agreed to convene again in one week’s time, with as many more regional officials as they could, then they parted ways.

[RP was contributed by Reino do Brazil and Terre des Gaules. The security discussions will be continued in the Teremaran Security Summit]

En Este Rincón (Semi-Closed Teremara. TG OP.)

En Este Rincón (Semi-Closed Teremara. TG OP.)

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