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The Red Tiger Rises (IC/OPEN-TG/MT)

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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Brittanic Albion
Secretary
 
Posts: 30
Founded: Nov 07, 2018
Ex-Nation

The Red Tiger Rises (IC/OPEN-TG/MT)

Postby Brittanic Albion » Fri Nov 30, 2018 9:02 pm

OOC: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=454747#p34984610
B Company, 1st Battalion (The Cheshire Scarlets) 76th Foot Regiment, Mercian Battlegroup
Pulai Wetlands, Sultanate of Johore, Viceroyalty of Malaysia



The officer's mess back in the Battalion HQ in Singapore seemed a million miles away for Lt. William Haselwick. He had been chomping at the bit to get out in the field and maybe nab him some treacherous UCA (United Communist Army) insurgents, but now with his bergen weighing on his shoulders, his rifle becoming more cumbersome by the minute and a graveyard of insects forming on his face where they had become trapped in a mix of sweat, repellent and camocream -a gin and tonic was all he wanted now. Yes, prop himself up on the balcony of the mess in his blue flannel suit, a tall glass of icy gin and tonic with a wedge of lime and maybe some lovely expat girls milling around too. But that would have to wait, suddenly the hand signal to form the herring bone formation was passed down the line silently and one by one his platoon took a knee directly behind the man in front, facing in alternate directions so as to avoid a flank attack. Silence reigned save for an obnoxious hornbill which cawed in their deep almost metallic manner. Haselwick wondered what the front man: Corporal Kevin Smith had spotted or heard. Slowly the soldiers at the front of the file began to slowly stand up, one by one, tapping the soldier behind them as they stood up, the next soldier waiting for the one in front to take at least five paces before he began moving. They moved quietly but not silently -for a platoon of 30 or so men that was impossible and indeed the rest of the Company was following the logging and rhinocerous tracks nearby. One foot slowly in front of the other, rocking on the heel to sweep the widest arc possible, the barrels of their firesystems directly in line with their field of view: ready to blow anything that popped up into a red mist. The soldiers had good reason to be nervous: not a week before had ten Royal Marine Commandos been ambushed and in these forested wetlands and cut down to a man. They had taken many with them, but the UCA was becoming increasingly sophisticated as China pumped funding into it in its desperate and ever serious attempts to dislodge Albion from the Orient.

B Company had a simple mission, locate and engage a UCA military investment deep in the Pulai Wetlands as had been located by drone surveillance and informants, take as many prisoners as possible and secure the location for future intelligence gathering. They were providing the main brawn of the operation, whilst Royal Marine Commandos, arriving up river in canoes and some having formed observation posts on the site several days before via HALO insertion would make the initial contact. The company had left barracks two days before, and had slept in the field for two nights in order not to panic the UCA who had began to suspect something was afoot but did not want to abandon their position just yet due to its reach and influence on the local populace. They finally came to the river which marked the beginning of the danger zone. The three combat platoons fanned out in the undergrowth of the riverbank watching intently for any movement on the opposite side.
"Haselwick."
The young officer turned to face the company CO, Captain Richard Goode, crouched low and clutching a battered and well annotated map of the area.
"There is a fording 400 yards to your left, you will cross it in single file under the cover of 02 platoon, but you will not mount the bank until I say so. When you mount the bank, you will likely encounter resistance. 04 platoon (combat support) will paste them up very shortly, then you will go, followed by 02 platoon covered by 03 platoon and in turn 03 platoon will also join the assault. The marines will be engaging on the other side of the camp in..."
The Captain pulled back his combat shirt sleeve to find his watch. "6 minutes. Stand by, make sure you are ready to engage upon mounting the bank."
"Very good sir." Chirped Haselwick and he scuttled over to his platoon to brief his sergeant and 1-ICs.

Haselwick's heart was in his mouth and it was pumping heavier than a bass drum on the parade square, he nearly mistook the first mortar round launched by the combat support company for a heart beat until it was followed by screaming, smoke and the gradual snap and crack of a mangrove tree.
"01 platoon on me!" He roared, running down the muddy slope to the river ford and splashing through the low water, as the various sections and fireteams in the platoon followed, spread out, watching the vegetation line above them intently. More mortar rounds thudded into the jungle in front, one blast briefly showing a chunk of flesh from its billowing cloud of and muck and bark before it flew into the river.
"Contact front!"
The weapon systems of platoons 02 and 03 roared to life as the first UCA combatants reared their heads, drowning out the words of direction shouted by the soldier that first spotted them. By this time 01 platoon had reached the opposite bank and was ready to climb up the short overhang of undergrowth and press into the enemy lair, bayonets fixed on those with unmodified SA80s, whilst the platoon SMGs, marksmen and grenade launcher armed men were ready to support the assault. Haselwick's radio crackled to life in his ear.
"Up! Up! UP! Take the bank!"
Gazing briefly at the dulled metal of his bayonet, Haselwick gritted his teeth and and scrambled up the steep but low verge.
A single crack echoed through the trees and Haselwick's brains flew out of his head, as the skull caved in and his combat helmet, covered in local vegetation, slipped off his imploded skull and onto the forest floor.

Horse Guards, the War Office, Whitehall, City of Westminster, Kingdom of England


From his window, Sir Godwin Delancey, Permanent Under-Secretary of State for the War Office could see a new troop of blue clad Royal Life Guards on their splendid black horses arrive onto the dusty parade square, in double file, trotting gently. Teeming hordes of tourists braved London's hot summer sun to snap themselves streams of photos for their facebooks, instagrams and holiday journals and videos. It was indeed a hot day, and Godwin felt it in his tight collared shirt and well fastened silk club tie. There was a knock on the door.
"Come in." He said curtly, still gazing out the window onto the leafy canopy of St. James' Park. A young staff officer dressed in no.2s; dark green with brown belt, shoes and peaked cap entered flanked by two sharply suited civil servants.
"Sir, intelligence fresh in from Malaysia. Operation Dyce was a success with minimal casualties. Best still, a Chinese intelligence officer was among those captured. Apparently he tried to top himself but we managed to secure him."
Sir Godwin grinned. "Those little cheeky chinks, I've got them now, I have, I have." He said quietly. He turned to face the young officer.
"Thank you Lieutenant. Go and fetch the Minister." He said, donning his pinstripe suit blazer, with a sarcastic twinkle in his eye.
"The international community will be shocked... perturbed... deeply UNSETTLED..." he mused, taking his seat at his dark polished oakwood desk. "Chinese army directly training Malaysian communist insurgents.. nay.. terrorists. So much for an home-grown uprising. Per-bloody-fect."
The two civil servants exchanged glances.
"What now sir? The Prime Minister has been trying to ameliorate the Chinese, he wants them appeased -to an extent." One of them noted. Sir Godwin raised an amused eyebrow.
"The Prime Minister is a naive man Mister MacPherson, he does not understand fully the evil of East. Lord Gressingham is a Prime Minister best suited to peace-time. He's good for the cameras, he has a nice smile, he has the good airs and graces of the aristocrat he is to charm even the most cynical and gruff working class ruffian. But he knows next to nothing about the Orient -he is an ex cavalry officer and whilst his advisors keep him well briefed I don't think his head holds much more than rugby, cricket, drinking memories from the Army Officer's Club and shooting fowl on his estate. He's a good family man too I'm told. The Tory party in their wisdom have him as a figurehead but he has no serious political convictions. That, chaps, is why we, the civil service exist. We are the long term interest of this country, whether there is a Tory, Liberal or other government in power, we keep the ship sailing in the rough direction we want it to go. I imagine this will get to the press shortly which will create a diplomatic tornado. Expert circles have known something of this nature to have been going on for some time now, but this is the first concrete evidence. China is seeking to remove Albion from Malaysia and presumably from Hong Kong too. It is now our job to advise the Prime Minister and His Majesty."

Foreign and Empire Office, Whitehall, City of Westminster, Kingdom of England


Ambassador Fen wiped his brow of salty droplets. It was almost as if the corridor had suddenly had its cooling turned off. All the windows were closed in the corridor where he had been instricted to wait and there were no fans. He knew the Foreign Secretary Lord Aberdeenshire was fond of mind games, like keeping Ambassadors waiting and insulting the dignity of larger nations by pushing them to the back of the queue behind places like... Albania. But this, creating an oven, was a new low. Or maybe he did this when particularly upset. Fen had absolutely no idea why he had been summoned, Beijing had told him nothing. Suddenly an attractive middle aged blonde woman appeared with a cherry red smile.
"If you may, Your Excellency, the Minister will see you now..." She said kindly. She stood behind him as he wandered into the office, having left a sweat stain on the chair, looking on in pity. She had been given orders not to offer him a drink.
"Ah, Mr. Fen, thank you for coming today... just a wee... bone to pick with Beijing.." exclaimed Lord Aberdeenshire, a rotund, red faced Scottish Lord, well spoken but with distinct Aberdonian brogue -almost snooty yet obviously Gaelic. "Please, be seated."
The ambassador sat down across from the Lord at his desk. Lord Aberdeenshire slowly pushed a document towards Fen with two photos clipped to it. One of a smartly dressed Chinese intelligence officer in dress uniform, the other, a dishevelled Chinese man on his knees in bloodied jungle combats. But they were the same man. A large drop of sweat rolled off of one of Fen's hairs like a drop of morning dew off of grass and splashed onto the document.
"One of your... most esteemed intelligence officers seems to have taken a wee jungle safari holiday in Malaysia sir.. quite an inopportune time do you not think? I think you know what has happened Mister Fen, do you not?"
The ambassador gulped, he was completely unprepared for this, though of course he was aware of such activities. He knew not what to say -for he did not know what the official line in Beijing would be.
"His Majesty, King Arthur is more than a wee bit.. miffed I should have you know. He is very upset that you have been scurrying around our behind like A PORT RAT! Get your staff, pack your bags and vacate your embassy with all possible haste. You will be escorted to Heathrow Airport with an armed convoy in three hours. Any diplomat or other member of your staff who attempts to remain in the country or misses this deadline will be arrested and very probably executed as a spy. Good Morning."
Fen got up from his seat, leaving an even larger sweat patch on the seat. He attempted to stammer a response.
"Beij-beijing will... they will not be impress-"
Lord Aberdeenshire, who had already resumed to scanning though some of the day's other business looked up slowly and tilted his glasses of his nose.
"I said Good Morning sir." He said scornfully.

Blaenllechau, The Rhondda Valley, Glamorganshire (Sir Morgannwg), Principality of Wales


A thick and dark fog clung to the valley sides, leaving its dew wrought on the rich green grasses that were the soils' hairs. The gentle bleating of sheep, still invisible in the low hanging cloud came closer to Dewydd ap Gruffydd, a portly specimen of a Welshman. He was on his morning stroll to fetch the morning paper from the tobacconist in the village and also walk his dog -a german shepherd by the name of Iolo. Dewydd lived in a cottage on the outskirts of Blaenllechau, a mining village in the valley. He was not a miner himself, but much of the village revolved round that way of life. It was a life in the waning though, as Albion sought to do away with the pits and chimneys that belched up so much billowing black smoke into God's good air. But for now they were still open for business and indeed he could hear the miners off to work, walking through the streets heartily singing the great valley hymn Cwm Rhondda their gear clanging as they went, bellies full of a proper welsh breakfast; lava bread with bacon, cockles and eggs with a mug of tea. From his distance their singing was too muffled but as he turned down the farm track and into the village past the post office he caught the words before they kept trudging away:
Ffrind pechadur! Ffrind pechadur!
Dyma'r llywydd ar y môr.
Dyma'r llywydd ar y môr.

A spring in his step having had his morning made by his favourite hymn, Dewydd whistled down the street till he got to the tobacconist; The Carib. He kicked his rubber wellies against the wall to shake off some of the mud and proceeded through the door, jingling the bell as he did so.
"Bore da!" He exclaimed as he entered, taking off his cloth cap and nodding with a smile to an elderly and moustached man behind the counter listening to the radio, with a mug of tea beside him.
"Shwmae Dewydd." The tobacconist replied. Dewydd went to the news rack and glanced at all the headlines of the papers but nonetheless took the newspaper he had always bought and his father before him; The Daily Mail. It's front page was mainly concerned with the ongoing sex scandal of a Liberal Party MP who had the indiscretion to be photographed in a brothel. A grainy image of said MP surrounded by blurred bare flesh was super imposed on the paper. Dewydd grunted in mild amusement before grabbing two tins of tobacco for his pipe off the shelf.
As he wandered over to the counter to pay, rummaging though his shooting jacket pocket for some bank notes, he couldn't help but overhear the radio.
Whitehall sources are indeed confirming that the entire Chinese diplomatic mission is being sent back to China, many people in London have spotted the Heathrow bound convoy flanked by police cars and armed officers on motorbikes speeding through the streets. Downing Street has said that it will be releasing a statement shortly, whilst Malaysian officials are being quoted as implying that a recent search and destroy mission in Johore has uncovered deeper Chinese involvment with the UCA than previously suspected.
The tobacconist raised his eyebrows at Dewydd humourously.
"Those bloody people... always creepin' around like. Mi da used to always say that the beast of east would start occurin' soon and such. I say we send in the fleet, make 'em jump like. Bloody people."
Dewydd nodded slowly.
"Ie ie.. but it'll be lads from 'ere and roundabouts that get sent in like, won't it? Like Owain and Dafydd fresh from the rugger club and all. And there'll be ma's cryin' down at the Co-op like. But yes, Gressingham better sort those bloody drewgwn out. Can't have them spreadin' their bloody communism and all."
He placed the correct change on the counter and pushed the door open.
"Da boch chi!" He exclaimed cheerily, donning his tweed cloth cap on his balding head.
"Siwrne dda!" The shopkeeper called after him. Dewydd slowly made his way back up onto the country path, Iolo coming quickly at his heels. He saw a plume of smoke emerging from the chimney of his stone cottage with its slate roof.
"Will you look at that Iolo, the old bird has a brew on for me, maybe some breakfast too if we're both lucky. Come along now!"
Last edited by Brittanic Albion on Fri Nov 30, 2018 9:57 pm, edited 1 time in total.
“Remember that you are an Englishman and have consequently won first prize in the lottery of life.”
-Cecil Rhodes
British|Roman Catholic|High Tory

The British Empire in all its modern glory, from the Canadian Tundra to the Indian jungles, from the Caribbean lagoons to the Rhodesian Bush. A conservative though interventionist power with a medium sized but elite military. Striving to rid its spheres of influence of communism, radical islam and globalist ventures.

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Shackley
Envoy
 
Posts: 248
Founded: May 30, 2017
Ex-Nation

Postby Shackley » Tue Dec 04, 2018 7:51 am

~1000hrs local time,
Early Warning Station 2,
Lower Dalton,
Southern Shackley Isle,
The Imperial Fiefdom of Shackley


The young Air Force Lieutenant sat solemnly at his desk. Since peace broke out with Allanea and the Sovs the country had been focusing on rebuilding and rearming. The losses were catastrophic and there was extensive work to do, but Lt. Philby of the RShAF was not the bureaucratic type.
He'd requested transfer to Lower Dalton out of boredom. The weather was worse, granted. And of course there wasn't much of a nightlife. And all the work he did was highly classified, so that made phonecalls home rather short.
But, the Southern Isle of Shackley was paradise for the military enthusiast. Working in one of a dozen Early Warning Stations Lt. Philby had his pay doubled and his rank progression tripled. It was an exciting job if you put your mind to it.

Several thousand miles of thick fibre-optic cable connected the strategic command centres in Shackley to relay stations in their small colonies around the globe. Currently Philby had his terminal jacked into a connection to Shackleyan Lebanon where a satellite station sent information back and forth at a rapid pace to the loitering drone fleet.
The RShAF at this very moment was operating a small Corax stealth reconnaissance UAV over South-East Asia. For a camera of that size and at such long distances the picture quality was astounding Philby thought.
Tracking left and right the scene was unrecognisable. Only 18 hours earlier a government "Weather Satellite" had passed over Malaysia taking the necessary photographs and LIDAR scans. They were well aware of the ongoing conflict in the region and keeping tabs on such things is only prudent given the Imperial Fiefdom's history with communists. They'd made note of the few troop movements visible with the sparse flyovers afforded to them but even the most liberal estimates hadn't predicted something on this scale.

Fort Dalton,
Upper Dalton,
Northern Shackley Isle,
The Imperial Fiefdom of Shackley


"So what are we thinking, Basil?" Lord Protector Rimmer fondled an unlit cigar as both leaders lounged in their padded chairs.
"Well, sir, it's rather hard to put a finger on it. We know what a secretive bunch they can be in Albion and we've had no reasonable successes penetrating the Chinese-" Secretary General Hawthorne was cut off by a wave of the former-Admiral's hand.
"So we know it's the Chinese?"
"We have some pretty strong indicators. While we haven't had any success in the Orient you may recall our small victory regarding Moscow?"
"The young Major Thorneycroft from Naval Intelligence, of course. What's the news?"
"Well, he's been hard at work, bless his heart. He spouted all the right lines and the filthy Stalinists saw it in themselves to put him to work at one of their state-sponsored newspapers; His extensive skills with the English language, no doubt." Basil scratched his eyebrow and shuffled the papers on his lap.
"Not a bad position for a budding intelligence officer. So what's he got for us?" Rimmer began chewing on the cigar.
"Naturally there's some bleedthrough from his article sources- even the largest net is riddled with holes- and it's not too difficult to see through the propaganda with a trained eye. According to our man there's some hefty political manoeuvring going down in Moscow, stirred up by some of the less-than-public military actions taken by their Chinese neighbours. I wouldn't go so far as to suggest the USSR is ready to jump into a worldwide socialist revolution, not by a long stretch, but the Commies of the Far East are certainly making moves to that extent." The Secretary General sipped his tea, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
"And they're all the worse for it back in the UK. If anti-capitalist elements were to gain a foothold in South-East Asia?" Started the Lord Protector, knowing the answer.
"We'd potentially lose out on significant trade routes to the Pacific, limiting our access to the high-end computing and genetics research markets..." continued Hawthorne.
"Which would put a stranglehold on our Naval Rearmament Programme." Rimmer finished.
Rimmer stood from his chair and made his way to the desk, reaching for the encrypted telephone. He looked up with the handset to his ear;
"I'm going to get on the line to the Air Force. Basil, I want you to make contact with the British government and express our interest in solving their communist problem. The public line is we're helping a like-minded ally resist the sort of catastrophe the commies caused us this year. Limited military aid is the name of the game for now, Bas."
"Righto Skipper" Basil withdrew, leaving the Head of State to make his phonecalls.

Image

From: Secretary General Basil Hawthorne, The Imperial Fiefdom of Shackley
To: Whomever it may concern, The United Kingdom of Brittanic Albion
Encryption Level: Medium


Dear Sir or Ma'am,
It has come to my attention that you appear to be experiencing difficulties with communist insurgents in certain oriental colonies. As a nation of former colonials and proud associates of the British Empire ourselves it is not hard for us to sympathise with your plight. You may be aware of the events of the Great Survival War, a conflict which shook us to the core. That conflict was a result of the old government underestimating our Marxist adversaries. It takes a certain tenacity to maintain belief in a dead, wholly flawed ideology such as theirs and we found to our sorrow that such tenacity translates rather well to militarised viciousness.
As such it is in all our best interests to prevent the spread of aforementioned ideology and ensure, to the best of our abilities, that you do not fall afoul of their trickery and brutish willpower as we Shackleyers did before. I have it on the authority of my most gracious Lord Protector that we are willing and able to provide military aid in an alliance with your glorious Empire to this end.
That is all for now.

Many salutations and respects,
With Dignity and Persistence
Basil Hawthorne
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Overview | Persons of Interest | Buy from Kibbs Royal Armaments Co. ! | Buy from The Drawbridge Group!
ORBAT: | Royal Shackleyan Air Force | Royal Shackleyan Navy ████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
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Cedoria
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6206
Founded: Feb 22, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Cedoria » Wed Dec 05, 2018 3:19 am

House of the People, International Situation Room, Poras, People's Republic of Cedoria

"How certain are we that Beijing's involvement has been compromised?"

It was the obvious question, given the circumstances.

"Almost completely Comrade Secretary. Our Chinese sources confirm that an agent failed to off himself in the manner usually required of their operatives, and sources elsewhere are making waves that the Chinese Embassy in Albion has seen unusual activity, probably moves to pack up after being expelled. While we don't yet have official confirmation from either Albionish or Chinese sources, the logical confluence of events suggests few other possibilities."


At that, Chairman Treavor Sorenson felt the need to do no more than grunt non-committally. It was so typical of Beijing, their operatives being so poorly entrenched that one being caught would unravel the entire operation. It would forever put paid to the lies that the insurgency of the UCA was purely a local resistance, reacting heroically to the imposition of evil oppressive colonialist forces.

"What are the chances that the Britons actually reveal the espionage? Would Albion's leaders have the fortitude to confront Beijing directly on its subversion? Gressingham doesn't seem the most confrontational type?"


Sorenson sighed outwardly. Why anybody had thought that fool Notter would be of any use in this circumstance was beyond him.

"Gressingham is of no consequence, fool." Sorenson stated bluntly', "Whether he wants the confrontation or not, he's now going to be forced to get it. Gressingham is foolish enough to look past the subversion, maybe, yes, but those behind and around him are not. His civil service and military officers will be out for Chinese blood, and no doubt the UCA will suffer for it. Those who favour the anti-communist side of things will use this as justification to try and pressure Albion to allow them to step up their involvement."

Defence Adjutant Notter bore the rebuke silently. Personally, Sorenson would rather the Defence Commissar be here in person, but as he was away on the inspection of the northern naval bases, it was Notter attending this briefing on his behalf. Sorenson wasn't known for either mincing his words or for high tolerance of fools, and both traits pre-disposed him to dislike this supremely stupid adjutant who asked the most obliviously idiotic questions.

Just as well he's only a paper-pusher most of the time



"And now my friends, we have a judgement to make. Will we allow the UCA to perish just because some idiot in Singapore has gotten himself captured? Does Cedoria itself not have a stake in this conflict, in defending our region and our allies from imperialist aggression?"

It was a question he barely needed answering. While some low-level support had been sanctioned for the UCA in recent times, it was clear this was a different ball game. Beijing's operative being blown meant that Cedoria would have to fill the vacuum and step up its support, maybe even prep operations against Albion's assets elsewhere. The mood of the room was clear, confrontation was mandatory, even if of the low-level proxy kind. While Cedoria had remained in a wary but peaceful co-existence with most other major capitalist powers for the last decade, this kind of imperial aggression within their own region merited the full resources of Cedorian intelligence and bureaucratic assets to try and push things to a conclusion.

A colonial Albion with possession so close to Cedoria was a long-term strategic situation that Sorenson, for one, was quite happy to see ended.

"Very well, comrades, we are in complete accord. I shall leave it to you to begin the necessary requisition of support ships and equipment to be delivered to the UCA, as well as the transplant of active PIA intelligence operatives to Singapore. I don't care how you get them there, but do it, and don't get them caught."


And with that, the meeting broke up.


Department of Defence,

"Just as well we have regular trade ships moving through that area regularly, as a matter of commerical course. It should be a relatively simple matter to engage in some old-style maskirovska, as the Russian call it and fly some small planes with equipment and supplies to the rebels."

The small-time bureaucrat on the receiving end of this spiel nodded, utterly bored by Notter's self-important puff ups. He was always showing off, demonstrating how close he was to the Defence Commissar, how he'd sat on the meeting with the Chairman... Like Sorenson, most of his close confederates thought him a prating fool.

Without a willing audience to sustain him, Notter eventually wore his vocal chords down, and settled into the task of planning the diversionary campaign. Cedorian supply ships loaded with a few old planes worth of equipment would discreetly drop some stuff into Singapore, as a show of solidarity and the first gesture of more significant practical backing for the UCA, with more to come.

With Beijing's involvement now almost certainly exposed, a new source of revolutionary support, and equipment, was necessary, and an opportunity to turn the UCA into a pro-Cedorian direction internally was almost too good to resist.

The loading was the first job. Once that was underway, things would get interesting...
In real life I am a libertarian socialist/democratic socialist
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Bulgar Rouge
Minister
 
Posts: 2383
Founded: Dec 08, 2013
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Bulgar Rouge » Wed Dec 05, 2018 6:27 am

Image
Annamite Mountains, somehwere in Laos


If Bulgarian communes were austere, then Heavenly State communes were taking things to a whole new level. After the initial bloodbaths, the Bulgar Rouge had established a more or less stable, self-sufficient environment for each commune. The more developed ones even had a somewhat bucolic atmosphere; the fresh and tidy appearance of redistribution shops where the fruits of peasant labour were given away or merely exchanged for other items, the comradely talks between tractormen in the motor stations, even the presence of vaguely suggestive language between males and females, all of this could be found in Bulgarian communes. Despite the prison conditions, there was a semblance of human interaction under the crude blue uniforms and the universal butch cuts. Some communes even competed which one will display better equipment or cleaner uniforms at the annual agricultural displays. The Heavenly State had nothing of this.

Almost a day after his arrival, Colonel Valentin Palaveev had not seen any of the peasants here converse, let alone engage in communal activities together. It seemed as if their minds were not focused on their daily labour at all. If anything, it even looked annoying to them. The existence of families startled him first, and again a bit later, for a different reason. The colonel had seen the eradication of the family unit in his homeland and knew that parents and children were difficult to separate when Year Zero was implemented; but gradually, the children got used to their new environment and became ideological stalwarts. Families here stayed together, but there was no interaction between parents and children, siblings, cousins or any relatives at all. Just like everyone else, family members had stone-cold behaviour, no facial expression, and no vitality in their appearance.

Everyone was either fulfilling a labour quota, or performing some kind of odd, meditation-like "political purification" ritual. The only time these people displayed something similar to emotion was when they were reading the "Principles of Heavenly Permanence". The little red book was explaining, in simple terms to ensure universal understanding, how to achieve something akin to a "communist Nirvana". It boiled down to successive, ever greater sacrifices for the Heavenly State, universally culminating in a suicide mission. Reading these lines made man, woman and child look quietly zealous, with some kind of insane fury flaming in their eyes, an utter desire to obliterate their self in exchange for abundance somewhere out of this world, far from the grinding misery of physical life.

On one hand, these sights thoroughly impressed the colonel, who had not seen ideological purity or mind control of this magnitude anywhere else in the Leftist Agrarian Revolutionary Union. On the other, these people barely displayed any semblance of humanity - they were profoundly disinterested in living. Sacrificing their lives for the Transitional Heavenly State was the sole purpose each of them had, and any daily labour, operations planning or Party activity was an obstacle between them and "heavenly permanence". Their system was nothing short of death worship. Realising this had sent chills down the colonel's spine on more than one occasion, an especially unpleasant feeling in this humid climate.

"Brother Number One and the NPLA do not view this communist insurgency as a net benefit to our goals. We are not prepared to wage a full-scale regional war with the British, especially considering their existing proximity to other revolutionary assets and entitites. Several high-ranking brothers have expressed their willingness to clamp down on the insurgency and keep the region quiet until the Heavenly State has a more robust military capability." The colonel sipped from the hot tea made from local blends; his interlocutor at the opposite end of the tea table was merely looking at the cup and listening. "Or to put it simply, it's strongly desired that we take care of the "communists" instead of allowing things to escalate into a bigger conflict. That's in your interest too, given the insurgency's Chinese backing".

"Our eyes do not meet on this matter, colonel Palaveev". The Asian man finally reached for his tea cup and tasted the drink. "The so-called UCA are of no ideological relevance, of course. But precisely because we seek to weaken and destabilise China, escalating the conflict would be of service to the Heavenly State. Their puppet insurgency has no chance of succeeding without massive backing, which the Communist Party has been more than willing to provide. Up until recently, at least. But a massive British involvement will sooner or later make China respond in scale. The more they have on their hands, the better for our cause."

"A wider regional conflict will jeopardise our forward operating bases in Champasak and our overall deployment capability in the Asia-Pacific region. The Sabha-Mogadishu-Vientiane axis is our only corridor to the Pacific Socialist States and Democratic Aleutia, two vital revolutionary entities with immeasurable revolutionary value on this side of the planet. The UCA is a nuisance that can be crushed quickly under the right circumstances, preventing further escalation. If you refuse to send troops to fight them, then we will."

The Asian man finished his tea and looked at the clouds engulfing the scenic mountain range in the distance. His mind, however, was definitely not enjoying the beauty of the sight. It was looking at something beyond this realm.

"Twenty thousand commune members have expressed interest to aid their brothers in that struggle. The popular organism has no means to stop their willingness to fight, if they so desire, colonel."

Despite being recently appointed as NPLA liaison officer for the Heavenly State, colonel Palaveev already knew two things from his predecessor: that the THS feels "very off", and that it's almost pointless to argue with them. Doing so would either result in a blank stare with a spice of contempt, or outright murder. Out of the blue, the colonel found himself between a rock and a hard place. Displease the THS officer with a request that would not be executable as things are already set in motion, or displease his superiors with the news that the Heavenly State actively works for escalation.

"We'll have to check with the branches if any units are available for immediate deployment to Vientiane, Champasak and Koh Kong."

"There is also a cargo ship, fairly large, full of agricultural supplies leaving Mawlamyine for Port Klang. It will anchor briefly at Johor Bahru. The crew is unaware of the scheme, we merely paid them off. But it will collect a few UCA infiltrators from Johor Bahru. We will notify your superiors about this assistance too."

Colonel Palaveev was already wondering what the purpose of this meeting was in the first place. A pointless discussion in which he, the NPLA's representative in the Heavenly State, was merely informed that the THS would do the exact opposite of what he was sent here to suggest. Suddenly, it hit him. His predecessor disappeared without a trace. His family background was completely undesirable. His rank was earned through commission instead of combat. It was just a setup. The post of liaison officer was a glaring sinecure with the sole purpose of getting the NPLA rid of troublemakers.

"And the identities of the infiltrators?"

"We do not know them. Best to have one of your men aboard the ship. To track the success of the transfer, that is."

The colonel felt slashed by the flat speech of his host, the empty gaze that suddenly turned towards him and pierced his Slavic soul, and the prospects laying ahead of him. His own eyes turned to the scenic mountains, fully appreciating the beauty of the view. Apparently there was just one way out.
Last edited by Bulgar Rouge on Wed Dec 05, 2018 6:37 am, edited 4 times in total.

This nation does not reflect my RL views.
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Grater Tovakia
Diplomat
 
Posts: 534
Founded: Mar 27, 2018
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Grater Tovakia » Sat Dec 08, 2018 12:11 pm

Ministry of the Navy Building, Gavograd, Grater Tovakia

"I am sick and fucking tired of this bloody story on the goddammed news!!! screamed Vice Adrimal Reynolds, the brand new Chief of the Navy. He was, of course, referring to the incident recently where three Tovakian ships and their crew had been seized off the coast of Shackley. While the men and ships had been returned, national pride (and faith in the navy) was at an all-time low. Now the news media would not stop talking about how the military's budget needed to be cut as there was no point in getting involved in foreign conflicts anymore and the Vice Adrimal was none too pleased. After calming himself he sat down and asked

"any updates on the situation in Malaysia?

A junior intelligence officer cleared his throat and began to speak... "Adrimal, it would seem that the UCA and The Government have both stepped up their intensity in regards to the conflict. Other than that there seem to be no new developments. The Brits seem to have it under control

"well then, seeing as there are no pressing matters on hand, I am going to go get some rest in preparation for the begging of Fleet Week on Monday"

The room came to attention as he exited, the media's comments still on the admiral's mind.



Image

Above Gavograd, Grater Tovakia

Captain Richard Perry looked left at the other C-130J off his wing, he pressed the Push to Talk Switch and said

"Alright, descend 30, turn heading 230

A chorus of a-firms was heard on the radio as the C-130J four-ship practiced for the inaugural flyover on Monday. Down on the streets, traffic had stopped as people looked up and pointed their phones to the sky. Perry watched in glee as the four-ship flew over the Armed Forces monument perfectly, albeit at a higher altitude than Mondays flyover would take place. The four-ship turned back towards Gavograd International and Perry allowed his man in the right seat to handle comms and the landing. As Perry listened to the radio chatter he thought ahead to the exercises that would come after Fleet Week called Sea Dragon 18.
“A tank and its crew has but one reason to exist. To maneuver the tank’s cannon to a position where it could do the most damage and feed it once it was there.”
― Harold Coyle

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Brittanic Albion
Secretary
 
Posts: 30
Founded: Nov 07, 2018
Ex-Nation

Postby Brittanic Albion » Sat Dec 08, 2018 7:23 pm

Smith Street Wet Market, City-Territory of Singapore, Viceroyalty of Malaysia
The Wet Market on Smith Street was bustling with life as traders and shoppers went about their daily business, selling and buying produce from fruit, to meat, ready made meals and crafted items. The smell was pungent as the heat cooked the mounting piles of rubbish discarded from the stalls and created by the food tents but was matched also by the irresistable tastes of the wok: fried garlic, sesame oil and freshly baked naan bread. Singapore cuisine was a curious one, for it was a melting pot of many cultures owing to its status as a regional capital of finance and a long history of a major trading hub. It blended chinese, indian and malay cuisines along with western touches here and there. Constable Charles Teow of the Royal Singapore Constabulary slowly paced through the market, many market-goers nodding curtly to him in acknowledgement. Constables were rarely armed, though in the overseas territories they were more frequently armed unlike in Britain were only a few regional response units had any firearms training at all. Constable Teow was likewise not armed save for a stiff rubber baton and a whistle. He wore a white shirt, green trousers a peaked cap and polished black boots with his radio clipped onto his breast pocket. Today he was on edge, the Chinese consulate had been evicted but unlike in other places in the Empire it was more difficult to distinguish who was a British Chinese person and who was Chinese Chinese here in Singapore. Several of the diplomatic staff had gone missing and a hunt was on through the city. Singapore was a largely loyalist city -it flourished as a major world financial capital and benefited from the strength of the British Fleet in the region, especially with Indonesian Piracy becoming ever rampant. However there was a strong dissident undergrowth to the city and there were untold numbers of chinese operatives lurking in the region. But Teow was just a local officer, he was mainly concerned with petty crimes or murders. These were his streets, he grew up on them as a child and he was strongly bound to look after them, Crown or no Crown. He turned in briefly to an open air butcher and looked on as an apron clad man at the request of a customer severed the head of a live chicken with a meat cleaver and set about preparing the carcass for packaging, whilst a colleague behind him was fishing frogs out of a bucket, pulling their heads off and peeling the skin; putting the frogs' legs on ice for sale.
"Ni hao ma?" He asked the butcher, a former schoolmate. The butcher looked up with a smile.
"Not too bad Constable, how is the Miss getting along with the little one?" He replied, handing the customer the slain chicken and tossing the knife into a basin of soapy water.
"George is quite a handful but I think she manages. We very much enjoyed those ribs yesterday, good stuff." Teow said as he removed his cap and wiped his brow for it was indeed very humid. The butcher furrowed his brows briefly.
"What's all this business with the Chinese.. they have been expelled from Singapore?"
"The diplomatic staff yes, about that person they found in one of those raids. A chinese intelligence officer. Obviously everyone knew that sort of thing was going on, but now we know. A few of the diplomatic staff are missing though -they did not make it to the plane. Keep an eye or two peeled may-"
Suddenly a commotion flared up a few hundred yards down the street and a suited man of Han complexion came crashing through the market on foot, pursued by three constables, batons drawn and gasping for air. These constables were of Malay orgin and two of them had handguns holstered on their belts.
"Ting zhi! Ting zhi!" They roared at him. Teow's rugby days at school suddenly kicked in... as if a winger had broken away from the ruck or throng and was pacing it up to the tryline, Teow leapt into the air and threw his arms round the running man's legs, hugging his arms close to his torso and causing the man to collapse onto the floor. Market goers shouted in shock and assumed the running man was a thief and so began pelting him with produce once the four officers had handcuffed him. Indeed Teow had to brandsh his baton at one elderly woman who had narrowly missed him with an egg intended for the detainee.

After being bundled into a Constabulary van, a huge crowd gathering to see it, filming on their phones and some early media on their cameras, the suited man was taken not to a constabulary station but had been rerouted by a civil servant over the radio. MI6. It could only be them. They wanted to cut the middle man out and get straight into interrogation; Habeus Corpus it seemed was only a privilege for Subjects of the Crown. The van, sirens screeching down the streets of the city swerved into a walled off compound with no adresss markings or any description, just a few red brick buildings with few or bricked up windows and a number of armed personel in navy blue combats clutching submachine guns and gazing at them from behind black sunglasses. Teow had been sat in the back of the van, looking at the captured man inside his cage and suddenly the doors were thrown open behind him. A sharply dressed Englishman in a cream flannel suit with shades and well combed blond hair appeared, flanked by two malay armed men, in dark combat gear and slung MP5s.
"Get him out of there, he's ours now." He said curtly. Teow could merely watch as he was dragged away, the man now quite having the van journey accepting his grim fate. Teow, in what he later thought was an act of stupid but overwhelming curiosity called out after the intelligence officer.
"What will happen to him..sir?"
The intelligence officer turned round with a malicious smile, as he lit a cigarette for himself. "We will interrogate him, if he has any further use to us we'll ping him over to London. If we've bled the bank dry of useful information then we'll try him as a foreign agent and execute him under the 1897 Espionage Act, paragraph 4 sub-clause 7." He replied succinctly and with no lack of relish. "Probably won't even waste a bullet, just garrotte the bugger with a wire or something."
Teow nodded grimly.

St Stephen's Chapel, Palace of Westminster, London, Kingdom of England


Thick incense smoke billowed from the swaying thurible as the priest, sacristans and chapel choir processed out of the ornate subterranean chapel as they and the fairly sizeable congregation of parliament staff and legislators sang the Marian recessional hymn Salve Regina in Gregorian chant. Lord Gressingham was particularly fond of the hymn and sang the Latin lyrics with dignified gusto.
Salve, Regina, Mater misericordiæ,
vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve.
Ad te clamamus exsules filii Hevæ,
Ad te suspiramus, gementes et flentes
in hac lacrimarum valle.
Eia, ergo, advocata nostra, illos tuos
misericordes oculos ad nos converte;
Et Jesum, benedictum fructum ventris tui,
nobis post hoc exsilium ostende.
O clemens, O pia, O dulcis Virgo Maria.

After the hymn had finished and the priest and company had left the chapel, Lord Gressingham tucked the service sheet into the breast pocket of his navy blue pinstripe suit, genuflected before the altar as he crossed into isle and made his way out the back, not before leaving a candle at a statue of the Virgin Mary and muttering a few personal thoughts. Lord Gressingham enjoyed Compline -an evening contemplative service and the last canonical office of the day, almost entirely sung. He enjoyed it for its tranquillity, the music and he also rather looked forward to retiring to the Chaplain's house afterwards for a sherry. Or two. Alas tonight there'd be no such sherry-ing.
His aide de camp, Wing Commander Alasdair Balquharn-MacTavish, a lofty son of a Highland Laird, James Balquharn of Cammachmore, resplendent in his RAF No.2s and his peaked cap tucked in the crok of his left arm intercepted him on the steps up into the parliament lobby.
"Sir, the Cabinet Secretary would like you to attend an emergency COBRA meeting at the Cabinet Office, he's called the rest of the cabinet and some necessary military officials. I've already informed Father Willowford that we will have to decline his kind hospitality tonight. If you may sir, the car is waiting.."
Lord Gressingham breathed out slowly in frustration and hurried up the steps and out the door to where his Bentley was waiting, flanked by two black landrovers.

They sped through London with the aide of two constables mounted on motorbikes and finally arrived in Whitehall where the Cabinet Office was; the beating heart of His Majesty's Government. After that it was a case of hurrying into the building, being whisked into a lift that took them to a secret floor level where the COBRA meeting had been arranged. It was a narrow corridor, filled with military officers briskly walking to and fro, though stopping briefly to make way for the Prime Minister with a curt 'sir' or 'My Lord'. They finally entered into a dimly lit room with three huge screens, one with a digital map of South East Asia and interactive British military assets featured, another had an admiral waiting calmly on his bridge and another showing some detailed information what presumably were UCA operatives. The central table was mostly Cabinet ministers, their advisors, well-braided RAF, Army, Navy and Royal Marines Officers and at the head of the table, in a well tailored three piece grey suit and club tie was Cabinet Secretary Sir Julian Thimbleby, otherwise known as 'the octopus' due to his overreaching influence on all government offices and departments. In terms of wieldable power, it could be well argued he was the most important man in day to day running of business. Some of the ministers were sat in their evening formal black tie dress, having had their night at the opera: La Traviata interrupted and their faces betrayed their annoyance.
"Thank you everyone for coming at such short notice, dragging you all away from your nightly... activities. But our recent actions have yielded us some excellent and very useful results. By forcing the Chinese to evacuate their embassies we have been able to draw on two pools of intelligence. First of all many consulates around the Empire were left in such a hurry important documents were abandoned. Crucially, one bird brained person in Hong Kong left their memory stick in a computer and logged on before evacuating and we have been able to recover interesting things from that. Secondly many Chinese 'diplomats' attempted to escape their postings. 7 are being flown in to London as we speak and will given over to joint MI6/5 interrogation sessions. As some of you may have seen on the news three 'diplomats' in Kuala Lumpur could not be apprehended for various reasons and were gunned down by officers of the Royal East Indies Constabulary. Two Chinese diplomats in Hong Kong, three in Singapore and one in New Delhi were executed following their interrogations as per the Espionage Act, Beijing has been informed. The information yielded was chiefly the personal details of ten United Communist Army senior leaders and the locations of no less than six Beijing funded weapons caches scattered throughout Malaysia. Colonel Charles Montagu-Pomeroy from the Royal Intelligence Corps will explain further and advise His Majesty's Cabinet.."
"Thank you sir.." Said a slender, bald man in immaculate army no.2s with polished brown belt and brogues. He had jet black hair stiffly shaped backwards, a very prominent hooked nose and a thick scar running through his right eye which was sealed shut. He spoke with a sharp but not shrill 'King's English' for both the Montagus and the Pomeroys were old, old Anglo-Norman families.
"These weapon caches have been located fairly accurately and we are waiting for better sattelite footage of the ground before we properly mark up targets. However we will need to be as quick as possible. Prime Minister if you give me the go-ahead now I can have six Reaper UCAVs in the air in minutes who will fire their hell-fire missiles and obliterate these targets and potential occupants. These will be followed up by quick insertions of air-mobile forces to ensure said targets were destroyed and gather any intelligence. As we speak several platoons of the Royal Gurkha Rifles, the Parachute Regiment and the Royal Marines are standing to with helicopters on the tarmac. As regarding these 'ring-leaders' we know where one of them is. He's based in a hotel in Padang. I have informed local MI6 and Royal East Indies Constabulary assets to standby to carry out the raid. Sir, if we can execute these actions swiftly and with some degree of...publicity then we will have the chessboard in our favour. Beijing is in the corner, I suggest we back her further into it."

Lord Gressingham deeply exhaled. He scanned the eyes of his cabinet slowly.
"Are there any objections to the Colonel's..advice?" Silence. They slowly shook their heads. Lord Gressingham smiled at the intelligence officer and nodded.
"See it through Colonel, I want video footage of the drone strikes, I want the aftermath of the raids filmed.. anything to show the world that Albion is not cowed but that we are on top."
Sir Thimbleby cleared is throat. "There is one more consideration sir.. the Admiralty are keen to flex on Beijing seeing as Beijing may begin moving its own chesspieces. Admiral Patrick FitzAlan, commander of the East Indies Fleet is on the live screen now..."
The senior naval officer in tropical white uniform on the bridge of a Viscount Nelson-Class carrier began to speak to the cabinet.
"It is imperative Sir, that any first moves in a potential conflict are made by us in order to minimise our casualties. Any conflict that China starts will see us on the backfoot and with their numbers that is bad news. Our Navy is however vastly superior to theirs so my suggestion to His Majesty's Government would be to muster most of the Royal Navy's eastern combat assets and have them assemble just north of The Philippines as the 'East Asian Battlegroup'."
The Secretary of State for War, Edgar Cudworth raised his hand before speaking.
"Admiral.. what sort of a force would this Battlegroup look like?" He asked. Mr Cudworth was not really of high social station, at least not by birth like many of his colleagues. He was born on a Yorkshire sheep farm, a well off won but nonetheless a farmer's son. He joined the army at 16, being sent off to the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst where he commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant in the Royal Yorkshire Yeomanry: a light cavalry battalion in the Territorial Army, essentially working as a part time soldier whilst he got his foot in the door on local politics, being a Councillor for the Ward he grew up in: Marsden of the Colne Valley parliamentary seat. From there he had worked his way up, eventually leaving the army after seven years as a Major to become a Tory Party MP where he quickly rose through the ranks. He was sharp witted but blunt in his speech, as many Yorkshiremen say: I say what I bloody well like and I bloody well like what I say. He preferred the rural dress of his home and so sat his chair wearing a tweed suit with burgundy corduroys and a chequered shirt with a pheasant-pattern tie -ever the Yorkshireman.
The Admiral replied. "Well Minister, it will be three carrier strike groups with the carriers HMS King Alfred the Great, HMS Queen Boudicca and HMS Duke of Marlborough assisted by an additional six attack submarines and two helicopter 'commando' carriers. In addition to the obvious air compliment the formation will carry between it the Royal Marines 04 Air Assault Brigade which will be capable of making an opposed landing where necessary."
Lord Aberdeenshire, the Foreign Secretary took a long gulp of his water but said nothing. The Prime Minister gave a rye smile.
"Assemble your Battlegroup Admiral."

RAF Labok, 097 Reconnaissance Squadron, Sultanate of Kelantan, Viceroyalty of Malaysia


Flying Officer Mohd Sidek took a well needed swig of his black tea, the sea of screens before him burning his brain and eyes. His shift would be over shortly after the target's destruction then he could enjoy his lunch and take a quick nap. But until then he had to glue his eyes to the screen. His drone, a silent scythe of the sky the MQ-9 Reaper was approaching its target; a weapons dump in the Temmengor Forest Reserve.
"Sir.. we are almost there." He said, causing the Squadron Leader to pace over calmly in his well ironed mtp barrack shirt and sharply creased light blue RAF beret.
"Arm your weapons systems.."
"Armed, sir."
"Acquire target...there.. see those moving below..zoom in Flying Officer..yes. Lock!"
"Target locked sir." Replied the young officer, his heart beating louder and louder till it was deafening, his hands shaking. He had never had to pull the trigger before. He took a deep breath.
"Fire."
The senior officer put a gentle hand on the Flying Officer's shoulder as the missile soared to earth and blew up that part of the forest, hiding the forest floor in smoke and flame. He reached for the telephone behind him.
"RAF Labok to RAF Panyit: Red Tapir.. Red Tapir.."

Not too far away. two apache helicopters flanking a single chinook soared over the thick canopy towards the wreckage of the cache-site. On board were a platoon of the Royal Gurkha Rifles from the 2nd (King Edward VII's Own) Gurkha Rifles under the able but young command of 1st Lieutenant Frederick Delaheney. The chinook soon slowly lowered itself above a small clearing and dropped three ropes on each side from hatches under its belly. One by one, dowm the ropes came the famed and feared Gurkha riflemen, elite light infantry selected from the mountains of Nepal. It was indeed a great honour to be selected as a Gurkha rifleman as the training and standards were high, but the pay was better than most jobs back home. The troops fanned out into their sections and fireteams, the platoon marksmen scanning the undergrowth ahead for any movement in their thermal sights. One of them made a hasty jaguar crawl over to Lieutenant Delahaney.
"Sir.. still activity in undergrowth sir, think all are injured and dying..sir"
The young officer nodded slowly, and raised his hand to the other sections, signalling for them to move forward then signalling with with downwards thumb motion to warn of enemies. He was not too concerned, if they were in much capacity to fight they would have likely shot at the helicopters and would have subsequently been shredded by the apaches. Nonetheless they made their way to the tree line with caution. They could see the strike site clearly now, still ablaze with charred bodies and body parts with a lot of mangled metal and burning tarpaulin all of which culminated to a horrific odour.
"Prisoners if you can find them, but do not gamble with your lives, if you think they're holding a grenade beneath their body just fill them with lead." Reminded the Lieutenant as they slowly in a long and well scattered line approached the strike site. Flies had already descended on the corpses and the remains, the humid air was helping putrify the leaked guts and intestines of those who had been cut open by flying shrapnel. Blood, tissue and hair was spattered onto the vine-strangled trunks of trees and green leaves. The platoon split up to inspect the site. The platoon was accompanied by an intelligence officer, another Lieutenant by the name of Cadwgan Gwillim; a jolly but determined Welshman who made his way about with a camera and some sealable plastic bags into which he placed bits of weapon crates, the remains of ammunition and some personal items from bodies such as watches, photos and marked maps. He came across two Gurkha riflemen standing over a slumped and bloodied but live UCA combatant.
"NO!" He called out as he saw them draw their kukri knives -long machete type curved blade perfect for hacking through a jungle or dismembering enemies in close combat alike. They lowered their blades in disappointment -severed heads were a favourite souvenir for Gurkhas to return to barracks with.


British Broadcasting Corporation

Que ten chimes from the Big Ben clocktower...

Good Evening this is the BBC News at Ten o'clock. I am Godwin Crowthorne with this evening's news. The main stories tonight. Chinese Embassies across the British Dominions and Territories were vacated today as instructed by His Majesty the King. Several rogue Chinese diplomats attempted to remain in British sovereign territoy but have now all been hunted down. Beijing is accusing the British Government of heavyhandedness especially in regards to a number of strikes and raids carried out by British security forces throughout Malaysia today, more footage from that later. Reports are also emerging that several Royal Navy formations from Australasia, India and the China Sea are merging into a single combat battlegroup, our chief war correspondant Robert Twyford will explain further shortly. Other news includes..
“Remember that you are an Englishman and have consequently won first prize in the lottery of life.”
-Cecil Rhodes
British|Roman Catholic|High Tory

The British Empire in all its modern glory, from the Canadian Tundra to the Indian jungles, from the Caribbean lagoons to the Rhodesian Bush. A conservative though interventionist power with a medium sized but elite military. Striving to rid its spheres of influence of communism, radical islam and globalist ventures.

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Brittanic Albion
Secretary
 
Posts: 30
Founded: Nov 07, 2018
Ex-Nation

Postby Brittanic Albion » Sun Dec 09, 2018 9:07 am

Image


Communique of His Majesty's Government of The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and His Majesty's Dominions, Viceroyalties and Territories
The Foreign and Empire Office



Dear Sir Basil Hawthorne,
His Majesty is very touched by your concern for our troubles regarding China and their exporting of Communism at this present stage. However at this present juncture military aid to operations being carried within the Empire would be inappropriate as such a development would mean His Majesty's subjects being killed by a foreighn power in His own territories. That being said it is incumbent upon me to inform you that wider regional hostilities may occur and in that event, your military assistance will not be unwelcome. Further to that end His Majesty's Government would like to invite you to a weekend at the official country residence of the Foreign Secretary: Chevening in the Duchy of Kent. It is a secluded but incredibly pleasant rural retreat situated in the 'Garden of England' and there is much ground for shooting, riding and many other activities should you wish to partake in them on your visit. Talks will be conducted by the Foreign Secretary and other Cabinet Ministers and military officials who will be confirmed at a later date.
We hope you accept our invitation to discussion regarding this situation.
Sincerely,
George Fawndale, Personal Private Secretary to His Majesty's Secretary of State for the Foreign and Empire Office
Signed
Lord Aberdeenshire, Gordon James Arbuthnott 9th Duke of Aberdeenshire KG, KT, PC
His Majesty's Secretary of State for the Foreign and Empire Office
“Remember that you are an Englishman and have consequently won first prize in the lottery of life.”
-Cecil Rhodes
British|Roman Catholic|High Tory

The British Empire in all its modern glory, from the Canadian Tundra to the Indian jungles, from the Caribbean lagoons to the Rhodesian Bush. A conservative though interventionist power with a medium sized but elite military. Striving to rid its spheres of influence of communism, radical islam and globalist ventures.

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Bulgar Rouge
Minister
 
Posts: 2383
Founded: Dec 08, 2013
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Bulgar Rouge » Mon Dec 10, 2018 12:41 pm

Port of Mawlamyine, Myanmar

The stench here was unlike any other port colonel Palaveev had visited. The putrid smell of rotting logs in the brown-tinted water was mingling with the miasma of livestock and chickens, fresh fish, human sweat, urine and motor exhaust gasses. The docks were derelict, the loading cranes looked rusty and barely functional, but still performing their mechanical duties. Palaveev briefly remembered the orderly Red Balkan Port of Varna, where export goods were distributed and loaded by AI-powered machinery and weren't carried around by carts or old Japanese trucks. Everything here was speaking of a chaotic, street-level economy with no standards of quality and no look into the future. Palaveev felt disgusted, not least because it was a clear example of what a dysfunctional capitalist society looked like. His waning belief in the cause of the Bulgar Rouge somewhat strengthened, if momentarily.

Command wasn't expecting that he would volunteer to oversee the cargo mission - a task that normally had to be executed by a trusted State Security officer. But it was either this, or return to Champasak, where too many a person were anticipating the results of his set-piece failure to convince the Heavenly State officer into attacking the UCA. If anything, being at sea, away from LARU military or intelligence personnel, presented a myriad of opportunities to set things straight. All of them spurred new, conflicting feelings, and reinforced old ones. Was he merely paranoid, or was there truly a sinister set-up in that conversation, one that he had seen happen before? Was he betrayed by the very system he served loyally despite his family background, a family which he himself doomed in the name of the cause? Or was it just a career push from someone else, someone with better connections who didn't want him to be promoted to command a major NPLA unit? Was he about to betray that system, or would he attempt to oversee a smooth operation and earn enough grace to continue his rise through the ranks at home? These and many other thoughts of the kind were running through his mind as he was traversing this miserable place in search of one particular vessel.

After quite a bit of walking, Palaveev spotted the ship he was looking for: the Panamanian-flagged CS Aeolian 4. He was surprised by its size - its deadweight must have been somewhere in the range of 10 to 20,000 tonnes. Normally small barges were used for such operations as they wouldn't raise too much suspicion. The colonel shot a brief look at the waterline, which hinted at a fully-loaded ship. His pre-Revolutionary days as a port crane operator in Varna were already giving him some hints about this mission. No crew or loading activities around the ship were evident. It seemed as if everything was set, and he was the only missing piece of the puzzle. Palaveev boarded the miserable ship where a party of three men, one of whom seemed like he could be the captain, were waiting.

"Colonel Valentin Palaveev, National People's Liberation Army". He extended his hand, but none of the stern-faced men reciprocated. One of them merely nodded.

"Captain Palacio", he uttered with a thick Spanish accent.

"I have been assigned to oversee the transport of cargo owned by a company our military trades with, Astora Trading PLC. The goods should be delivered to Port Klang with a brief anchor stop near Johor Bahru. I wish to see the manifest and inspect the cargo before we depart".

"There is no time, we are departing now. You were late by over an hour". The captain's voice had an unpleasant tone, as if he was constantly making a physical effort. It also hinted of a lack of depth in his lungs, eaten away by decades of tobacco smoke and alcohol fume inhalation. "Your colleagues from the Foreign Commerce Department have usually been punctual."

"I'm afraid you've misunderstood, I'm from the NPLA Foreign Liaison Service, the Foreign Commerce Department is under the Second Economic Committee". A dissonant chorus of metallic, roaring and low-pitched sounds signalled the first steps of the ship's departure from the port. Palaveev was told he had to be present in 1030, but the sailors had been told otherwise. His feeling that someone was actively trying to sabotage him was growing stronger by the minute. On top of that, this ship - which looked like it was pulled out of a scrap yard, patched up over an afternoon and crewed by people who had barely been out in the sea - wasn't inspiring any confidence. But the eventual outcome outweighed all the doubts. "May I please see the manifest?"

"Fine, Estevez, take him down for a look. I'll go up the bridge, we need to hurry." One of the two men beside the captain showed the colonel the direction, and both went to inspect the cargo. Palaveev was eager to get out in the sea, and set things in motion. Especially now, when the British had stepped up their involvement.


Aranyaprathet, Thailand

"I'm so tired of these stinking assholes!" The customs clerk was yet again annoyed to be processing so much paperwork. "Cheap labour for rural regions - who would've thought? As if our own aren't poorly paid anyway, and now we have to take in these." The secretary was used to his rants, sometimes lasting for half an hour. And this one was expected. For more than two years, a Cambodian company was offering exceptionally cheap seasonal labour from across the border. Thai businesses were eager to take up the offer, as most of these imported workers never complained about their pitiful wages and always did their work diligently. They easily replaced local workers in factories and farms. Much to many employers' surprise, they were even eager to work in sweatshops, particularly the nastier ones producing electronics.

Now, an entire trainload - some 1,000 people - was entering the country. Local news had announced that some major construction works were beginning in the south, and the Cambodian company was apparently the prime supplier of manpower for the sites. About 5,000 workers were expected to enter the country by the end of the day, and transfer to the Southern Line at Bangkok Station on the way to Yala Province. Additionally, a company from Laos would supply construction equipment acquired from China and Europe.

"Finally. That was all of them for today. Can you imagine, 5,000 people. I even saw some of them earlier. They weren't even talking to each other, just staring in the distance, wearing these weird uniforms, waiting to work. Insane. The dream of any slave owner and fat cat capitalist employer."


Champasak Province, THS-controlled Laos

Drills had recently concluded but much of the NPLA's heavy equipment was still spread across Laos, including the Champasak Province, which was seeing the biggest concentration of LARU military assets. Interceptors, bombers, tanks, SAM systems and thousands of troops were on standby across the country, long overtaken by Transitional Heavenly State agents. The official Laotian government was merely their puppet, and a similar process was occurring in neighbouring Cambodia. The deep underground bunker system in Champasak was one of the several massive subterranean complexes built by the Bulgar Rouge for the THS since the overtake. From here, LARU was coordinating its regional operations.

A short, bespectacled Asian man was advancing calmly along one of the grey corridors of the bunker. He passed through a heavy blast door, and two sentries in uniforms similar to his - khaki Mao-style suits - gave him the Heavenly State salute with the hand pointing not to the forehead, but upward. He proceeded further down the corridor. Without even knocking, he opened the last door and came into a brightly-lit but otherwise very spartan conference room where a number of officers from different militaries were waiting. It was usual for general Viyaket to be late. It was on purpose - he wanted all of his guests gathered together so he can be the last to come in and the first to begin the conversation. He could not be bothered to wait others or somehow be distracted from his pursuit of an empty, peaceful mind - if peaceful was ever the correct word for the zealous cleansing of any non-political, self-indulgent thoughts.

"We have work to do, brothers", he said, right before sitting on the sole empty chair around the crude table. "Subcolonel Tanev, the meeting with your envoy was quite brief. I'm afraid he was not properly prepared. He chose to volunteer for the cargo mission in what looks like an attempt to redeem himself, but I find this unlikely. Can we expect assistance from the NPLA given this encounter?"

"An administrative mishap, nothing more. We stand firmly by our comrades and I give you Brother Number One's full assurance that the force deployed in Champasak is here to stay. All 12,000 troops from the 12th, 81st and 101st Brigades, the 68th Airborne and 108th Tank Battalion, the 95th Airborne Company and the 556th Air Defence Battalions are on full combat alert, in addition to the two MiG-25 ELINT jets, 45 MiG-29s, six Tu-22 bombers, 15 Su-25 shturmoviks and twelve Mi-24 gunships already present. A few Il-76, Spartans and Mi-8s are due to arrive in the next eight hours to increase our deployment capability. We've requested two Rucheys to reinforce our ELINT component. Overall, a formidable force, although I would personally see it expanded."

"It will be necessary. Subcolonel Naker, we are expecting your participation too. The British have intensified their strikes against the UCA, and we risk losing an important pivot. But before we commence our operations, we'll need your assurance that the African theatre of operations is secure."

"Colonel Gaddafi has expressed disinterest in this operation but shares your vision that engaging China in a prolonged conflict with Albion would be to the Heavenly State's benefit, and, by extension, will benefit the LARU. The Green Libyan Navy will send two of its attack submarines and several corvettes in the region, as well as two Volunteers' Battalions in Somalia. The Saadi Brigade has been sent to Tamboko, where it will join the NPLA 85th Brigade already deployed to reinforce local forces. We're also helping the Somali government mobilise some 50,000 reservists and tribesmen if the need arises. But let us hope it doesn't."

"General Viyaket, the success of the Revolution in Asia is entirely dependent on China's downfall and your effort. The NPLA has had some previous...failures under your command, so let us hope this gamble will not backfire. Number One's patience only goes so far."

"Your doubt is unfounded, subcolonel Tanev. We are already transferring several thousand of our brothers to southern Thailand, and a planeload of weapons will either land safely or will be paradropped to equip them shortly before entering British Malaysia. Several transfers of similar magnitude are to occur over the following days. That is more than enough for now. Oh, and please make sure that a State Security operative comes in contact with our agent in Singapore. We are short on time."
Last edited by Bulgar Rouge on Mon Dec 10, 2018 12:44 pm, edited 1 time in total.

This nation does not reflect my RL views.
Singaporean Transhumans wrote:I'm only saying that, well, even commies have reached the level of selling counterfeit and drugs in their storefronts, we can't be any less.

The Holy Therns wrote:Politicians make statements. It's their substitute for achievement.

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Cedoria
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6206
Founded: Feb 22, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Cedoria » Tue Dec 11, 2018 12:20 am

Off the coast of Singapore, 0200 hours.

The small, old fighter planes did not appear, at first glance, to be the appropriate choice for such a sensitive mission as the one they conducted when they lifted off from the deck of the disguised cargo ship that had brought them this far.

Yet this old Y-45s had an advantage most of their kind had not possessed in the days when the People’s Airforce of Cedoria had used them in open combat, namely, they’d been retrofitted and modified with more up-to-date stealth gear. This mission had been too significant to risk more technological sophisticated aircraft falling into enemy hands, yet the security of the assignment was paramount, and high command had felt the risk of enemy capture of Cedorian stealth equipment and the intelligence risks that posed was worth the trouble.

Still though, the pilots took great care to fly lower then usual over the beachline of Singapore as they moved onward. Even with their more advanced equipment, it was still possible to detect them if they did something stupid, or if somebody was actively looking for them…

Today, they were taking a chance that they would not be seen, or at least not for long enough for anybody to come and actually shoot at them. With Beijing’s involvement exposed, no doubt most of the Britannic authorities thought it more likely that China would stepup their involvement.

Perhaps that was true, but it the Albionish didn’t yet know that Cedoria had taken a more overt interest in their affairs… and would, if roused, be a potentially more dangerous enemy then their Chinese comrades.

Still, precaution had dictated the planes be painted in Chinese colours. No need to expose Poras’s involvement too overtly if things went completely haywire…

Despite these worries, as the planes continued, no alert yet sounded… Minutes ticked by, and still little activity showed. Once they hit the first drop point, things had the potential to get serious…

After almost half an hour of nerve-wracking tension, they circled slowly over their jungle drop point, and began to perform their objective. Covert operations parlance called it ‘depositing the wares’. Efficient and silent deployment of weapons, equipment and vital ammunition and supplies to known UCA positions, in this case.

Once the first drop was made, the pilots breathed a sigh of relief. Within another fifteen minutes, they would reach the second, and part with their cargo there. Then, all going well, they would both fly out to the north of Singapore, land discreetly back on the deck of the waiting transport ship, which had been outfitted with naught but the skeleton crew necessary for travel and transport, and carried no other cargo, and it would be back toward Yukebia Province, where they would disembark.


That was of course, assuming all went well. But one drop out of two was only the start.

All of this was only the start.

Official Communique of the Foreign Affairs Department of the People’s Republic of Cedoria

For Distribution to World Capitals, Embassy Partners and Relevant Parties:


The People’s Republic of Cedoria must profess itself appalled at the execution by the colonial power of Brittanic-Albion of a number of diplomatic aides and representatives of the People’s Republic of China. Such barbarity and inhospitable behaviour is unbecoming for a nation that purports itself the height of civilised conduct and is instead the behaviour of unprincipled barbarians.

It is a long-established practice of international diplomacy that the person of diplomatic personnel is inviolate. For reasons which do not need to be enumerated, the ongoing right of diplomatic personnel to conduct their business unmolested is a key part of harmonious and stable world relations. No wonder Britannic-Albion has few allies, if it executes such distinguished personnel as this recklessly.

If the accusations levelled against Bejing’s conduct are true, the option of expulsion and further economic or diplomatic sanction was open. No state could quibble at Britannic conduct in such circumstances. But the unforgivable barbarism inherent in the execution of diplomatic personnel should render Brittanic-Albion utterly unfit to walk the halls with other principled or modern nations of the world. Its actions are excessive, criminal and unnecessary.

We formally condemn in the strongest possible terms the savage and unjustified execution of diplomatic personnel by any state, and urge all other nations to pay heed to Brittanic conduct. No state can ever have trust or faith in the word of Britannic-Albion, nor the safe passage of their emissaries or envoys, in any future dealings from this point forward.

We call upon Prime Minister Gressingham to thoroughly denounce the atrocities committed by his country in these past few hours, and urge him to punish the responsible parties. All nations are urged to stand beside us in condemnation of this unconscionable massacre of diplomatic staff and personnel, and we warn all involved that legal and proportionate justice will be exacted if those responsible are not brought to face justice for their crimes, for the violation of diplomatic immunity is a crime that can never be forgiven, nor left unpunished, regardless of the justification the criminals may use.


Commissar of Foreign Affairs Robin Mervis, People’s Republic of Cedoria.
General Secretary of the Communist Party of Cedoria, Chairman Treavor Sorenson, People’s Republic of Cedoria.


Within hours, the communique splashed across the airwaves, the TV stations, the net, where Cedorian Informational operatives did their jobs, spreading it far and wide. Many other national Embassies across both the Communist and Capitalist world received copies. All nations that might be attached to Brittanic-Albion in this struggle would be aware of what had transpired and now would have to contemplate the risks, both personal and reputational, of aligning themselves with those who executed messengers and envoys. It was not only the Communist world that would be outraged. By the morning, the whole world would know, and a great many of the more democratic and fair-minded nations of the world would join Cedoria’s voice in condemning the atrocities. This sort of outrage would transcend many of the usual barriers and ideological positions of world affairs, which is why it had been such an unexpected boon for Cedoria so early on in the struggle.


Anybody who intended to side publicly with the forces of Imperialism would now have a much tougher time on it... But Cedorian informational operatives and bots on the net kept hammering it home even now. The Brittanics executed diplomats, they were not civilised, they killed diplomats, they killed envoys, they dragged peaceful diplomats from their beds and murdered them. Within a few days, many citizens of many nations would be forgiven for thinking that Brittanic PM Gressingham drank the blood of children and wore horns atop his head, such was the ferocity of the online campaign only now beginning to be waged.


The opening salvos had been fired, though non-violent so far. But the executions had been an error that the Cedorians did not intend to avoid capitalising on.
In real life I am a libertarian socialist/democratic socialist
★Comrade of the Commonwealth of Socialist States (CSS)★
Likes: Freedom of speech, Freedom of Expression, Direct Democracy, Worker Owned Cooperatives, Secularism, Anti-Theism, Freedom of civil disobediance, Libertarian Socialism, Social equity for minorities.

Dislikes: Neo-Conservatism, Neo-Liberalism, Stalinism, Capitalism, American Exceptionalism, Most world leaders, Religious bigotry, Despots of virtually any kind, Imperialism, Putinism, Economic Inequality, Identity Politics, Fascism and assorted far-right movements.



Founding member of The Leftist Assembly

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Astoria
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 197
Founded: Apr 04, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby Astoria » Tue Dec 11, 2018 10:11 am

The Central Office
The Executive Mansion
Columbia, United States of Astoria


“...have tracked a major gathering of Albion naval power in the South China Sea. At least three separate groups of warships appear to be linking up to form a unified force.”

President David Jefferson Adams leaned back in his chair, looking at the assembly in the office. The Secretaries of State and Defense were present, along with a few key members of Congress. All were seated and staring intently at a small speaker which was projecting the voice of Vice Admiral John Clark, who himself was probably sitting in his office in the Subic Bay Naval Station.

“Do you think this is part of a larger move against the Chinese?” The Secretary of Defense asked.

”Hard to say, Mister Secretary. They’ve been hammering the UCA pretty hard in Malaysia. We’ve been monitoring the situation using passing recon satellites. A few days ago they launched a series of simultaneous drone strikes, with what looks like airborne troops inserted shortly after. I’d say the situation is definitely escalating.”

“Thank you, Admiral.” President Adams straightened. “That will be all for now.”

”Of course, Mister President.” There was a short click and the connection was severed.

“Mrs. Tallmer,” Adams turned to his Secretary of State. “Albion has been playing hardball with the Chinese, correct?”

“That’s an understatement,” Paige Tallmer replied. “They’ve shuttered embassies and consulates across their territory and apparently have executed a number of ambassadorial staff as spies.” That piece of information rippled out uncomfortably across the room.

“Harsh,” Adams acknowledged. “And we will of course register our discomfort. But these communist insurgents, they pose a potential threat to our own allies in the region. And there is a risk they could cooperate with jihadist groups.”

“That is a possibility,” Secretary of Defense James Tanner spoke up. “Especially with the situation on Mindanao.” Astorian advisors and special forces were already engaged in assisting the Filipino government combat communist and jihadist Moro insurgents. The prospect of Chinese involvement through the UCA would raise the stakes of that bush war significantly.

“Send a message through our ambassador in Albion,” Adams said. “Tell Gressingham we support his containment policies against China, but - and this needs to be put diplomatically - we’d prefer they be a bit more polite about it.” Secretary of State Tallmer nodded in understanding and agreement.

“And tell Vice Admiral Clark to maintain the Pacific battlegroup at readiness,” the President added. “If this turns into a shooting war he’ll be right on the doorstep.” Secretary of Defense Tanner gave a similar sign. Adams dismissed both of them to confer with his political allies.

“We’ll need to work on our messaging,” he began as the doors closed behind the two Secretaries. “I want to hear your ideas…”

DIPLOMATIC ENCRYPTION
ATTN: AMBASSADOR DRAKE
Inform Lord Aberdeenshire and the government of Lord Gressingham that President Adams supports their efforts to contain Chinese influence in Malaysia. If needed Astorian satellite reconnaissance and other support services can be made available to troops operating against the UCA. However emphasize diplomatically that recent harshness towards Chinese diplomatic staff makes further public expressions of support problematic. Request Albion share any intelligence which links UCA to jihadist groups operating in Malaysia/Indonesia/Philippines. ---Secretary Tallmer
The United States of Astoria

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Shackley
Envoy
 
Posts: 248
Founded: May 30, 2017
Ex-Nation

Postby Shackley » Tue Dec 11, 2018 12:04 pm

Image

From: Secretary General Basil Hawthorne; The Imperial Fiefdom of Shackley
To: Lord Aberdeenshire, Gordon James Arbuthnott 9th Duke of Aberdeenshire KG, KT, PC; His Majesty's Secretary of State for the Foreign and Empire Office; The United Kingdom of Britannic Albion
Encryption Level: High


Dear sir,
I thank you heartily for your invitation. It has been some while since I have been abroad and longer still since I last trod upon your green and pleasant lands. An excursion to Kent would be most welcome and I look forward to the fine company. I fear my shooting arm may be a tad rusty but nothing eases these old bones like a good brisk walk.
With regard to our offer of military aid I can assure you the last thing we want is to intrude on your national sovereignty. Simply we wish to forge a mutually beneficial alliance and defend our shared interests from the forces of international socialism. I look forward to discussing these issues when I arrive in country but for the meantime know that our own Royal Navy possesses certain assets in the Indian Ocean should you require more immediate assistance; I'm sure His Majesty the Lord Protector will be able to pull some strings to that end. If my sources are correct we may not need tread Shackleyan boots on your colonial soil to take the fight to our enemy.

Best wishes from your humble friend,
With Dignity and Persistence
Basil Hawthorne


The last communique of the day having been delivered the Secretary General rose from his desk and left his PA (background checked by Naval Intelligence, of course) to tidy up. The chauffeur, also a junior Naval Intelligence officer wrestled the hefty Jaguar saloon through Upper Dalton's streets to the outer ringroads. They stopped briefly at the Head of Government's official residence to pick up Mrs. Hawthorne and their luggage before making the final dash to RShAF Upper Dalton. Despite their haste it was actually one of the less stressful journeys he'd taken in the last few months now that the threat of being bombed along the way by Soviet Tupolevs was no longer present.
In the cabin of an Air Force Vickers VC10 the couple relaxed as the first set of escort fighters rolled onto the tarmac behind them. They could crack open the champagne at cruising altitude and from there on it should be a pleasant flight over to England. Marvelous.

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Caracasus
Issues Editor
 
Posts: 7919
Founded: Apr 23, 2015
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Caracasus » Wed Dec 12, 2018 6:17 am

Caracasusian Embassy to Brittanic Albion - Rudgutter St.

Ambassador Keil clicked back the lock to the inner compound and passed the police officer. As always she nodded and smiled, as always he nodded back. "Maam." As he moved stiffly against black nylon covered body armour back into position, the muzzle of machinegun slung about his shoulders bobbed up and down, like a dog sniffing the breeze.

A year now. Oh, her dream position was still very exciting, of that there was no doubt, but it was no longer a dream. She was forced to confront the reality that she'd tried so hard to separate herself from as she'd immersed herself in their culture. Take their newspapers, for instance. A headline, some politician or another caught taking part in an orgy and her first response was to wonder what was so bad about the orgy that it was worth reporting, her second response was to remember that here, in Albion the orgy itself would be considered newsworthy. She was still finding it hard to adjust her own cultural perceptions to meet those of her hosts. Even after all this time.

But oh, their culture! Ever since her childhood she'd immersed herself in it, voraciously consuming with a naive lack of awareness of the very stilted and rigid hierarchy that the art had developed within. It would be inconceivable, she'd learn much later, to consider the bastardized forms of Ska punk, the mod jackets, grime, gnomic Welsh poetry and psychadelic cartoons alongside Keats, Blake's printings and Kipling, but she did. Their arts spoke to the soul, spoke to centuries rooted to a rock in the middle of the ocean, swarmed in history, choked in ruins. Rooted.

As she'd gotten older it had gotten harder and harder to ignore the more unsavory aspects - even though she'd reminded herself again and again that the people were separate from the state. She'd wept, actually wept, as her heart broke for Kipling when she'd first read They. Like needles down her spine she shuddered as she realised that the man himself would likely not have ascribed the intensity of raw, complex emotion he'd clearly experienced writing it to anyone like herself or her comrades.

Her predecessors had warned her of racism, though aside from a few incidents where someone had attempted to graffiti the walls of the embassy more than it already was, she'd yet to experience it. Besides, she'd spent most of the year in London, the nation's cultural heartland. On a hiking visit to a Cotswolds pub, she'd become acutely aware that she was the only non white person in the building, but she'd experienced nothing else aside from a sort of curiosity that she imagined would have been extended to any traveler. They appeared pleased if anything that she'd taken the time to master their strange language and she'd spent long enough talking about her homeland that an air of homesickness had crept in. On her return she'd dialled up her commune on the holoscreen and had eked out the conversation for as long as she could.

She pushed her memories to the back of her head. She had a delivery to make. A letter, requesting a full inquest into the possible murder of Chinese diplomats at the behest of the Caracasusian Council Elect. She had no idea how it would be taken, and though she didn't really fear for her own life, part of her wondered if that lurking evil at the heart of the country she'd fallen in love with might in some way claim her too.

Image




From: United Socialist States of Caracasus - Council Elect

It has reached the attention of the Council Elect that a number of diplomats belonging to the People's Republic of China may have been killed while under the protection of Britannic Albion by Albion military forces.

Should these claims prove to have merit, we would of course be forced to reconsider existing trade relationships, berthing and harbor privileges and several multilateral treaties that the United Socialist States of Caracasus has entered into in good faith with Britannic Albion, as per our own obligations regarding multilateral agreements on protection of diplomatic staff.

We would like to offer an impartial investigation of the crime scene to determine the full extent of this incident. As we are certain Britannic Albion's government would not wish to be considered an international menace on the world stage, we would urge that this request is granted and that our investigators are given full access to the crime scene at the earliest possible opportunity to avoid accusations of potential cover ups.


Singapore - Coanol Construction and Aggregates

The complex showed very little of its actual function to the outside world. Artfully crafted treescapes and arbors slowly revealed themselves to the driver of the four door sedan as it crept, gravel crunching, up the winding drive. Space was, of course, premium - even for the consortium that had tendered almost every major construction project in the last six decades.

It was, he had to admit, rather cleverly done. The gravel path took on a large semicircle, with various buildings, car parks and even at one stage the end of the pathway obscured behind artfully crafted hedges, copses and hillocks. All to give the appearance of rolling acres of countryside. At one point the car's wheels bumped and clacked over a wooden bridge, thrumming from one plank to the next. Underneath, great orange carp basked lazily in the frozen winter sun.

The next car park, the one second closest to the entrance was his target. The closest would be reserved for executive members and visiting dignitaries - far less chance of the people who used that spending a significant enough amount of time in the office complexes for his purposes. He'd avoided the car parks farthest from the complex too. They'd likely lack the clearance needed for his purposes. This one? This one was perfect. Middle management, most likely. High up enough to be trusted with some degree of autonomy and access, low down enough to still receive the brunt of the workload. Hierarchies as always fascinated him.

As he walked towards the entrance, he let two memory stick thumb drives fall from his suit pocket at well placed intervals. Each contained the company logo, each had a faded sticker with what appeared to be a name on it.

He left these little seeds in the car park and strode towards the entrance. It wouldn't pay to leave too many around, but he'd leave one in the restroom and one half tucked behind the plump leather sofa in the waiting room. Then it'd be simply a matter of waiting to see if anyone took the bait.

Poras - Cedoria. Caracasusian Destroyer Bashir

"I'm reminded, intoned the integrated AI, "of this vessel's human namesakes comments regarding the People's Republic of China. 'given the success of Socialism with Chinese Characteristics, the PRC really should attempt Capitalism with Chinese Characteristics. That would give the rest of us a fantastic template for Socialism.'"

Commander Elect Arden grinned. "Well yeah, there's that."

"So why exactly are we getting involved? Half the sixth fleet is here on maneuvers that look suspiciously like hanging around with a great big rock waiting for the right moment to make a move. For what? A country that got halfway through its revolution and decided instead to hand over power to a new generation of sociopath bosses?"

Arden flicked off a series of holoscreens and frowned. The integrated AI Butter Side Down had a point of course, it was a fair point, one that had been raised again and again as PRC forces constructed artificial military bases in the South China Seas, as the PRC - via the hypothetical zone - had bought another aircraft carrier from Caracasusian shipbuilding communes. The irony had not been lost on Caracasusians that the PRC had been forced to utilize the Hypothetical Zone to place its orders; so close was their particular economic model to full blown capitalism that the channels usually open for socialist nations like Cedoria were not viable. Still...

"It's the colour of the flag isn't it?" opted Butter Side Down. "They have a red flag, we have a red flag, Cedoria has a red flag so us and the Cedorians look past the fact that the people's republic offers workers fewer protections than every other socialist nation and most capitalist nations, that they don't even have the right to participate in the direction of their own workplaces because they buy guns from us and throw their resources fully behind chucking a spanner in the works of our enemies. How boring."

Arden had traced the glitch now to one of the eighteen holoscreens. The modular design of the vessel allowed him to pop the projector right out of its socket and fit a replacement. The defective one would eventually be sent back to the commune that issued it. He logged it on his comms device, filled in the report and switched on the holoscreens.

"So, what way would you vote then? Hypothetically? If it came to it I mean?"

The AI considered. "I don't know. I really don't know."

"Me neither." Arden watched as all eighteen holoscreens lit up. The glitch, for now, had been fixed.
Last edited by Caracasus on Wed Dec 12, 2018 11:28 am, edited 6 times in total.
As an editor I seam to spend an awful lot of thyme going threw issues and checking that they're no oblivious errars. Its a tough job but someone's got too do it!



Issues editor, not a moderator.

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Grater Tovakia
Diplomat
 
Posts: 534
Founded: Mar 27, 2018
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Grater Tovakia » Wed Dec 12, 2018 7:29 pm

Image

Aboard the GTNS Canbera, Gavograd Harbor, Grater Tovakia, 8:00 PM, Fleet Week day 3

Captain Fordham was sitting in his leather chair when his XO walked in.

"Take a seat James" Said the Captain, he could tell his XO had been out with at some bar and had been doing some drinking.

"James I am gonna get straight to the point, we are deploying."

The XO, who had been leaning back in his seat a little shot up.

"But sir... a deployment requires at least one week's worth of run-up training and inspections. When does PACEC (Pacific Expeditionary Command) expect us to be ready?"

"Calm down, we have three weeks to get prepared which is plenty of time to reach peak capability. My only worry is that I still have not been informed of our destination, escorts, or even our air complement."

"I assume you want me to recall the crew and get the training syllabus started?" Asked the XO, now a tad bit relaxed.

"Definetly... We should be getting our official order's within the next couple of days."
“A tank and its crew has but one reason to exist. To maneuver the tank’s cannon to a position where it could do the most damage and feed it once it was there.”
― Harold Coyle

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Brittanic Albion
Secretary
 
Posts: 30
Founded: Nov 07, 2018
Ex-Nation

Postby Brittanic Albion » Fri Dec 14, 2018 11:37 am

Gressingham Estate, Lancashire, Kingdom of England


The melancholy strain of the hunting horn blew out over the vale and was followed by much yapping and barking as a large pack of frisking foxhounds came bounding around the muddy country path. Their eyes were keen, teeth bared and nostrils flared and sniffing frantically for their elusive quarry. Behind them at a light canter came the hunting party on high horses and resplendent in ceremonial hunting dress: tailored riding jackets; scarlet for the Master of Foxhounds, Kennelsman, whippers-in and hunt secretaries and dark blue for the rest, riding boots, breeches and white gloves and black top hats. Much of the local folk; villagers and tenants on the Gressingham Estate followed on foot too, the ruddy faced children running along and shouting whilst the elders ambled along in wellies observing the local gentry at play -most notably their Prime Minister and landowner, Lord Gressingham who was sat aside his magnificent black Thoroughbred; Agamemnon. He was thoroughly enjoying the day, having escaped the hullabaloo of Westminster and riding around his ancestral lands chasing a local pestilence. The scent took the foxhounds into a field and suddenly the spotted it; a large red fox on the edge of the field where the wood-line was, crouching in the ferns -very much aware he was being hunted. The hounds darted across the field and the hunting horn started up again, the riders whipped their horses to a gallop and the raced into the field, vaulting over the high hedgerows and tearing up the grass beneath them.
"I hope you had your oats this morning.." Remarked Lord Gressingham to Agamemnon as they galloped over the field in pursuit of the fox, but suddenly he saw a quadbike approaching him from the left. As he got closer Gressingham could see it was his aide; Wng Comdr. Balquharn-MacTavish. He slumped in his saddle dejected at being interrupted during the hunt.
"Sir, sorry sir, the press pack has arrived at the Estate, wanting a statement about growing international discomfort at the execution of the Chinese diplomats. Sir." Shouted the aide over the grumbling of the quadbike. The Prime Minister raised a confused eyebrow at first then his eyes flared in annoyance.
"Oh for God's sake, why can't those bloody vultures leave me alone for a minute of my life? Tell them to fuck off before I change the target of this hunt. There's a number of journalists who I wouldn't mind painting the hooves of Ag-"
"Er sir.. there's also strong rumours about suspicious military activity on continental South East Asia, Laos and Burma and all that sir." The aide added quickly, before the Prime Minister said something unsavoury. He did grin though, as the picture of hounds descending on the urbanite press and being chased away by riders. Lord Gressingham watched with growing despair as the hunt disappeared into the woods after the fox.
"Well I am going to finish my hunt and you can tell them that. Ask Lord Aberdeenshire to draft a statement and run it past the Press Office. As for the rumours.. well.. tell the War Office to send me a full report on it, satellite images and all. Right, that'll be all Alasdair."
And with that he made hast to re-join the hunt. Alas, by the time he had located them and caught up with the hounds it was almost over; he arrived just in time to see the pack swarm the fox and deliver several fatal bites to the creature's neck. The Kennelsman, having driven off the pack from the bloodied cadaver presented it to the Prime Minister who in turn took it in his white gloves. It was indeed a splendid beast with a silky red-brown pelt, a bushy tail and a good jaw of fangs.
"What a fine shawl this will make for Lady Gressingham!" He exclaimed with good cheer, as he removed his white gloves. "Now, I understand one of our number is being initiated into the Bowland Hunt.. come forth Edward de Quincy Esquire.."
A young teen, astride a chestnut horse came forward slowly trotting over. Gressingham ran his left hand over the bite marks where the most blood was and wetted his fingers and upper palm in the gore before smearing it on both cheeks of the boy in order to 'blood' him. After this port was poured out for all and after a toast was made to the hunt they knocked it back, including the newly initiated boy with his cheeks dripping with fox blood.

Chevening House, Duchy of Kent, Kingdom of England


Lord Aberdeenshire crunched grumpily over the gravel in front of the stately home. He had been enjoying his day until he had been told to respond to foreign mewlings regarding the execution of criminals. Dressed now in a flannel suit and panama hat to shield his head from the blazing summer sun he approached the lectern his staff had set out for him with his statement on it. In front of him a large crowd of reporters and camera crews had gathered, having waited for the best part of an hour for him to emerge. He took a few glugs of his water and cleared his throat to address the media in his usual snooty Aberdonian brogue.
"Several nations have registered their disapproval with the recent disposal of several Chinese diplomats, some of these are genuine concerns which I will address but many are just the bayings of Marxist allies of China and subsequently will be ignored. Following the expulsion of all Chinese diplomatic staff from all Beijing's diplomatic missions across the Empire, the overwhelming majority under escort when to their allocated flight and left the country without much fuss at all. However several attempted to escape into the interior of the Empire, namely in Asia. Not only did the escapades themselves put the lives of civilians and authorities in danger but it also confirmed that many of these diplomats were spies -why else would they be acting in such a suspicious manner?" He said, peering down his nose through his reading glasses at the assembled media, letting the question sink in.
"Those who escaped were either killed in the chase or recovered for interrogation. A few, aye, were under the provisions of the Espionage Act were executed on the charge of espionage. It was an entirely lawful procedure as far as the laws of this realm are concerned, passed through both Houses of Parliament and granted assent by the Sovereign. Foreign Governments are fully aware of this legislation and yet maintain diplomatic missions here. There is nothing more to say other than that Brittanic Albion is not a brutal regime, we respect law and order, neither do we seek international discord. But the safety of our institutions, His Majesty's subjects and our territorial and sovereign integrity are our chief considerations and they will not be compromised no matter how much the rest of the world shrieks to the High Heavens. Thank you." He turned on his heal, ignoring the eruption of shouts for questions: Sir! Lord Aberdeenshire! A moment of your time My Lord!
He whistled as he walked back to the stately home, to the tune of Cock o'the North, the regimental march of the Gordon Highlanders, his former regiment in his old army days. It stiffened his posture as he walked, almost taking him back to parades down Union Street in Aberdeen, sporrans swinging, pipes droning, drums clattering, and burly Scotch sergeants roaring in Doric at the rank and file.
With that palaver over, it was time to finalise preparations for the arrival of the Shackleyans.

Undisclosed MI5 Holding Facility, City of London, Kingdom of England


A glob of bloodshot saliva splatted onto the concrete floor, a few shards of teeth protruding out.
"Bi' of a quiet one this chink here sir, not gettin' much out of 'im sir. Mouth's as tight as 'is eyes so it is." Exclaimed a fairly burly cockney clad in dark combat fatigues as he flicked the metal rod he'd used to bludgeon the Chinese man's front teeth out with free of mouth-gore. Sat behind his desk, a middle aged man in a crisp white shirt with a burgundy tie and suspenders gently drew in a huff of his cigarette before exhaling it slowly out his nostrils. It was Commander Oswald Faulkner, the deputy director of interrogations for MI5, an ex army intelligence officer and a veteran in insurgency operations from Ireland, India and now Malaysia. He adjusted the Glock 17 on his belt as he stood up and removed his reading glasses from his nose.
"You've been something of a pestilence Mr. Chen and you're making my life rather difficult. Some of your mates have already spilled the beans and now they're in witness protection programmes, probably enjoying a nice meal in a discreet Soho or Covent Garden restaurant..." He said, pacing the floor intently, his black polished brogues clicking on the concrete floor. This was however, an utter lie. Mr. Chen was the last of all the Chinese diplomats who had been taken to London for interrogation to survive. The rest, once their interrogators had gotten all they could squeeze from their minds were either left to die of their interrogation wounds, usually blood-loss or electrocution trauma or were shot in the back of the head and tossed into River Thames with concrete blocks tied to their necks. Mr. Chen's wife who had also been captured as they both had tried to flee from the Hong Kong consulate lay in the room next door, her neck pierced through with a meat hook, her fingernails removed leaving merely bloodied fleshy pads and her vagina bleeding intensely from a number of sharp objects having been forced up it. Repeatedly.
Oswald began to tie a plastic apron round his waist, knotting the cords in front into a bow before putting on a pair of disposable rubber gloves too. Taking a pair of pliers he thrust them into the diplomats mouth and removed some of the loose shards of teeth still in there and put them into the side table.
"We're going to play a little game Mr. Chen; I'm going to pour water on you until you give me the name of your Hong Kong contact. Sound fun? Sounds absolutely riveting to me, right Mr. Butcher bring the can over here." Oswald said as he fastened a flannel over the diplomats face.
"Pour Mr. Butcher."
"I'll give him a good wash sir so I will, until 'e tells us the contact. And you can says it in English Mr. Chen like the Good Lord Jesus Christ used to speak in. I'm a good Christian so I is sir, so I speak English." The burly cockney affirmed proudly as the water gushed onto the diplomat's face and seeped into his nostrils. He rocked violently in his chair and began to shout muffled words. But it was not water, it was petrol and the stench quickly filled the room and caused Mr. Chen to rock even more violently and begin to scream. Oswald calmly raised his hand to stop the procedure and removed the towel. The diplomat gasped and began blurting out incoherently, his garments now soaked in petrol, his eyes were wide with terror.
"Shhh.. slowly Mr. Chen, calm down.."
"I was meeting with a UCA operative by the name of Guangsi Zheng, a former Chinese army officer based in Wan Chai.." He said furtively. Oswald gazed at the diplomat for a long time, slowly raising an inquisitive eyebrow before taking his phone out and dialling a number.
"Patrick? Yes, hello, can you run a name for me.. Guangsi Zheng.. lives in Wan Ch- oh? Splendid."
The diplomat looked hopefully up at Oswald, his eyes screaming for mercy and a faint glimmer of hope.
"Thank you ever so much Mr. Chen, you have been very useful." Oswald said with kind eyes as he rummaged in his trouser pocket briefly, before removing a plastic gas lighter.
"No! No! Please, you said.. you said..NO!" The diplomat screamed in sheer terror, rocking in his chair and eventually one of the legs snapped and left him face down in the pool of petrol. Even the burly guard's eyes widened in surprise.
"Cor, fuckin' 'ell sir."
Oswald tossed the lit lighter at the screaming heap of the diplomat who very quickly set alight.
"In the words of Abbot Amalric; Caedite eos. Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius.." Recited the Commander as he left the room with a calm gait, closing the door behind him.

HMS King Alfred the Great, Viscount Nelson-Class Carrier, 4th Fleet, Royal Navy High Seas Fleet
HMNB Coonawarra, HQ of the 4th (Australasian) Fleet, Darwin, Dominion of Australia and New Zealand



Colour Sergeant Worrowa Cox watched with captivation as another chinook was winched onto the carrier deck, before being secured to the lift plate and then descending deep into the bowels of the ship. Cox was, like many of his rank and file colleagues; an aborigine. Born in a rather deprived community on the outskirts of Darwin there was little else for him to do as he could not read too well but he was tough. Many of he white Australian soldiers under his command resented being ordered about by a 'coloured' but being the experiences NCO that he was, they soon came to value his experience and expertise. He turned behind him to see much of the company filing up the ramp into the ship, lugging all their gear in their black holdalls in their hands and with their large camouflage Bergen rucksacks on their backs.
"Get quickly to your accommodation lads, fill in from the back of the quarters, no mucking about. Inspection is in two hours so I want to see you all cutting about, and make sure you get your weapons from the armoury -they will be on your person the whole time." He said, as they trudged past, and to which they replied; "Yes colour!" With mock enthusiasm. They were part of 077 Commando, one of the elite air assault units in the Royal Marines Brigade being deployed with the battle group; The 04 Air Assault Brigade. Uluru Company, of which Cox was a part of were to assault from Chinooks should they be called to action, backed up by apaches, F35s and V-22 Ospreys refitted as gunships; all in all a formidable force to any coastal defender. It was still very early in the morning and dark; the lights of the deck and the various vehicles were clear, as were the lights of other ships in the harbour; destroyers, frigates, resupply ships and all the rest. Suddenly he heard the distinct cracking of heels against the deck that could only be an officer and turned on his heel, stiff and ready to salute. Indeed, it was the Lieutenant Colonel and several of the unit's officers, including one of the platoon commanders in his unit; Lieutenant George Wealdthorpe; the son of a wealthy Australian cattle rancher.
He swiftly gave them the salute, cracking his heels to attention and delivering the salute; shortest way up.
"Good Morning Colour, I trust the men are all busying about?" Inquired the Lieutenant Colonel in a rather mild but still obvious Sydney accent, much of it being eroded from his time with the British, Canadian and South African naval officers over the years. He, like the rest of them was wearing neatly pressed and ironed jungle camouflage combats with polished brown leather boots and the green 'commando' berets whilst the navy sailors wore blue shirts and dark blue berets as they all hustled and bustled around preparing the ship for battle-readiness.
"Yessir, they are making their way to their quarters now sir, inspection in two hours sir. Very pleased to be at sea again they all are, sir." Cox replied eagerly, still stood to attention.
"Good good, I'll address the men after lunch today, give them the run down. Things could get very rum indeed Colour so we need to have our wits about us, no cutting corners. We'll be practicing getting to battle stations tomorrow, timing how long it takes et cetera, I want 077 Commando to be ready first. Well done Colour, as you were."
Cox stayed stiffened, saluted again, which was returned enthusiastically by the Lieutenant Colonel and then relaxed his posture and headed to his own room. Meanwhile, the Lieutenant Colonel; Ioan Jenkyns, the descendant of a long line of sheep farmers who came from Wales but had risen in social status in recent years, made his way up onto the bridge of the carrier.
It was organised chaos as bridge officers hurried about in their tropical whites carrying documents here and there, checking off equipment, some directing activity on the runway down below on the deck of the carrier.
"Morning all, the roos are here, there's nothing to fear!" Jenkyns proclaimed loudly as he entered the bridge, causing many officer and crew to either smile knowingly or scratch their heads in perplexion at the obnoxious 'Aussie'. Eventually, a well decorated and tall man came over; Vice-Admiral William Gosworth in razor-sharp creased navy whites and a tablet in hand.
"Jenkyns, I am glad to have you on board, steady the crew as it were. The lads are all a bit jittery, regarding China as you know." Gosworth said, extending a friendly hand for Jenkyns to shake.
"Yep, I've never seen so many nervous virgins in my life sir.. but here we go again.." Replied Jenkyns, shaking the hand whilst also being handed some briefing notes by one of the Vice Admiral's aides.
"Once again Ioan, you know the drill, try not to cock it up, there's a good chap. In 48 hours we begin amphibious warfare drills whilst we sail north to rendezvous with the whole battlegroup. South East Asia will shiver to the noise of our combined engines, and quake at the silence of our attack submarines. But if we need to make those silly people in Beijing really jump, I need your men to be ready to go in..boots on the ground Jenkyns."

Cox was in his room, sat on the end of his bed looking at a photo of his children; two daughters when he heard a loud rap at the door. He opened it to the face of Captain Percival (Percy) Stoddard, his stern and mustached superior.
"All well colour? There will be a non-essential communications black out for crew in a few hours so if they want to call their ma's or birds now's the time."
Outside he could see much of the fleet assembled outside the harbour, waiting for the flagship to join them in order to begin.
“Remember that you are an Englishman and have consequently won first prize in the lottery of life.”
-Cecil Rhodes
British|Roman Catholic|High Tory

The British Empire in all its modern glory, from the Canadian Tundra to the Indian jungles, from the Caribbean lagoons to the Rhodesian Bush. A conservative though interventionist power with a medium sized but elite military. Striving to rid its spheres of influence of communism, radical islam and globalist ventures.

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Bulgar Rouge
Minister
 
Posts: 2383
Founded: Dec 08, 2013
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Bulgar Rouge » Tue Dec 18, 2018 2:09 am

Southern Andaman Sea

Image
The time spent on the ship was already feeling like something out of a bad dream. The humid air and the somewhat slow pace of the ship made it feel like time itself was dragging. The Mergui Archipelago, which the ship recently passed by, was surrounded by quiet waters that seemed to spread even further south. Not that this mattered in the age of powered seafaring, but the landscape was extremely dull - grey haze engulfed everything above the sea, which itself barely made any waves. But there was a creeping sense of unease in this quiet.

Even today, when the world was overpopulated, there were still places where people remained primal. Word was that not far from here there was an island inhabited by a man-eating tribe, beings that could barely be called human, living without fire or the wheel, and shooting arrows against anyone who approached their shores. This entire part of Asia invoked in the colonel a feeling of approaching that island. It was like everyone around here was woven of this basic feeling of tribal animosity, trying to repulse the European or at the very least, trick him, scam him or otherwise prevent his will and creative energy from unraveling fully. The final result was that incoming foreigners - be they Americans, Europeans or even Bulgarian NPLA officers and Libyan troops, degenerated, crushed under the burden of this same unease, this hidden hostility that sooner or later erupted into something vicious. The Heavenly State was taking this viciousness to a whole new level, but was skillfully masking it as the protocol of modern times required. Gradually, the NPLA men - ideologically sound, but still hearty under all the layers of dialectical armour - were morphing into something akin to Transitional Heavenly State troops. They were becoming increasingly cynical and hateful of living, harboured mutual hostility, and hid it under faces of stone and protocol remarks uttered with a quiet, primal hatred.

Was it the physical misery of these places that made people foster such feelings? Maybe. But Palaveev was also thinking that it was all merely a vicious circle. This innate hostility was purely a defence mechanism rooted in the dawn of mankind that had survived until now, just like those tribesmen on the island had survived with neolithic technology in the era of controlled nuclear fusion. It was not pretty, it was counterproductive, it was aggressive - but it worked. It helped people survive. And if you are to live and thrive in these parts, this is the behaviour you'd have to adopt, and then pass onto the next generation. These are the ways of the "people-masses" here, this is the "natural will of the collective organism". Yet another realisation which tipped the scales in favour of Palaveev's current thoughts.

"We've fixed the radio mast, you can go get in touch with your men." The mestizo-looking seaman spat an ample amount of saliva on the deck right after addressing the colonel. Not bothering with a response, the latter found his way to the bridge. Surprisingly, the ship was equipped with a Rila encryption port - a necessity for almost every secret operation of the NPLA or State Security. The gadget was used to send encrypted messages to any email, fax or medium wave node, using the Rila cypher over a network of transmitters, servers and zombie computers. The light encryption was no longer used, for it was easy to crack - it took a few hours, but that's precisely what the colonel was about to do. The few hours between the receipt of the message and its decoding would give him time to find out more about the true nature of recent events and, possibly, reverse his decision in case the odds of not making it increased dramatically.

TO: Brittanic Albion authorities in Singapore
ENCR: Rila-BZ300 (light)

A regional power seeks to escalate its support to the UCA. I have been involved in meetings with some officials of this power, and recent events have inclined me to believe that I have become an expendable asset for entirely political reasons - reasons unrelated to my military conduct or quality of service, which, until now, were profoundly loyal and exemplary. The betrayal on the part of my own state has made me revoke my loyalty, and with great pain I must inform you that I wish to defect to your forces.

I am aboard a ship carrying civilian supplies to the UCA. The vessel is set to dock in Port Klang, but only after an anchor stop outside Singapore where it will collect UCA operatives. For security reasons, their names have not yet been divulged to me. I am not yet aware how civilian supplies can benefit the UCA, but I have strong suspicions on what they may be used for.

I will continue to act my part in this operation in an attempt to find out more, particularly the names of these operatives and the use for these supplies. I strongly recommend that your forces abstain from taking action until the matter has progressed further. I will inform you once the ship approaches Singapore. Attached in this message are instructions how to get back in touch with me using specific messaging services.

Colonel Kurtz


The last bit was a slight jab and friendly reference that the British could quickly relate to. Palaveev looked out in the distance, his mind wandering in the sea of questions pertaining to his defection. However, he kept wondering about the cargo - agricultural machinery, fertiliser and grain - and that antenna that was recently fixed. As the previous man in his position would say, "there was something off about this whole thing".


Yala Province, Thailand

The last batch of workers from the first wave - some 500 men - had arrived at the unfinished airport. A solitary An-124 cargo plane had unloaded most of its cargo, wooden crates with Chinese markings on it. The men waited inside one of the hangars, where trucks brought the crates in and the process of opening them began. Soon after, most of the men had received their equipment - brand new, Chinese manufactured AK rifles, Type 80 machine guns, grenades, GPS navigation kits, radio stations, vests, and some HN-6 MANPADS, all acquired from China as part of a refurbishment programme for the Laotian military. The last cargo carried aboard the aircraft were three trucks in civilian livery. Underneath the canvas, each had missile launch tubes - these were the Bulgarian-manufactured Bars multiple rocket launchers, also bought by the puppet military of Laos.

After all the weaponry was distributed and concealed appropriately, a few buses stopped beside the hangar to collect the men and transfer them to several points along the Thai-Malaysian border where thick jungle made infiltration easier. The Bars launchers, in turn, proceeded to the nearest border crossing, but would wait a few kilometers inside Thai territory, guarded by a small unit at a construction site. The first groups of the 5,000-strong force were already traversing the jungle and crossing into Malaysia, heading toward their first targets across Perak. The escalation was about to begin.



Image
DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF BULGAR ROUGE

FROM: Foreign Affairs Committee
TO: People's Republic of Cedoria
ENCR: Rila-BZ600 (medium)

The Bulgarian revolutionary collective welcomes your stance on the hawkish and irreparable actions of Britain. It is of utmost necessity that progressive Socialist nations condemn and contain these actions to prevent a further spread of the consumerist disease, particularly in the sensitive region of Southeast Asia.

To discuss further ways to reinforce our commitment to revolutionary changes in the name of social fairness, we propose a coordinating summit between representatives of our State Presidium and your leadership. Should you agree to this proposal, we will issue a list of our representatives and possible locations for the event.

The people-masses of Bulgar Rouge
Last edited by Bulgar Rouge on Tue Dec 18, 2018 3:57 am, edited 1 time in total.

This nation does not reflect my RL views.
Singaporean Transhumans wrote:I'm only saying that, well, even commies have reached the level of selling counterfeit and drugs in their storefronts, we can't be any less.

The Holy Therns wrote:Politicians make statements. It's their substitute for achievement.

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Caracasus
Issues Editor
 
Posts: 7919
Founded: Apr 23, 2015
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Caracasus » Mon Dec 24, 2018 4:22 am

You were dead before we left...

He laughed. Choked a little and tried to reach for the doorhandle. He tried to wrestle with the moulded plastic. It was like trying to pick up jelly while wearing boxing gloves. Just one street over the festivities had begun. Families crowded around brightly lit storefronts, smell of honey roast nuts in the air. Bright, sharp winter. Last winter...

Never fucking trust a Caracasusian.

They'd paid well. Too well, but hell at this time of the year who was he to turn down eight grand for a simple bit of breaking and entering?

She'd spoken to two others, a man by his voice and another. Couldn't tell. Their weird, fluttering language. All vowel sounds flowing into each other like a river...

Fuck. Pull yourself together man! You got ten minutes, less maybe. A fucking overdose... to go down as a fucking junkie dead in his van. No...

A big house. She had been there as she said. She knew what she was doing at least. No forensics from her. She'd given him a list. Laptops, computers, memory sticks. Anything else he kept on top of the eight grand. Why did the stupid bastard have to be home? Why did he have to fight back? Who dies over a fucking laptop?

He shuddered as a new muscle spasm hit him. The man's head. The coffee table. The blood. He'd grabbed everything and made for the rendevous. She was waiting. A stiff drink from his hipflask. Enough to keep away the cold.

She'd asked him. She'd looked unhappy when he mentioned the man. Angry when he'd reassured her that he wouldn't be talking. He'd joked. 'What are you gonna do? Kill me?'

He finally gave up. Slumped down into the seat of the van. All around him the sound of carols.

Rooters News Agency

....made in the murder of French Canadian consulting architect Jean Menchon, killed during a home robbery at his Swedish residence in Gothenburg.

An as yet unnamed petty criminal was found dead in a rented van in downtown Gothenburg. Police suspect an opiate overdose, and have recovered home electronic equipment, jewelry and cash from....
Last edited by Caracasus on Mon Dec 24, 2018 6:11 am, edited 1 time in total.
As an editor I seam to spend an awful lot of thyme going threw issues and checking that they're no oblivious errars. Its a tough job but someone's got too do it!



Issues editor, not a moderator.

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Cedoria
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6206
Founded: Feb 22, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Cedoria » Tue Dec 25, 2018 8:25 pm

Somewhere near Singapore

The boats were streaming back north, the planes had returned. The first airdrops to the UCA had been a success...

No enemy forces had been seen during the operation, and there'd been no sign of enemy activity during the operation to confront the small taskforce regarding its location, so close to Albion controlled Singapore and Malaysia.


With the gifts from the People's Republic now delivered, and the first overt gesture of support to the UCA complete, it was time to return home...


House of the People, Poras, People's Republic of Cedoria

Chairman Sorenson was pleased to hear of the success of the operation to begin supply runs to the UCA. Nevertheless, he had given the green-light for future supply ops to mostly be done via drone drops or smaller boatloads. Once the UCA had the initial batch of supplies, including the comms equipment they'd been given, it would be easier to coordinate future shipments in ways designed not to attract attention.

Yet despite this, the diplomacy surrounding the conflict in Malaysia had thrown up new problems.


"Bulgar Rouge has sent us a message, Comrade Chairman, praising our condemnation of the execution of Chinese diplomats."

Sorenson jerked his head up in shock.

"Bulgar Rouge? Those monsters? You want to tell me they've come out in favour of us? Geez, how do we respond to that?"


The Foreign Affairs Commissar cleared his throat.

"Comrade Chairman, if I may, we might want to consider this offer."

Sorenson glared at him.

"Have you lost your mind? Bulgar Rouge for the revolution's sake! These are people who try and put everyone in rural communes and basically starve everyone to death? They're ruralist fanatics, and don't get me started on those 'Heavenly State' whackos they've been supporting in South-East Asia!"


"Bulgar Rouge has changed a lot since those days, Chairman".
The Commissar said softly, "We'll need their help if we're to beat back the Brittanic monsters."

"They're monsters too,"Sorenson grumbled.

"I know, it's not ideal to have their assistance, but harm is there in it? If all goes well, Bulgar Rouge might support the UCA, better they should die doing it then us. It wouldn't shock me if the Heavenly State would involve itself too, and them dying for it is even better. If need be, we can use the conflict to weaken them as well, giving us greater leverage to sweep them from South-East Asia in a future conflict."


Sorenson sighed, he was right of course.

"You're right, it's better that Bulgar Rouge be targetting our enemies then us, at least. And if we can persuade them to take more direct involvement, then that's all the better. Issue the replies accordingly."



Off went Mervis to issue the response to Bulgar Rouge. The People's Intelligence Agency had also begun digging in further regarding the conflict, trying to unearth as much information about UCA positions and capabilities as possible. Most of the info came from existing PIA channels in Beijing, since Chinese information about their proxies was much more substantial then Cedorian info. So far, the UCA seemed like your typical leftist guerilla group. A broadly decentralised cell-based group, primarily operating in the rural and regional areas over the urban centres, with a good deal of popular backing from the peasantry and some petit-bourgeiouse, but very little support from the existing economic and political structures. Hence the lack of higher quality weaponry and equipment, though Beijing and now Cedorian shipments would hopefully begin to ameliorate that problem. With Beijing apparently in the process of disengaging some its assets from Malaysia, it seemed like they were abdicating their proxy to being a mostly Cedorian proxy. Sorenson was fine with that, as Cedoria probably had more to offer the rebels at this point anyway. It was unlikely that Beijing would withdraw completely, of course, but the embarrassment of having been caught supplying the UCA would take its toll.


Thus far, actual PIA contact with the UCA had been very limited, but hopefully some higher level leaders would be in contact soon once the PIA's comms equipments were set up. A few cell phones with encryption apps and open lines to PIA operatives working out of Macau had been among the shipments dropped to the UCA, so the hope was that contact could soon be made and more direct cooperation established.


The pieces were beginning to move around the board. But things had barely begun. Meanwhile, Cedoria's propaganda onslaught via the web was beginning to bite, as condemnation of Brittanic executions was widespread. Anybody who wanted to support them now would think twice about doing so in any overt manner.



Off went the reply to Bulgar Rouge, indicating that Cedorian officials were happy to meet with Bulgar Rouge officials in a location of their choosing.
In real life I am a libertarian socialist/democratic socialist
★Comrade of the Commonwealth of Socialist States (CSS)★
Likes: Freedom of speech, Freedom of Expression, Direct Democracy, Worker Owned Cooperatives, Secularism, Anti-Theism, Freedom of civil disobediance, Libertarian Socialism, Social equity for minorities.

Dislikes: Neo-Conservatism, Neo-Liberalism, Stalinism, Capitalism, American Exceptionalism, Most world leaders, Religious bigotry, Despots of virtually any kind, Imperialism, Putinism, Economic Inequality, Identity Politics, Fascism and assorted far-right movements.



Founding member of The Leftist Assembly

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Caracasus
Issues Editor
 
Posts: 7919
Founded: Apr 23, 2015
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Caracasus » Wed Dec 26, 2018 1:19 pm

Three Weeks ago.

Maglev Maintainence Tunnels - Jevellit, Caracasus

The sun hit fifteen of the eighteen sisters of the revolution. Eighteen huge skyscrapers, spindly, needlelike and green, white plasticrete skeleton with enhanced bamboo crafted elegently into the superstructure. Eighteen huge vertical farms, feeding the entire city.

Until last week. Now three of the sisters were foreshortened. Blackened husks. Hard to imagine that just last week the city had been grasped in terror. Soldiers from The Heavenly Temple had attacked five of the eighteen sisters. Twenty six of them dead, fifty more in custody and eighteen dead Caracasusians. The Cedorian agent was unsure whether Caracasusians were insane or simply deluded to stick to their ideological guns and refuse to name the incident, or indeed any such terrorism - and therefore according to their logic provide a justification for state violence. Still, with the three scortched remnents in his mind, he crossed the deactivated maglev track and once again descended into the underbelly of Jevellit.

The Cedorian agent paused and checked the hastilly scrawled map once more. Second turn after junction 237b...

Down here, an occasional rat sucrried past. Here in the dark, illumination came from the lights above service access points. These tunnels carried hundreds of thousands of litres of coolant and made him glad he had packed a jacket as instructed. The tunnels he'd just left had been humid. Little winged lizards had perched on the wire lamp cages like tiny jewels. They would open membrane wings fine enough to read through and leap, wings humming, to catch juicy fat moths in their sharp little teeth.

After another fifteen minutes he found it. A hub access port. As described. A faint orange glow. He approached it and the holodisplay flickered into life, just like it'd done at the Maglev station.

Listen to me. We don't have a lot of time.

'Who are you?'

Of course he knew. He was a spy. Whatever office he carried, whatever language you wished to dress it up in, he was a spy and he'd been spying on Cracasusian military secrets, government intruigue and even scientific prototypes for decades. The revolution demanded that even Cedoria's allies were to be closely and covertly monitored. He did not know the name of this AI, only its connection to International Observations, Caracasus's unofficial, off the books, spying and occasional assassination unit. Real bastards, the lot of them.

Just like him.

Dust motes darted through the holoptojection. This AI had chosen to present itself as a holoimage of a child's rusting trycicle propping up a fallen branch.

Doesn't matter. No time to explain. Know of Chinese agent capture. Know of plan. You can't support thr Heavenly Temple. Caracasus would not do so.

'The heavenly temple is the only sizeable armed faction in existence at the right point.'

It's not. Can deliver hundreds of thousands of armed soldiers. All already in country.

'That's... that'd not possible.'

Is. Caracasusian Council Elect read our proposal. Rejected it. Officially that is. We are not official. Is possible. Think again. Think like a Caracasusian.

The Cedorian was highly intelligent and had immersed himself in Caracasus, the better to spy on them. It only took him half a minute to figure it out. When he did, he smiled, involuntarily. It was insane, but the Cracasusians were insane. It would work.

Working on next part. Will contact you soon. Standbyr.

The holoimage went dark. A sudden spat made him start as a fuze blew in the hub access port. Several grams of thermite burned through the device before safely burning into and out on the concretr below, obliterating all traces of the contact.
Last edited by Caracasus on Fri Dec 28, 2018 2:38 am, edited 4 times in total.
As an editor I seam to spend an awful lot of thyme going threw issues and checking that they're no oblivious errars. Its a tough job but someone's got too do it!



Issues editor, not a moderator.

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Bulgar Rouge
Minister
 
Posts: 2383
Founded: Dec 08, 2013
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Bulgar Rouge » Thu Dec 27, 2018 6:04 am

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DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF BULGAR ROUGE

FROM: Foreign Affairs Committee
TO: People's Republic of Cedoria
ENCR: Rila-BZ900 (highest)

The Revolutionary entity is delighted to learn that our opinions coincide.

Our delegation will consist of brothers by the number of 5 (Party Standing Committee president), 7 (foreign affairs), and 15 (Bureau 73 under the People's Committee of Defence). For security reasons, Brother Number One cannot attend at this point.

As a venue of the summit, we suggest the Murcaanyo Beach Hotel & Resort in Revolutionary Somalia. Security and hospitality will be provided by the Somali side, in accordance with the highest standards of quality. Flights are available to Bosaso; your party will be escorted to Murcaanyo by Somali State Security.

Should you agree to this location, we will initiate assembly of our representatives immediately.

The people-masses of Bulgar Rouge
Last edited by Bulgar Rouge on Thu Dec 27, 2018 6:04 am, edited 1 time in total.

This nation does not reflect my RL views.
Singaporean Transhumans wrote:I'm only saying that, well, even commies have reached the level of selling counterfeit and drugs in their storefronts, we can't be any less.

The Holy Therns wrote:Politicians make statements. It's their substitute for achievement.

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Hrythingland
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 467
Founded: Dec 17, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Hrythingland » Fri Dec 28, 2018 1:33 pm

HMS Duke of Marlborough, East Asia Battlegroup, Royal Navy High Seas Fleet
300 miles off Palau, Philippine Sea



It was indeed a sight to behold, the combined strength of three carrier strike groups not to mention additional support from two amphibious landing docks and other auxiliary ships. And deep beneath the surface of the ocean lurked no less than six attack submarines: wolves of the waves on the prowl for their prey. As they sailed the fleet carried out amphibious warfare drills, mainly practicing the offloading of combat troops by air and from the assault craft. It had been well publicised too, with several news agencies indented with the fleet, taking photographs and film footage that made headlines each day on television and on the papers. Social media streams were kept updated with aesthetic photos and updates of crew, soldiers and equipment. The message was clear: Albion was flexing -and there was much to flex. The decks of the carriers were busy with Saab Gripens, merlins, wildcats and domed AWACS craft whilst the assault docks busied about with F35s, V-22 Ospreys, chinooks and apaches.

All this was watched by Admiral Patrick FitzAlan from the bustling bridge of The Duke of Marlborough, the flagship of the battlegroup from the formidable Viscount Nelson-Class of carriers. Like the class’ namesake: Admiral Horatio Nelson who defeated the mighty Franco-Spanish Fleet at Trafalgar, Admiral FitzAlan was from mildly humble means, at least for an Admiral of the High Seas Fleet. He was from a family of petty Irish gentry and was the first to enter naval service, his father had been minor civil sergeant as he had been the youngest of his siblings and thus had no land to inherit. Admiral FitzAlan or ’Paddy’ as he was affectionately known by the multi-ethnic crews aboard his ship and the wider fleet had made all the appropriate gestures towards ‘wanting peace and stability’ and that the manoeuvres were merely ‘warnings.. show of strength et cetera.’ But in his heart, in its most cynical chambers he secretly desired an eruption of hostilities. FitzAlan was the only admiral in the Royal Navy without a Knighthood of some sort and though comments about it were only made in a jest and in Paddy’s own words a ‘wee bit of banter like’ -he no longer found it funny.
“Sir Patrick FitzAlan... Sir Patrick FitzAlan of Ballinabranagh..” He quietly muttered to himself and nodded in approval.
A pair of heels snapped to attention behind FitzAlan and he turned to see a junior bridge officer saluting him, clutching a clipboard.
“Admiral, we have had two Chinese flyovers in the past 12 hours and just now a third. A Shaanxi Y-9 observation aircraft. Sir.”
The Admiral raised an eyebrow.
“A third? Bloody pests... have you logged it Lieutenant?”
The Lieutenant showed him the clipboard face with all information of the three flights.
“Well we are approaching their maritime zone of influence as it were, they may even be so bold to buzz us with jets once we get closer. Will that be all Lieutenant?”
“Yessir!”
The Lieutenant saluted swiftly again and marched off.
The great game had begun properly now.

Jeli, Sultanate of Kelantan, Viceroyalty of Malaysia


It started as a few offhand comments in passing, to gossip in the fragrant kopitians of border settlements and now it became a widespread wave of discussion. Thousands of foreigners had been spotted in the region, people who didn’t belong, who had not crossed the border in the right places. Rumours that some were armed too had abounded. Such long and densely covered borders gave the island dwelling British a severe headache, it was so much simpler when seas had to be crossed to enter a nation.

To that end, unsure as to what was actually unfolding but fearing the worst in regards to the UCA, authorities in Kuala Lumpur had sent an experienced officer: Inspector Misbun Yoong from the Royal East Indies Constabulary to investigate. He sat astride his motorbike in plainclothes: a bland white shirt, trousers, trainers and a helmet. His eyes were concealed by dark aviator shades. A loaded Glock 17 was clipped into his belt in a camera case. Misbun made some final notes in his pad, annotating an interview he’d just made with a logger in the Kopi-Tian (tea house) behind him. That logger had reported seeing a small party of armed irregulars creep by on a logging path which he thought was odd as the UCA rarely came up here, at least not in such numbers. It was obvious now to Misbun: China was sending troops through mainland South East Asia -a deliberate escalation it seemed. It was time to make his report. He would make a full one later but the authorities needed to know of the scale immediately.
Code: Select all
===HIGH URGENCY: REIC HQ===
China sending hundreds, very possibly thousands of armed irregulars over border, perhaps of Laosian background, some unclear. Making jungle crossings. Thai sources report influx of ‘workers’. URGENT ACTION REQUIRED. Martial law recommended, thousands of armed Constables and Soldiers necessary. Full report to be sent.


Horse Guards, the War Office, Whitehall, City of Westminster, Kingdom of England


“Sir Godwin, the Minister wants to see you, sir.” Curtly announced his female secretary, today looking particularly delicious in a short floral dress and her golden hair tightly tied up. Sir Godwin liked them young. It was a peculiar power dynamic in the Offices of State: Permanent Secretaries were technically as their role ‘Civil Servant’ implied servants and aids to their Secretary of State (Minister) yet they were by the nature of their permanence, experience and political manoeuvrability it was they who actually wore the trousers. Nonetheless in this case, it was ‘he’ who had to be summoned for. He pulled his blazer on and swiftly strolled through the ornate corridors of power that was Horse Guards, past panoramas of great battles, walls adorned with captured flags, helmets, muskets, tribal weapons and portraits of former Secretaries of War, Generals, Admirals and Marshals. His polished black oxfords clopped on the marble floor as he briskly made his way to his master's office. He furtively peeked round the door, and there the minister was sat, having a cigarette at his grand desk, the gruff Yorkshireman that was Edgar Cudworth.
"Ah, Sir Godwin, please do come in." He said, gesturing for him to sit on the chair opposite his desk. "Major Chenoweth has just informed me of two very grave developments in the East Indies.. the first is that Kuala Lumpur now has it on good authority that hundreds though very likely thousands of communist irregulars are now seeping over the border into Kelantan and other border areas from Thailand. Armed. And secondly that a ship carrying aid to the UCA wishes to defect. This information is probably finding its way up to the PM now. Local authorities want us to make a decision. I expect there will be a cabinet meeting shortly."
Godwin exhaled deeply. "Both of these will be PM's call ultimately, but lets not run this through cabinet, give him a ring now and we can deal with this situation here and now.." He said with a note of trepidation in his voice. Edgar raised a concerned eyebrow.
"What exactly do you have in mind.. before I attempt to subvert His Majesty's Cabinet?"
"Mobilise the Army of the East Indies in its entirety, reserves and all. From Pakistan to Brunei, Sri Lanka to Nepal. If we muster our strength and mass most of it on the border with China they might back off... and if they do not then at least Albion and China know where they stand. The King will of course need to be informed but I have a nuance on that, I propose that he go himself and oversee the mobilisation. 'King inspects major East Indies army manoevures...' it'll get everyone into the spirit of it all. Then he can go elephant hunting in Bombay or something. But three and a half million troops ready for war? We mean business, but it is of course a commitment. Obviously they are being mobilised as some kind of 'Royal Inspection' but the messsage is clear. So that should be a public response to said infiltration, as for the actual infiltration I suggest moving the Sarawak Rangers into the region for airborne search and destroy missions against known clumps of irregulars whilst enforcing martial law with the Penang Rifles, 2nd Gurkha Rifle Regiment and move the Mercia Battlegroup up north as well, get some fine English redcoats in on the action. The Cheshire Scarlets have been performing well near Singapore, they know what they're doing. I'll get the Chief of Defence Staff over here and so on later to go through it all. As for the defection.. I'll need a better briefing on that but if they are carrying supplies my advice is we let them take the supplies to the target and go from there, track them, gather intel. Let's see how much of the web we can shine a torch on."
Godwin reclined in his chair as to watch Edgar dial the Prime Minsiter's Office on his desk landline, with a shaky hand. It amused Godwin to see such a sturdy northerner look so worried and concerned. Godwin had long desired to let the Lion of Albion roar in the face of the Chinese Dragon and this was his chance, even if it meant war. Much of the civil service was of the same persuasion, especially its chief Sir Julian Thimbleby who essentialy ran the empire. The Octopus. The military were eager to flex too, and much of the population across the continents could easily be riled up in patriotic fervour, especially against such a regime as Beijing. The Chinese didn't even play cricket.
"Hello is that Number Ten..? Yes please... Good Afternoon Prime Minister, sir..."
Code: Select all
Colonel Kurz
MI6 are keen that you complete your mission as orgininally planned however we will intercept you en route to Singapore to track the materials and give you further instructions. You will be boarded by a small troop of SAS commandos under Major Lodewikus van Rooyen-Botha who will search the ship, brief you and will take one of your crew members with them. You must provide us with your coordinates immediately upon recieving this message. Any mishaps on your end will result in the apprehension and likely deaths of yourself and all your crew after an excruciating interrogation. Albion welcomes defectors but will not tolerate games.
London



"Behold! O Master, the mighty army of the sons of Pandu drawn up by thy pupil, the clever son of Drupada. In it are warriors with great bows...This army of ours, which is commanded by Bhishma, is not sufficient, while their forces, led by Bhima, are sufficient. Let all the generals, according to their respective divisions, stand at their posts, and one and all resolve Bhishma to support." The ancient chief, brother of the grandsire of the Kurus, then, to raise the spirits of the Kuru chief, blew his shell, sounding like the lion's roar; and instantly innumerable shells and other warlike instruments were sounded on all sides, so that the clangor was excessive.
-The Battle at Kurukshetra, Chapter I, the Bhagavad-Gita

Like a swarm of locusts, with immense roar, the helicopters and planes of the IV (Air Assault) Indian Army Corps blackened the skies above the New Delhi, crowds gazed up at the endless morass of aircraft; cargo aircraft, attack helicopters, chinooks, gunships, utility helicopters all soaring above them, though diverting around the Sacred Taj Mahal. They would be the first to deploy into their Forward Operating Bases in the Jammu and Kashmir and comprised the 27th (Airborne) Indian Division, the 113th (Airmobile) Punjab Brigade and the 4th (Airmobile) Malay Brigade. Their job would be to, after air superiority is achieved to make the first headway into Tibet and Yunnan. All rail had also been briefly commandeered and people flocked to the tracksides to watch train carriage after train carriage of fatigues-clad soldiers rattle by, or car after car of Challenger 2 tanks trundle along, clanking as they went. These along with innumerable CVRTs and Warriors which made their way up by train also belonged to the mighty II (Royal Cavalry) Indian Army Corps. Their reputation was a proud one, with many regiments claiming a pre-British heritage in the Sikh, Hindu and Mughal armies. All across the East Indies, reservists who had been 'brown-enveloped' kissed and hugged their families goodbye, making their way to their mustering stations. It would take weeks for the entire Army to be battle-ready but much of it by the end of that day was mustered in some form or another either at barracks or in operational capacity. 3,500,000 men, ready to fight and die, perhaps not for 'King and Empire' but certainly for bread and fairly certainly if it meant having a good scrum with the old foe of South Asia; the Han. Mountain villages, usually left undisturbed suddenly became a passing point for hundreds of thousands of troops, their dirt roads quickly becoming sludgy bogs and the children watched with awe as huge L131 artillery vehicles heaved their way on the roads, often the crews and other lighter vehicles helping to push and pull.
But even for the most downtrodden Indian rifleman or trooper there was a sense of pride, even under the gazes of over-jolly British toffs: the Indian Tiger was on the march and it was magnificent. For him, it mattered little by what vehicle and means he had to spar with the Old Dragon of the North East, he'd take most of them. What was more, word had gotten out that the King, the King of Albion, the Emperor of India would be vsiting them, egging them on against the old foe. He who whore the great Koh-e-Noor. There surely would be great fanfare and ceremony. As regiments mustered in their barracks across the East Indies, prayers were said and sacrfices made, to the war gods and family spirits. Imams, Granthis, Brahmins, Bhikkhus, Catholic Priests and Saadhus made their way around the troops offering personal blessings and indeed communal ones too. Floral garlands were worn, animals sacrificed, Masses offered and hymns sung. The faithful would prevail over the Atheistic Han. The Panthera Tigris sharpened its claws under watchful eye of the Albionic Lion.

Blaenllechau, The Rhondda Valley, Glamorganshire (Sir Morgannwg), Principality of Wales


A million miles from the bustling streets of New Delhi or Bombay and all its commotion, the Rhondda Valley was quite still and Dewydd ap Gruffydd was sat at his kitchen table in his slate-roofed cottage Y Ffawyddiau as he had called it. One leg crossed over the other he leafed through that morning's edition of the Daily Mail or as it was printed in Wales Y Bost Ddyddiol whilst also enjoying some huffs on his old clay pipe. The 'old bird' as he fondly called his wife was out in the garden and his radio was quietly on in the background. He ladled another spoonful of steaming cawl from his china bowl into his mouth. Cawl was a delightful Welsh peasant dish of braised mutton, in a broth of leeks, sweeds, carrots, onions and other garden vegetables and usually mopped up with well buttered crusty bread, a few crumbs of which sat in the folds of Dewydd's lap. He was half temped to fill another bowl of it from the pot on the stove but he knew that his wife would know if so much as a carrot chunk had been pinched so he belched in mild satisfaction upon finishing his last spoonful and took a sip of dark home brewed ale (Cwrwf).
"Good afternoon, I am Mervin Appleton with BBC News at 2 o'clock.."
Dewydd raised an inquisitive eyebrow and reached over to the radio to turn the volume up. ..."His Majesty King Arthur will be leaving England tonight for a sudden inspection of the Army of the East Indies as it begins to mass along the Chinese border. An estimated one million men have already been mobilised to combat readiness..."
"Uffern Dân!" Dewydd exclaimed aloud, leaning forward in his chair.
...Our Chief India Correspondant Kevin Fishbourne has more..: "Thank you Mervin, yes, I am here in Darjeeling Airport where civilian transport has come to a standstill as grey cargo aircraft seem to arrive in flocks, unloading camouflage clad troops and army vehicles, combat or otherwise. The mood earlier today in New Dehli was one however of celebration and many troops I have spoken to are eager to 'do their bit' as they say. Some troops are just offloading now that I'm told have flown in from Jabalpur.. "Good day sir, can you tell me your name..."
"My name is Colour Sergeant Akash Prajapati, Madhya Grenadiers."
"Thank you Colour Sergeant.. can you tell our viewers how you are feeling about this sudden exercise?"
"Well, I am and the men are very proud to serve His Majesty the King and especially proud if I may say to represent Jabalpur all the way up here. SARVADA SHAKTISHALI!!"..

Dewydd jumped in shock as the Hindi war cry roared out his speakers and was then repeated in unison by the rest of the disembarking Grenadiers heeding their sergeant's call to arms. It was also at this moment that his wife walked in with a wicker basket of gardening tools and another of some flower bulbs.
"What the bloody hell are you listenin' to Dewydd? Sounds bloody foreign and all." She exclaimed disapprovingly.
"Well they've only gone and mobilised the whole of bloody Hinduland and whatnot. Massin' along the China borders and all. Anyways, let me listen.."
.."Nonetheless, along with the newly conjoined East India Battlegroup now steaming through the Phillipine Sea, an obvious display of British resolve and might has been put on for Beijing." Thank you Kevin, now onto our other news stori-"
Dewydd turned the radio off. "I wonder if they'll be sendin Welsh troops over there and all, quite a few of the lads from round here are in Welsh Regiments... the Welsh Guards, the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, South Wales Borderers, the Queen's Cambrian Lancers..."
His wife shrugged. "I don't know much about that sort of thing, but what I do hear is that the Chinese eat dogs and that is bloody disgustin'. Ych a fi!" She almost spat. "Well, we have the Rhodri family over tonight for supper and I'm makin' some leek and onion cakes to go with those hares you shot the other day. Their eldest is a young Lieutenant in the Welsh Guards but he is based in London for now as they're all dressed up to guard the palaces and all. He sent Caryl a picture of himself in the bearskin and all the other day, proud as punch she was."
"They could do with some Welsh soldiers out there, holdin' the line and all. Backbone of the British army we are, spirit of Arthur Pendragon and all." Replied Dewydd proudly, reminiscing as he stared at picture on the wall of him, a young trooper in the Queen's Cambrian Lancers. But that was a long time ago.

Jiefang Bazaar, Ürümqi, Xinjiang Autonomous Region, People's Republic of China


Of course Albion was not guiltless of its own encouragment of insurgency. Millions of pounds had been channeled into the region to fund the ever-growing TAI or Turkestan Army of Islam. Training camps in the Taklimakan desert had been set up and run by retired SAS instructors, MI6 agents liaised with radical Imams to mobilise the youth and weapons were smuggled over the border frequently. Of course, London always condemned and expressed sorrow at the suicide bombings outside PLA barracks in Xinjiang or other government buildings and to some extent it was always genuinely perturbed by such events; it wasn't quite cricket, but on the other hand anything that entangled Beijing and destablised the region was welcome. Captain Caoimhín Ó Síocháin or Kevin O'Sheehan waddled through the packed market, hidden under a black burka. He was one such MI6 agent and former Captain in the Royal Irish (Inniskilling) Rangers or Ríoga Geatairí na hÉireann. Kevin was well experienced in handling such matters from his time in Ireland, quelling the 1989 Shannon Revolt. The fragrant smell of fried mutton wafted throught netted openings of his burka and of freshly baked flatbreads. Several Han police officers watched the street hawkishly, sweating under their peaked caps and bullet proof vests. Kevin had been able to walk openly until recently, but his ginger hair and pale Irish skin betrayed him as an obvious Britisher, even if he did speak fluent Russian it was better to slip under the radar altogether considering recent events. He dodged a gaggle of white geese being herded to market by a stooping old man and ducked into a low roofed tea house.
"Kawaplar." Kevin murmured quietly once inside.
The wisened old proprietor nodded at him and lead him further downstairs, creaking as they went. Kevin helped the old man move a large wooden cabinet to reveal a large hollowed out space in the rock, crudely chiselled out. It was matted with straw but filled with rocket propelled grenades, AK-47s, submachine guns and crates of ammunition. Kevin nodded approvingly and helped move the furniture back. After being offered black tea, Kevin agreed and the man went upstairs to make some whilst he sat down at a lone table, tossing aside the burka to reveal just a plain flannel shirt and walking trousers, a glock 17 strapped to his breast which he returned to his belt. Kevin was pleased; the delivery from Afghanistan had been made and another cell of recently radicalised youths now armed. As a devout catholic he had many reservations about enabling and indeed advocating for Jihad when his colleagues elsewhere in the world did so much to fight it like in Africa and Pakistan, but it was one of the endless hypocrises of foreign policy. The tea house owner came back after some time with a clay pot of black tea and a cup, along with a plate of nut cakes not dissimilar to Baclava.
"Rexmet." Thanked Kevin.
A few minutes later a robed Imam appeared and joined Kevin at the table.
"Thank you for meeting me Imam Hoshur. You have have been a great help for the cause of independance. But tell me, how did you make it here in your robes? I thought that there was a direc-"
The Imam suddenly shifted uncomfortably, it was true, Imams could no longer go about their business publicly. And Kevin knew there were police watching the tea-house.
"You have no idea how much I was hassled Captain, they asked fo-"
A single shot echoed down in the basement, bouncing off the stone walls. The Imam crumpled from his seat onto floor, a pool of blood spilling out underneath him where he fell on his head. Kevin rummaged through his robes hastily and found what he was looking for -a wire. He tore it off and downed the tea from the cup. The hunt was on.
Kingdom of the Hrythingas
Hrýðingríċe
ᛒᛠᛚᚢᚳᚹᛠᛚᛘ ᚢᚾᚹᛖᚩᚱᚦᛋᚳᛁᛈᛖ ᛒᛖᚠᚩᚱᚪᚾ

SAXON NATIONALISM|WODENISM|MARTIALISM

State type: Elective Monarchy
Leader: Hrythwealda (King) Wynmar II, Earl of Ashwold,
Capital: Ingwineburgh
Language: Hrystic (Old English)
Religion: Holy Wodenic Rite
Characteristics: Isolationist, mercantile, conservative, rural, deeply religious
Industries: sheep/beef agriculture, fishing, offshore oil, financial services

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Shackley
Envoy
 
Posts: 248
Founded: May 30, 2017
Ex-Nation

Postby Shackley » Sat Dec 29, 2018 11:57 am

Fort Dalton,
Upper Dalton,
Northern Shackley Isle,
The Imperial Fiefdom of Shackley


Rimmer drummed his fingers on the table, polished oak producing an agitated approximation of the national anthem. He thumbed through the intelligence briefings, diplomatic addresses, depsatches and speeches for the coming week; mind-numbing red tape pushed aside as he hummed a further few bars from Heart of Oak.
The Lord Protector swivelled in his high-backed chair, bearings creaking in their service to the former Admiral now turning to face the television. It was mounted high in the wall of the lounge behind a couple inches of the wood and leather panelling. An oil painting dating back to the secession slid aside as the 75" OLED came into view. Rimmer had always thought it a touch over-dramatic, but such things were the bread and butter of the late Sir Higgins' government and, to an extent, the mechanism did at least free up some extra space.

He'd had Naval Intelligence tape all the British news broadcasts for the time being; couldn't hurt to keep up-to-date on the public side of affairs and it provided a nice change from the Shackleyan Broadcasting Service. He still found their accents fascinating, so similar in many ways and yet so different from his own.
The images flashing before him were certainly impressive. A nice montage of military might with more than a few patriotic overtones, more than enough to move a few English-speaking hearts in favour and pride for the Empire's latest ambition. It reeked of propaganda though even Rimmer, in his own cynical way, could feel the old Englishman's blood stirring in his veins.

The Secretary General was still abroad, enjoying good sport with that Scottish fellow no doubt, and news from across the pond was few and far between. The Lord Protector suspected Basil's newfound status had gone to his head somewhat but he was a born civil servant and his heart was in the right place.
Anyway, Rimmer thought, it wouldn't do for his Imperial Fiefdom to play second fiddle while such a vast quantity of manpower paraded across his television screen. Of course there was no way he could hope to match the sheer fighting strength and awe-factor of Albion at full strength but the Armed Forces of Shackley had not been so weakened as to be restrained by the powers of bureaucracy and overpaid diplomats. Rimmer leaned over the table as he reached for the conference phone, arranging the next meeting of Shackley's best and brightest military officials.
Those he hadn't personally killed in the coup, at least.

* * *


HMS Connery,
Haven's Folly,
Northern Shackley Isle,
The Imperial Fiefdom of Shackley


The final checks were underway. It would be several hours yet before they could depart but for the moment everything was aboard. Provisions- several tons, munitions- experimental and standardised, aircraft- all eight Sea Harriers and personnel- 300 Navy and Air Force plus a company of Paramarines; almost 500 souls in total.
The masses milled on the shore as sailors assembled on deck. Press, contractors and holidaymakers stretched across the concrete mile as flags waved and cameras flashed.
Saluting white gloves could be seen through the thick plexiglas of Connery's bridge. Shackley was a boxer with a broken jaw but they'd be ever ready to jump back into the ring before the final count.

For the first time in months the Assault Carrier's huge diesels droned into life, fires burning in cylinders and hearts alike as the brave men and women of His Majesty's Royal Shackleyan Navy made ready to leave. Their destination: The Indian Ocean.

Image
Last edited by Shackley on Sat Dec 29, 2018 12:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Hrythingland
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 467
Founded: Dec 17, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Hrythingland » Sat Dec 29, 2018 9:22 pm

Image

RAF Honington, Duchy of Suffolk, Kingdom of England


"PARAAAAAAAAADE!" Bellowed the Squadron Leader across the airstrip over the roar of the incoming Shackleyan aircraft as it taxied into position, causing the blue lines airmen to stiffen up having received the cautionary word of command.
"Parade-SHUNNNNN!!!!" The heels of 200 or so well polished dress shoes slammed onto the tarmac with a unison crack. The sergeants made their way to ends of their files, pacing sticks under arms and snapped to attention.
"Parade will in close order... riiiiiiight...DRESS!" In a series of short sharp movements the Honour Guard of 309 Squadron, Royal Air Force Regiment readied itself for inspection, the centre rank staying where it was, the front rank taking a single pace forwards and the rear rank one pace back then all swiftly turned their heads to the right. Then the sergeants got to work, making sure the ranks were still in immaculate order. They remained at the end of each 'guard' and judged chin and shoe distance to ensure all were aligned.
"Number 2 guard! First man back! Number 5 forward! Last man, back, back, STOP! Forward...STAND STILL THE FRONT RANK!" This went on as the doors of the arriving aircraft opened.
Waiting at the bottom of the stairs was a sharply dressed man, Peter Heron, Member of Parliament for Henley-on-Thames and crucially here, one of the Parliamentary Under-Secretaries (junior minister) in the Foreign Office. He wore a three piece grey chequered suit and a green rowing club tie. Mr. Heron was an affable but largely inconsequential man. No real vision or drive; he was in politics to prevent change for the most part and he enjoyed the social aspect to it as well such as these sorts of events. He knew Shackley had offered help in the little upset down in Malaysia or perhaps not so little as he knew now, and he thought this odd. Albion was more than capable of handling such things in his opinion. Nonetheless, the Anglo-esque guests would be most welcome since at least they could be relied upon to be civilised. He frowned in disgust as he recalled a Mohammedan envoy once refusing a gin and tonic, or when he had to share a backseat with a very garlicky person indeed. Barbarism. Next to him in splendid no.2s dress, a row of medals and a gilded sword on his hilt was Wing Commander Charles de Burgh who waited patiently for the delegation to arrive. He was a tall man with a kind but experienced face, and by trade was a gunship pilot. The medals on his breast were indeed hard won.
The light blue colours with the RAF roundel fluttered in the gentle summer breeze, held up by an young ensign and guarded either side by two Colour Sergeants with blue sashes and bayoneted SA80s like the rest of the parade. The swords of all the officers glinted in the sunlight.
The delegation made their descent down the provided steps to which the honour guard responded to with by presenting arms.
"PARADE! Present....ARMS!" The honour guard swiftly moved their assault rifles from their shoulders to hold them out in front of them, whilst slamming their shoes on the ground to complete the motion, the array of bayonets being a fearsome sight as the regiment's colours were slowly tilted forward too. The regimental band struck up too to play the Eagle Squadron March as the Shackleyan delegation went to greet the waiting Britons, the eyes of the honour guard following them intensly.
Mr. Heron stepped forward and offered his hand to give a firm shake.
"Welcome to RAF Honington! Peter Heron, minister in the Foreign Office, I'll be taking you to Chevening to meet Lord Aberdeenshire. This is Wing Commander Charles de Burgh, a very distinguished gunship pilot, served in Africa, Malaysia and so on. He will guide you on the inspection of this.. 309 Squadron. I trust you enjoyed your journey?" He said, reeling it all off with ease, if with some haste. Wing Commander de Burgh nodded curtly to them and unsheathed his sword and gestured for them to accompany him as they approached the first troops in formation. He walked slowly in front of them, whilst they remained unflinching.
Kingdom of the Hrythingas
Hrýðingríċe
ᛒᛠᛚᚢᚳᚹᛠᛚᛘ ᚢᚾᚹᛖᚩᚱᚦᛋᚳᛁᛈᛖ ᛒᛖᚠᚩᚱᚪᚾ

SAXON NATIONALISM|WODENISM|MARTIALISM

State type: Elective Monarchy
Leader: Hrythwealda (King) Wynmar II, Earl of Ashwold,
Capital: Ingwineburgh
Language: Hrystic (Old English)
Religion: Holy Wodenic Rite
Characteristics: Isolationist, mercantile, conservative, rural, deeply religious
Industries: sheep/beef agriculture, fishing, offshore oil, financial services

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Bulgar Rouge
Minister
 
Posts: 2383
Founded: Dec 08, 2013
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Bulgar Rouge » Sun Dec 30, 2018 7:55 am

Champasak Province, THS-controlled Laos

"Man, these people have serious issues."

Rows of uniformed men, women and children were lining up around the central square of the nearby commune in preparation for some kind of event. Major Bratanov, sitting atop a rock on the hill overlooking the commune, observed the happening through a pair of small binoculars. His comrade, Major Dimitrov, seemed rather disinterested in the sudden gathering and preferred to make use of his recuperation hour by smoking and relaxing under a nearby tree, enjoying the beautiful mountain panorama.

"Remember Zahari, that brother from the History of Revolutionary Movements course at the Academy? The one who graduated with full honours and a Banner of Victory badge? All of them are Zahari."

"I hated that guy." Major Dimitrov made a slight grimace and pulled some smoke from his cigarette, apparently recalling some past hostile encounter with that overly zealous and thoroughly unpleasant brother.

"Me too, he was mental. He never really understood the matter either, just memorised the Theses and repeated them over and over again. And when anyone told him that purely dialectical matters may not always be translated into practical action, he became so aggressive. Had that rabid look in his eyes. Like a wild animal ready to attack. These here look just the same right now." Major Bratanov smiled widely. The thought that an entire commune could share the character traits of someone who was the butt of jokes at the Academy was fairly amusing. The Major had already ridiculed, harmlessly, a few of the locals - making bizarre facial expressions when they stood and looked at him with their empty eyes, or mocking their lack of emotional reactivity by various unpredictable means. It was precisely his jocular nature that made him popular with his troops in the 95th Airborne Company. Dimitrov, on the other hand, was far more reserved - but the two had known each other for quite a while, sharing a lighter outlook on life and a love for brewing prepek. After all, Karnobat was rakiya country, and neither of them had gone much further than that during their lives, with the exception of the current deployment to this alien land.

"Just look at them. A few hundred chinamen staring blankly. Waiting for something. Oh look, some officers are coming. They're bringing some guy in. You know what it makes me think of? Those clubbings that everyone talks about but nobody has ever seen. Like that officer who was clubbed to death in front of his commune when he lost an entire brigade in an ambush a few years ago. I heard his face was smashed into a pulp and his limbs were shattered and hanging like rubber, but he was still responsive before they finally put him out of his misery."

"That's pre-Academy officer quality for you." Dimitrov was unfazed - he was, in fact, familiar with that case, along with many other brutal executions carried out by the NPLA, but he had accepted the reality of things calmly. These were reserved for defectors and incompetent or corrupt officers, and he was neither.

Bratanov's facial expression suddenly went sour.

"Oh shit."

"Will they be executing him?"

The gathering suddenly escalated into some kind of commotion, and distant clamour could now be heard across the surrounding valley - the commune was not that far away from their current location. The orderly blocks of commune members quickly disintegrated into a mob of angry, faceless humans descending into the centre of the square. A high-pitched scream pierced the cloud of unintelligible noises and echoed around the valley; it was followed by more, one after another, each one longer and more dramatic and agonising than the previous one.

"Yeah. All of them."

The Major could barely see anything through the mass of people, but many of the light brown uniforms were now stained with blood; knives, cooking utensils, saws and various other tools could be seen in hands lacking a clearly discernible owner, parading quickly in the mess before disappearing and having their place taken by something else. The screaming was becoming incessant. Suddenly, Bratanov obtained a brief yet clear glimpse of the grizzly spectacle - the prisoner's extremities were being hacked off. Before the hopeless victim became concealed yet again by the chaotic movement of his uniformed butchers, the Major noticed that children were taking part in the execution as well. A few shorter moments of clarity followed, increasingly reminding Bratanov of hordes of predatory ants that devour their victim piece by piece. The screams quickly weakened until becoming garbled and finally ceasing. The mob dispersed shortly after, leaving behind a huge puddle of blood and some indistinguishable offal. There was no sign of a body.

Shaken, the Major took his eyes off the binoculars and sunk into his thoughts for a moment. His previous mood had evaporated.

"What the hell was that for?"

"The subcolonel warned me of an increase in the number of executions over the past two days." Dimitrov had kept his composure, although it could be seen that the screaming struck a nerve somewhere. "He said it's a normal practice to execute members for minor offenses immediately before military campaigns. It gets everyone agitated while releasing excess anger before they go to war."

Indeed, minutes after the event, banners with political slogans in Lao were raised, and the commune began buzzing with activity that didn't seem routine.



Toyah Payoh, Singapore

For all these years in Singapore, he had barely learned any English. His social contacts were mostly limited to a handful of other elderly Chinese at the Smiling Buddha Social Centre, a cash-strapped community venue assisting poorer migrants from Southeast Asia. But even then, Mr. Pan had little to say and often stayed away from his peers.

He was quietly running his small Chinese restaurant in Toyah Payoh, which rarely saw more than seven or eight clients in its busiest hours. Most of the visitors belonged to the Cambodian or Laosian diaspora, along with a few Han Chinese, but few of them ever came for anything other than a takeaway. Talk was that the restaurant just had an unsettling atmosphere about it. It was richly decorated and was generally clean and tidy. But the tones were dark, there was never any music playing, and a thick carpet silenced every footstep. It was eerily quiet. Some of the decorations were less than appropriate too - ancient Chinese illustrations of battle scenes with lots of gore; plenty of foxes and other mischievous shape-shifting demons from Chinese mythology; and numerous references to the Heibai Wuchang, deities that escorted souls to the Underworld. The incense sticks burning at the small shrine in one of the corners of the restaurant gave off a strange odour; it was subtle, but unpleasant, doing little to improve appetite.

The door opened and two young men entered. They sat on the table without uttering a word. Instead, they looked at Mr. Pan, who was looking at the monitors behind the bar and doing some small, menial tasks. There were three takeaway boxes ready on the nearby table. He looked at the men, then pointed his look at the boxes. Moments later, the door opened and closed again. The boxes and the men were gone, and Mr. Pan was looking at one of the two monitors, displaying a red dot in the middle of the sea.



Northern Perak State, Malaysia

Image
Some civilians were still wondering where all these convoys of three or four minivans, pickup trucks and other vehicles full of silent workers were going. But the commandeered, or rather violently stolen, vehicles had quickly deployed several hundred men along the 4 and 76 roads. Another several thousand were taking up positions on foot outside every village or farm; and several mortar teams were deployed a few kilometres north of the town of Gerik. Roadside bombs were being set up, and some ambush squads set up firing positions in the thickets.

Local authorities were apparently being alarmed as the border was promptly shut; however, another 12,000 men were on the Thai side, waiting to break in once the signal was given. Coordinating by radio, the guidance officers of finally gave the order to attack. Police patrols were assaulted with automatic fire; all police stations, government buildings, warehouses, hospitals and schools were primary targets. Indiscriminate mortar fire was opened against Gerik, targeting the more densely populated areas. Nearly half of the 8,000 troops who successfully crossed the border were now attacking the town from the north, northeast and northwest.

The Type 80, a marvelously simple weapon, was employed throughout the offensive to suppress any armed unit while other troops advanced viciously and without fear of death. RPG fire was employed against the border crossing from the Thai side; it was followed by an assault of about 100 riflemen, who would attempt to break through and focus combat in the area while the other thousands of "workers" continued to find their way through the less secure parts of the border. Finally, MANPADS crews remained concealed and waiting for enemy aircraft to arrive.

The massive "UCA" assault had begun with fire and fury.



Champasak Province, THS-controlled Laos

The concept of extranatural forces is surprisingly persistent in the human mind. Even if it is not formulated as a divine force, or as a god, it still exists as "luck", "misfortune", "justice", and numerous other abstract forms of external intervention that do not belong to any religious doctrine. These belief systems began as an intuitive folk understanding of natural forces and erroneously evolved into the dominating geopolitical systems of understanding that propel representative democracy and capitalism. Even if the belief in god no longer prevails, its residual values have shaped and continue to shape these societies. The values of these societies are, however, nearing depletion. The capitalist-representative hierarchy has abstract roots that are destined to rot and perish, much like the neanderthal evolutionary branch disappeared, as the objective and rational tides of science advance. Through science, we are to reach further and understand deeper. But remember, science is merely an instrument to understand nature objectively, as opposed to intuitively. The forces of nature, unlike the extranatural forces of the divine, or justice, or the supposed abstract drivers of civic values, do exist. The forces of nature, not the extranatural forces, are the real omnipotence and omnipresence. The laws of physics and the principles of mathematics have existed long before mankind could describe them verbally or put them in quantitative frameworks; they created our species, they propel our achievements, they will signal our doom, and they will continue to be present long after our insignificant attempts to understand them have ceased. The power of the Revolution lies in our ever more successful pursuit of weathering and channeling these forces, which-

Some of the Lao cadets turned their heads away from the subcolonel and toward the door, which opened after two unusually strong knocks. A somewhat short female NPLA officer told the colonel that he is needed in the operations room.

"End of lecture, return to duty."

"General Viyaket coordinates poorly, I'm afraid."

A few minutes into this conversation and the operations room was feeling very awkward to subcolonel Tanev. Neither of the allied officers was present - the circle was limited to NPLA cadres. Additionally, the surprising presence of Air Marshal Ivan Krumov brought some news. The bad news was that an escalation and an increase in the size of deployed forces was imminent. The good news was that he was no longer the ranking officer in the Champasak Province deployment and would therefore no longer have to take responsibility for friction between NPLA and THS troops. A great burden to be relieved of, no less, but now that combat was beginning to seem more likely, arguments with a few political fanatics seemed preferable. Most of the other commanding officers around him didn't share Tanev's concerns, at least not visibly.

"Either that is a lapse in competence on his part, or it is a deliberate obstruction of military cooperation with the NPLA. Either way, we have to increase our combat readiness given the significant increase in British deployments against China. The recent arrival of the 84th Infantry Brigade, 12 Maranya SAM systems and a battery of our new K1 "Lavina" will further secure our positions in Laos. Subcolonel Naker reported that 8 Pantsir and 12 Kub systems of the Green Libyan Air Force, along with the Misrata Battalion, are the reinforcements promised earlier and will arrive in the next three hours. Two Libyan Astella-class submarines and four Type 60 corvettes are approaching Mawlamyine, where they will operate from. Gaddafi has sent additional units to Somalia and Tamboko, word is that they will deploy fighters, ballistic missiles and anti-ship cruise missiles in the former, but we have received no further communication. Subcolonel Tanev, the 68th Airborne is to spearhead any NPLA effort should the regional situation escalate. You are to obtain command of several standing units of the Laos military as well."

"That is my present understanding, brother marshal Krumov. However, I am still concerned by the shortage of available air power. We only have two Ilyushins and a single Spartan for airborne assaults. The close air support component is in full readiness, but escorts may be inadequate."

"Additional NPLAAF MiG-29S fighters are on their way, but as far as transports go, you'll have to deal with available resources. The 13th and 158th Brigades are being transferred to Tamboko, the 340th Tank Brigade is on its way to Somalia along with factory-fresh Yatak aircraft and their weaponry. But we always have at least one Ruchey in the air, the MiG-25s are continously scanning for radar emissions deep outside Laosian territory and visual and SAR satellite reconnaissance is used to filter out hostile radar and AA positions. So whatever the task required, we have full visibility in several spectra to choose the safest and most rational deployment pattern."

"I'll trust your judgment, marshal. What hierarchy should we adopt in dealing with the Lao People's Army?"

"We are to preserve our roles as military advisors, without obtaining formal ranks. The NPLA will take care of air defence and handle most of the standing Lao military. Their ranking officers will take orders from the NPLA mission, with the exception of their marine component which will be under direct THS command. The People's Militia will be entirely under General Viyaket's control as well. They have about 20,000 or so troops available; you'll be in command of their most capable units. Subcolonel Naker is responsible for logistics and supplies, along with local small arms manufacturing and civilian logistical brigades. I will be overseeing the integration of their available radar infrastructure with our own, in order to obtain real-time coverage of the airspace. Escalation with either China and Britain is not out of the question, and you're already familiar with recent events. Stay vigilant and keep up the work. Dismissed."



Off the Malaysian coast

Image
The haze had given way to growing dark clouds, signalling an approaching storm. Palaveev was carefully weighing his options in light of the British proposal. The raid would be an ideal outcome if he had more information, but that was precisely the problem. The NPLA did not respond to any of his requests for additional information on the crew. But they didn't fit the THS type. They were suspicious, of few words and awkward to speak to, but at times crass and loud. They seemed more like battered lowlifes than political zealots. But still, their occasional whispering and that fixation on the antenna - which was now looking more like a cellphone relay tower than an actual long-range communications mast - strongly suggested that the crew has a plan of its own. Did they plan to steal the cargo and just sell it for their own profit? Were they conspiring with pirates? No way to know. Nothing was coming up on those UCA operatives waiting around Singapore either.

A large port was visible in the distance, and navigation confirmed Palaveev's assumption that it was Port Klang. The ship was more than halfway from its objective. It was either ditch everything here, or try the established route. He decided to play it safe, if taking a dozen risks over a hundred could remotely be considered safe.

TO: London
ENCR: Rila-BZ300 (light)

Negative.

Until I find out more, any action similar to what you propose will risk failure, or worse, for both our sides. Furthermore, do not bother with threats of torture. The power I formerly served is exceptionally proficient in hiding its secrets. Any attempt of forced entry into this mission will result in the loss of all valuable connections to those in charge. Any disturbance to the mission will be easily detected, so once again - do not attempt to board. You will extract nothing if you do. Conversely, I may easily transfer the name of your Major to my superiors. They still have no knowledge of the situation and would certainly commend my service, and then deploy resources to engage any units and officers threatening this sortie. Given the current international situation, this may trigger a particularly dangerous chain of events.

I will notify you of the ship's location and name once we approach our primary objective. By that point, I shall have the names of the UCA operatives we must collect. To ensure that they do not reach their intended destination, I will sabotage one of the ship's engines shortly after the pick-up, something I possess the intricate knowledge of doing. Your forces may then board the ship concealed as a civilian inspection party, or even pirates - this may catch the crew off-guard in case they have any rules of engagement I am not familiar with.

Confirm receipt and understanding of this message as soon as possible.

Colonel Kurtz

P.S.

If this information would be of any use to you, the cargo consists entirely of agricultural supplies and machinery. There is a small cache of weaponry and some communications equipment, but I strongly doubt they will be used to equip a UCA insurgent cell. Terrorist or sabotage activity is far more likely.


Palaveev was looking at the port in the distance with both desperation and hope. He wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing in this moment, but there was no going back whichever route he took. Meanwhile, the crew members kept coming in and out of the ship's cargo bay. Out in the distance, the first lightning of the thunderstorm flashed.
Last edited by Bulgar Rouge on Sun Dec 30, 2018 7:57 am, edited 1 time in total.

This nation does not reflect my RL views.
Singaporean Transhumans wrote:I'm only saying that, well, even commies have reached the level of selling counterfeit and drugs in their storefronts, we can't be any less.

The Holy Therns wrote:Politicians make statements. It's their substitute for achievement.

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Hrythingland
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 467
Founded: Dec 17, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Hrythingland » Sun Dec 30, 2018 11:46 am

Gerik, Sultanate of Perak, Viceroyalty of Malaysia


Sergeant Abdullah ears throbbed and slowly he became aware of a searing pain in his left arm and his head. He looked up from the grassy bank where he lay to see his lightly armoured police landrover a charred scrap, flames licking its under carriage still and as he gained more consciousness Abdullah became aware of a piercing but manlike scream coming from inside.
"Allahhh, Allah have mercy!" The voice roared in Jawan, tones of abject agony tearing through the smoky air. The hot summer air reeked of death; charred flesh, singed hairs and sizzling blood. As he carefully leopard crawled up the grassy verge back onto the road, glock 17 in hand he spotted the torso of one of his young officers, the head sliced open by shrapnel and the intestines leaking out, already swarmed by insects. Abdullah had seen a fair few bombs and shootings in his time but this was something else. He spewed up his recent lunch, shreds of half munched beef and rice were shot into the blood spattered grass before him. Wiping his mouth with his shirt sleeve he reached for his radio.
"This is 009 patrol, over?"
Whilst he waited for a reply, keeping well behind the shelter of the smoking vehicle he scanned the area. Two constabulary motorbikes and their riders had been pulped by a machine gun and he could see beyond the smoke of a crashed civilian bus signs of movement. Civilians? Insurgents? It was too hard to tell at this point. In the distance mortar shells rained down on Gerik in a manner that seemed to Abdullah indiscriminate. He cursed as he wondered how long he been lying unconscious for.
"009 Patrol this is REIC HQ in Lenggong, we presumed your patrol was long dead. Gerik has fallen under attack by thousands of UCA operatives from over the Thai border. All civilians and Constables are to evacuate immediately as the military is to take this into its hands. Get out of there. God Save the King."
"What in the fuck..?" Growled the sergeant, staring at the radio. He hobbled over to the wreckage of the civilian bus, its windows smeared with gore and blood, the metal caving in and it was well shot up. He dared not peer inside, but a steady stream of blood flowed out of the door way, and he could see the remains of the driver, all smashed into his seat. He choked on the thick fumes that billowed around him, still clutching his glock with a tight grip. In the distance gunfire and explosions became an ambience, as did the occasional scream.
"Hello?" He called out. He was met with much groaning but nothing coherant. Suddenly he saw movement in a nearby street as a dozen or so insurgents darted across the road, well armed with RPGs and small arms.
"Where the fuck is the army.." He said loudly, before noticing a small girl running towards him, weeping and her mouth gaping. She did not look injured, so had not come from the bus. Abdullah looked around confused.
"Where are your parents? You must leave!" But the child, no older than 5 said nothing. She merely stood, hands outstretched at the Sergeant. "Where are your parents, little one?" But again, he got no reply save for a shake of the head. He picked her up and ran, leaping down the grassy verge and into the forest, away from the insurgents.

In the meantime, the Sarawak Rangers; all three battalions had been planning on deploying to a northern barracks but just before taking off had been given orders to 'hit the ground running' and instead make a hot landing just outside Gerik. The Penang Rifles and the 2nd Gurkha Rifles had been recalled back from the original missions as police keeping forces and instead were to rejoin their combat formations; the 5th Malay Infantry Division and the Royal Brigade of Gurkhas respectively, and then would support the battle-hardened Mercian Battlegroup which made its desperate way up north, it too now diverted towards Perak but would take several hours yet on the roads, now increasingly busy with fleeing civilians. The Sarawak Rangers, a force of 1,500 air assault infantry soared over the Sungai Perak mostly in chinooks, but an advance force of V-22 ospreys, some loaded with parachutists, others fitted as gunships and a squadron of apache attack helicopters lead the charge. The Sarawak Rangers were light infanry and only a few of the chinooks had heavy equipment. Each battalion had a company of 12 lightly armed jackals and a support heavy arms platoon which amongst other heavy personal weaponry would include one light howitzer. But first Gerik needed softening up before infantry and rotary aircraft entered the vicinity. Two BAE Tempest jets screamed beneath the formation, flying low to the ground unsure of what exactly lay before them in terms of equipment. They had been scrambled from RAF Tinggi where their Rapid Response Squadron was based and their orders were to lock onto any concentration of heavy equipment, destroy it and then await ascend to maximum height and then await further orders, perhaps for a second sortie. This is was only the first strike however an entire airwing of Tornado Bombers was being briefed near Kuala Lumpur to carry out a blanket bombing of the logging routes highlihted as points of entry for the 'UCA'.
The pair of tempests soon had their targets in Gerik, a convoy of trucks, a clump of combatants making their way through the streets, a mortar position and another concentration of armed men. Two each, and they loosed their heat seeking missiles which streaked onto their targets like a foursome of fiery wind serpents, ready to breathe flames and wreak death upon their quarry.

The ground assault was underway too now, as the Ospreys, flying at high altitude opened their ramps to allow three reconnaisance platoons to parachute out and mark up the landing zones for the rest of the regiment as it hummed in some way behind them. With them were the forward observation officers for the howitzers who in their rucksacks carried light portable quad-rotor drones with cameras and they set these off to begin selecting targets to shell. The rest of the early insertion troops however fanned out in the under growth on the southern outskirts of the town, ensuring the zone was clear to be the landing ground for hundreds upon hundreds of infantry and a few dozen vehicles. Red flared visible to both the incoming battalions and the insurgents were set off, at three different points but all roughly five kilometers away from Gerik. The apaches and gunship ospreys then pressed ahead, thermal imagery emplyed to spot the insurgents. There were 14 apaches and 8 ospreys, the ospreys being more heavily armed with a gunner on the ramp, a fitted cluster bomb hatch, missile pods under the wings and a light howitzer in the main body which now plugged away at anything that moved. The main force now came in to land in the marked zones, platoons filing off from their chinooks in full gear, vehicles slowly rolling off and their riders and gunners mounting up, whilst the howizter crews moved their guns into the tree line to conceal them for now whilst they waited for targets. The three jackal companies rolled onto the road joined a platoon carefully patrolling in front for mines and a company well stretched out followed behind whilst the rest of the regiment delved into the light shrubbery and fields, advancing company by company well spaced out and lead by the parachute platoons. The force was commanded by Colonel Richard Crawford who was in one of the jackals, smoking a poorly rolled cigarette. He'd already been told the insurgents had slaughtered hundreds of local civilians and his eyes gazed cruelly across at the town.
"Basterds." He growled under his breath, as he examined carefully the map before him. Suddenly the radio operator next to him offered him his earpiece.
"Rangers this is 407 Attack Squadron, insurgents have already received a hard blow from the Tempest sortie and we are giving them a bloody good pasting as we approach the town.. over.."
"Good work chaps keep cutting about up there, three light jackal companies are 3 kilometers out now, clear the road ahead of potential threats and we can mop up survivors and start clearing the village. Over and out."


Code: Select all
Colonel Kurtz
You have chosen an irritating path but we shall accommodate this folly as best as we can. When you dock in Singapore you MUST make contact with a local British Army intelligence officer who will meet you in the Tiger Tea House, there is only one. He will have a pot of jasmine tea and three prawn dumplings. He will brief you before returning to your ship. If you do not meet him the port will be shutdown until your ship is found. You have chosen to play a dangerous game Colonel, but if you bat to our rules it will be less perilous.
London
Kingdom of the Hrythingas
Hrýðingríċe
ᛒᛠᛚᚢᚳᚹᛠᛚᛘ ᚢᚾᚹᛖᚩᚱᚦᛋᚳᛁᛈᛖ ᛒᛖᚠᚩᚱᚪᚾ

SAXON NATIONALISM|WODENISM|MARTIALISM

State type: Elective Monarchy
Leader: Hrythwealda (King) Wynmar II, Earl of Ashwold,
Capital: Ingwineburgh
Language: Hrystic (Old English)
Religion: Holy Wodenic Rite
Characteristics: Isolationist, mercantile, conservative, rural, deeply religious
Industries: sheep/beef agriculture, fishing, offshore oil, financial services

User avatar
Bulgar Rouge
Minister
 
Posts: 2383
Founded: Dec 08, 2013
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Bulgar Rouge » Sun Dec 30, 2018 3:06 pm

Northern Perak, Malaysia

The roar of enemy jets radiated across the open spaces, followed by distant explosions and the specific sound of aircraft automatic cannons. Several positions of the assault were hit hard, with casualties in the dozens; four mortar teams and two rapid assault formations were obliterated while entering Gerik, temporarily stalling the attack from the northern side. All three arms of the offensive, however, quickly regrouped and continued the push into the town proper. The remaining mortar positions - some 60 mm and a 82 mm - continued pummeling the centre of Gerik with the aim of causing as much panic and disorientation as possible. A solitary 120 mm opened fire on some positions designated with red flares, possibly landing sites for enemy airborne troops.

Two MANPADS squads, each armed with three HN-6 launchers, quickly moved in to the northern outskirts already under control; using buildings as cover and concealment against enemy sensors, they fired several missiles at enemy gunships and helicopters - perfect targets for the HN-6. After each shot, the squads moved inside to reload before coming out of cover and firing again. Additionally, several small drones were spotted, but troops fired on them with machine guns and assault rifles to save missiles for the bigger targets. Another two squads deployed in the woods further to the north, and another two were to the northwest, in support of the border crossing party - overall, 18 MANPAD launchers were scattered across the line of attack, firing whenever a helicopter or a low-flying plane attacked.

Gerik itself was seeing few exchanges of fire. Police were apparently being evacuated, which didn't prevent the insurgents from firing at retreating officers and initiating exchanges of fire while the enemy retreated. Civilians who did not take shelter in buildings were promptly gunned down; those running were directed south by means of warning shots, hoping that they would disrupt enemy combatants and evacuation efforts. Assaulting the police station had begun, although only a small number of constables who weren't able to escape defended it. Overwhelming machine gun and assault rifle fire would make short work of them. The remaining civilians were ordered to remain in their homes to be used as human shields, while snipers, machine gunners and troops took control of key streets and began fortifying some of them. Smaller squads across the frontline were concealing weapons caches in the woods and spreading pro-UCA messages.

To the northwest, the border crossing finally fell. Two Bars missile launchers, concealed as civilian trucks, rushed in and down the 1157 road toward Gerik; another one moved west in preparation for the assault of Pengkalan Hulu. The border assault party itself was presently engaged with assaulting the Immigration Centre, massacring inhabitants and employees, decapitating some and shooting others. Further to the east, an insurgent unit moved to attack a major bridge along the Timur-Barat Highway. Explicit orders were given to mine the bridge and set up positions in and around the resort on the western shore. Similar occupations of villages or other sites were already in progress across the highways. The THS sought to establish control over major routes and hinder enemy troop movement until the main body of forces arrived. The remaining 12,000 were now entering Malaysia en masse, launching the full-scale offensive to capture Perak and declare it under UCA control.



Off the coast of Malaysia

TO: London
ENCR: Rila-BZ300 (light)


I'm glad you see reason. As previously discussed, I shall inform you of the ship's name on the approach to Singapore. Once docked, I shall proceed to the appointed location immediately. No paper documents are carried - standard procedure. However, I do have in my possession an encrypted communications port that can be used to access whatever files are assigned to my operational task roll.

Colonel Kurtz


It seemed as if things were set in motion. The defection could proceed quietly, eliminating a significant amount of risk in case the crew were in THS service. But their continuing activity under the deck was increasingly disconcerting. He decided to go down and look.

The hold was dirty and permeated by rust. Rat droppings were ubiquitous, and welding patchwork could be spotted in some rather sensitive areas. The ship had obviously been destined for scrap, but someone ordered it out and re-commissioned. The original equipment had long been dismantled, including lights and ventilation piping. A line of crude light bulbs ran along one of the sides, illuminating the cargo. Several old, rusty tractors with welded sheets lay to the starboard side; on the port side, mounds of tightly packed fertiliser and the occasional bag of grain filled up the rest of the space. Wiring was hanging from the ceiling of the hold, snaking along the floor or the walls. All of this was poorly done by any criteria.

In the neighbouring compartment, some muted talk in Spanish accompanied the buzzing sounds of welding. Palaveev slowly approached the entrance of the compartment to take a peek. Two crew members were welding steel plates to the same line of old tractors, but in a very odd fashion: the plates concealed any visibility the driver might have. Was it some kind of makeshift armour that was being installed? Unlikely, the vehicles were extremely old and of little potential combat use, but then again, who knows. None of it made sense.

Suddenly, the Colonel had an idea: some State Security data was available for his clearance level. There must have been something on maritime crews stationed in Mawlamyine, a THS-controlled harbour. He instantly headed back to the bridge to access his Rila port.



Unknown location, Bulgaria

"All the reinforcements have arrived. The Lao military is in full readiness in case things get hot. Gaddafi also promised three additional squadrons of MiG-35 jets, and assured us that tribal mobilisation in Somalia has exceeded 50,000 rifles."

"Splendid, Air Marshal."

"On the issue of General Viyaket...he launched the offensive under a UCA flag. We've taken every possible measure to enable plausible deniability. Nothing connects us to THS operations, but this could still backfire. As much as Viyaket represents a liability to us, we cannot remain idle of the THS comes under assault."

"Do what is necessary. There are ways to get out of this situation if the winds turn against us. We just need patience."

The telephone call finished shortly after. Brother Number One took a moment to picture the mechanics of the situation in his mind, only to reveal a landscape of limitless possibility. He put a symbolic conclusion to his musings by placing the cap on his head, and continued to perform his communal duties.

This nation does not reflect my RL views.
Singaporean Transhumans wrote:I'm only saying that, well, even commies have reached the level of selling counterfeit and drugs in their storefronts, we can't be any less.

The Holy Therns wrote:Politicians make statements. It's their substitute for achievement.


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