Tropical Rot (MT | IC)

[Carthatska]

Centre Gouvernemental, Nouméa, Carthatska

Carthatskan President Serge Maitre walked through the halls of the Centre Gouvernemental, or "Governmental Center". He had a meeting with his Foreign Relations advisor in 5 minutes and wanted to be there early. While walking at a respectable yet fast pace, Serge looked around. One room he walked through was dedicated to Carthatska's history, whereas others were full of portraits of the previous Carthatskan presidents. These things weren't of consequence now, but they were fun to look at. The room the meeting was taking place in was just ahead, and so he opened the door to reveal a room that looked straight out of Carthatska's colonial days. A table sat in the middle, surrounded by old bookcases, portraits, an absence of working electricity and one Foreign Relations advisor.

Serge sighed and smiled. "Hello, Mr. Laurent, and I'd like to apologize for holding you up."

Mr. Gilbert Laurent smiled and chuckled. "No need to apologize, Mr. President; I just got here as well."

Serge chuckled back, taking a seat across from the chubby, balding advisor. "What news have you got for me, Gilbert? Anything interesting?"

"Well, sir, I do indeed. There's a situation in the Pacific. Two Atolls- the Richting and Kupferland Atolls, to be exact. They were Trenakan colonies until a year ago, when they became independent. They've industrialized quickly, and their version of a weather report includes degrees of air quality."

"And this affects Carthatska... how?"

"Well, they've been garnering a lot of attention, and their civilians are suffering. Our economy gives us quite a lot, and I believe 2 trillion-"

"2 TRILLION? To a few small islands that aren't even relatively affecting us, and you want to send them 2 TRILLION?"

Gilbert grimaced. "Well, I meant, sir, that if we sent them 250 billion a year for eight years, that'd also get them the amount in a reasonable amount of time.

Maitre looked at his Foreign Relations advisor, who he'd selected, and wondered if he'd made the right choice choosing him. "You have 1 minute to give me one good reason to do that."

Gilbert sighed again, then continued. "Well, multiple nations have ties with these islands. Trenaka, Dernel, the list goes on and on. If we were to make a long-term investment into these islands, it'd likely increase our relations with them. It'd also help the civilians, if the money was used right."

Serge thought for a good long time. Good foreign relations were a plus. But that was a lot of money. He'd probably need a new trade deal to cover for it. "Alright. We'll send them 150 billion. We won't tell the press. If there's a noticeable improvement, next year we'll send them 350 billion. If there's not, you're getting me a new trade deal before I kick you out onto the street. Deal?"

Gilbert smiled, having influenced a world leader. "Deal."

[The Polar Nation]

Vladimir Islanovich
Field Airstrip, Richtig Atoll

He sat in the guard booth, boredom being ever present. His partner, Traeger, was on gate duty. Poor guy was having to stand out in the Pacific heat. Shortly Traeger would be relieved by Islanovich. But for now Islanovich was going to enjoy his cigarette in peace. There was a tapping on the glass window of the booth, it was Sergeant Ramirez.

"Sergeant?" Islanovich asked. Ramirez looked pointedly at the cigarette, which Islanovich quickly stomped out.

"The exterminators are almost through all of the cargo, be ready to open the gates for the supply trucks." He said. Islanovich nodded, he had the gate controls in his booth.

---

Exterminator Squad

"Alright, thats everything. Lets get this shit packed and out of here." The leader said. A collection of dead rats had been loaded into large burn bags, which were being carted off to the incinerators before they began to stink in the pacific summer. The regular Legionaries began loading the supplies onto trucks.

"Come on, lets get out of here." The leader said, he wanted out of the heat. He pulled back his mask, revealing a sweating face. Maybe they should put up a tarp next time.

---

Vladimir Islanovich
Field Airstrip, Richtig Atoll

He heard the grumbling of the truck's engines as he opened the gate, Traeger stepping aside to make way for the relief vehicles. Looked like four or five supply trucks being led by a Foxhound LPPV.

Michael Masotsuki imagined snapping his fingers. This was the time. Idly, he wondered if he was a "pet terrorist". That thought had just wandered into his brain a couple seconds ago.

Michael ran, shooting at any Bolslanian he could see. Michael preferred subtlety, but there was no way he could be subtle in this gear.

[Trenaka]

5 men crowded around a television screen in the New Augsburg naval base, in the Northern Pacific Holdings of Trenaka. On the screen, a man in a suit with a grey tie and grey hair stood at a podium, delivering a speech.

"Under my government, I will ensure that no costly rebellions will happen again!-"

One of the men turned off the TV, without protest from the others. These 5 were the most important Trenakan military commanders in the Pacific, and they watched as new President Otto Schmidt was sworn in, and a new conservative legislative coalition was inaugurated. They knew what this new government would mean: More risk for them, and some prestige for a man they hadn't voted for.

Two weeks later, a message came in for them from Munich. They were to take a more aggressive stance, sending naval task forces just outside of Richting and Kupferlands waters, and send heavy bombers, the type that could carry nuclear weapons, (empty, of course) just beyond their airspace. Escalation.

[Carthatska]

Centre Gouvernemental, Nouméa, Carthatska

Député (Congressman) Bonnel finished writing an official communique to the Richmond and Kupferland Atolls. He slipped it into an envelope and sent it to the Maître de Poste Officiel (Official Postmaster), who sent it via telegram to the Atolls.

---

To: The Governments of the Richmond and Kupferland Atolls'
From: Carthatska

Carthatskan President Serge Maitre would like to send your nations $150 billion in Carthages, or $225 billion USD. These will be split equally between your nations, which will be spent on whatever you choose. We would also like to offer $350 billion in Carthages next year, before falling back into a $250 billion Carthages a year for the next 6 after that. We hope this will increase our relations with you and help your citizens.

SIgned, Serge Maitre, President of The Free/French/Federal Republic of Carthatska

[Bolslania]

Vladimir Islanovich
Field Airstrip, Richtig Atoll

He sat in the guard booth, boredom being ever present. His partner, Traeger, was on gate duty. Poor guy was having to stand out in the Pacific heat. Shortly Traeger would be relieved by Islanovich. But for now Islanovich was going to enjoy his cigarette in peace. There was a tapping on the glass window of the booth, it was Sergeant Ramirez.

"Sergeant?" Islanovich asked. Ramirez looked pointedly at the cigarette, which Islanovich quickly stomped out.

"The exterminators are almost through all of the cargo, be ready to open the gates for the supply trucks." He said. Islanovich nodded, he had the gate controls in his booth.

---

Exterminator Squad

"Alright, thats everything. Lets get this shit packed and out of here." The leader said. A collection of dead rats had been loaded into large burn bags, which were being carted off to the incinerators before they began to stink in the pacific summer. The regular Legionaries began loading the supplies onto trucks.

"Come on, lets get out of here." The leader said, he wanted out of the heat. He pulled back his mask, revealing a sweating face. Maybe they should put up a tarp next time.

---

Vladimir Islanovich
Field Airstrip, Richtig Atoll

He heard the grumbling of the truck's engines as he opened the gate, Traeger stepping aside to make way for the relief vehicles. Looked like four or five supply trucks being led by a Foxhound LPPV.

Michael Masotsuki imagined snapping his fingers. This was the time. Idly, he wondered if he was a "pet terrorist". That thought had just wandered into his brain a couple seconds ago.

Michael ran, shooting at any Bolslanian he could see. Michael preferred subtlety, but there was no way he could be subtle in this gear. When the airstrip was covered with corpses, he walked to the guard booth, catching a man, Islanovich, paralyzed in his seat with fear. Michael shot him in the head.

"I am deeply sorry, Mr. Stiff," Michael said, as he pushed the corpse out of his way. "That was dishonorable." Michael sat in the guard booth and waited for more Bolslanians to come along. More targets.

OOC: I do not take godmodding lightly. Your man attacked an airfield defended by armed soldiers, there is no way that he ever gets within 50 feet of the airfield with such a brash maneuver.

Bolslanian supply column

"CONTACT RIGHT!" The gunner on the LPPV shouted as bullets bounced off of the armored vehicle. He swiveled the gun right and down, depressing the trigger. He let loose with a burst from the MG3, mowing the attacker down as the man broke cover and charged.

"What the fuck!" the driver shouted, the man riding shotgun dismounted, slowly advancing on the assailant (Masotsuki) with his rifle levelled. He reached the body and checked for a pulse. He stood up and shook his head, the man was dead. He got back in the LPPV and the convoy continued on, in a heightened state of alert. Wouldn't want to get caught off guard again.

Private Islanovich

He shot out of his seat as the man attacked the supply column, grabbing up his rifle as the gunner mowed the man down.

"What the fuck?!" He said. Why did a man charge an armored car?

"Ramirez! A man just attacked the column." He shouted, Ramirez had come running from his booth.

"Well goddamn. Go get his body, I'll cover you." He said. Islanovich and Traeger slinged their weapons as they dragged the attacker's body. An ambulance had come up, and they loaded him into the back.

30 minutes later it was officially stated that Michael Masotsuki was dead.

[The Polar Nation]

OOC: I do not take godmodding lightly. Your man attacked an airfield defended by armed soldiers, there is no way that he ever gets within 50 feet of the airfield with such a brash maneuver.

OOC: I edited it. This man is dead.

[Dernel]

Michael Masotsuki imagined snapping his fingers. This was the time. Idly, he wondered if he was a "pet terrorist". That thought had just wandered into his brain a couple seconds ago.

Michael ran, shooting at any Bolslanian he could see. Michael preferred subtlety, but there was no way he could be subtle in this gear. When the airstrip was covered with corpses, he walked to the guard booth, catching a man, Islanovich, paralyzed in his seat with fear. Michael shot him in the head.

"I am deeply sorry, Mr. Stiff," Michael said, as he pushed the corpse out of his way. "That was dishonorable." Michael sat in the guard booth and waited for more Bolslanians to come along. More targets.

OOC: I do not take godmodding lightly. Your man attacked an airfield defended by armed soldiers, there is no way that he ever gets within 50 feet of the airfield with such a brash maneuver.

Bolslanian supply column

"CONTACT RIGHT!" The gunner on the LPPV shouted as bullets bounced off of the armored vehicle. He swiveled the gun right and down, depressing the trigger. He let loose with a burst from the MG3, mowing the attacker down as the man broke cover and charged.

"What the fuck!" the driver shouted, the man riding shotgun dismounted, slowly advancing on the assailant (Masotsuki) with his rifle levelled. He reached the body and checked for a pulse. He stood up and shook his head, the man was dead. He got back in the LPPV and the convoy continued on, in a heightened state of alert. Wouldn't want to get caught off guard again.

Private Islanovich

He shot out of his seat as the man attacked the supply column, grabbing up his rifle as the gunner mowed the man down.

"What the fuck?!" He said. Why did a man charge an armored car?

"Ramirez! A man just attacked the column." He shouted, Ramirez had come running from his booth.

"Well goddamn. Go get his body, I'll cover you." He said. Islanovich and Traeger slinged their weapons as they dragged the attacker's body. An ambulance had come up, and they loaded him into the back.

30 minutes later it was officially stated that Michael Masotsuki was dead.

Quick ooc from phone while I'm not able to go into full depth: when did you get an armored convoy onto our island?

Also, he would have been let onto the airfield, the airfield is a joint cosssck, dernel, crysuko, richting base. Not bolslania. You wouldn't be guarding anything but your aircraft. Seeing as it would be ours, the man would have literally walked onto the field.

Also also, the LPPV is mine resistant, and generally bullet resistant. But the man was using .408 cheytac silver tips. That vehicle would have been holed.

[Trenaka]

New Augsburg Air Base
Eisenküste Island, Trenaka

A heavy bomber would sit in the runway of the air base, having received orders from the military headquarters in the nearby city of New Augsburg. The orders specified that the bomber was to fly a circle just beyond the airspace of the Richting Atoll and the Kupferlands, intended to keep the foreign forces there on edge.

The pilot stepped up a ladder, into the cockpit, along with a copilot. They did their preflight checks, ensuring there was an adequate amount of fuel for the mission, and making sure the coordinates were accurate. Unfortunately for them, the computer that tracked the coordinates of the airspace wasn’t working properly, however they didn’t know that. Their coordinates were 10 miles off, putting them inside the airspace of the Kupferlands.

The aging bomber’s engines whined as they activated, and the bomber lifted off the tarmac of the airstrip, and sped off to the mission, its pilots not knowing the danger they would soon be in.


Executive Mansion
Munich, Trenaka

President Otto Schmidt sat at the head of a dark-wooded table, along the sides of which sat his Vice President, Jack Bauer, and the new Heads of the Executive Departments. He looked around the room, never having seen it in person. This was the Cabinet Office, where the President’s Cabinet had met for over 75 years straight. The new President, however, knew he couldn’t just keep looking around the grand room, he had business to attend to. This was the first meeting of his Cabinet since his recent election victory. The conservative-dominated Congress had confirmed them only a week before, and they all looked forward to the next two, and possibly four, years in power.

The Minister of Defense, Frederick Becker, spoke first.

“Mr. President, we have a small crisis going on in the Pacific over influence in those damn islands. Crysuko, Dernel, Bolslania, and the Cossacks have huge influence in the local government, and are doing everything they can to halt the vital oil coming from the islands to Trenaka. According to the records left by the previous administration, they tried making shell companies to get around the restrictions on trade, but that ended in failure. They tried getting the Triumvirate Conglomerate on their side, but they wanted too many concessions, so they cut ties. Now, the government has nationalized the companies selling oil, and we are forced to subsist on the treaty oil we are entitled to from the Treaty of Munich.

With the orders you gave me yesterday, we are beginning our military exercises, sending planes just beyond their airspace, sending small naval convoys to freak them out, and we may even do a full-scale naval exercise in international waters just outside of their territorial waters.”

“Good,” the President replied. “John, do the Cossacks have nuclear weapons?”

John Weber, the head of the Federal Intelligence Service responded, “They haven’t revealed it publicly, but from time to time we have detected aerial radioactive material that could have drifted from their airspace from a nuclear test. Either they have nuclear weapons, or some nation has a leaky nuclear reactor. Why do you ask?”

“Because, if we send a heavy bomber with the capacity to nuke someone, they should know it is a feint, due to MAD. We don’t want to run the risk of blowing up the world, now do we? The bombers will have no actual nuclear weapon loaded inside, because that would be dangerous if it were shot down. However, we are trying to show that we are willing to defend our interests, and will not simply fold.”

“I thought that the previous government expanded domestic production of oil?” questioned the Foreign Minister, Otto Müller.

“They said they did, but they didn’t do it well. They put the oil derricks in areas not known for having oil, they mismanaged the transportation of what little oil they did get, and it was, overall, a hidden fiasco. I wish I would have known that before the election, because we could have used that in the campaign,” replied the Minister of Commerce.

“Color me unsurprised. Anyway, we can move on to other matters,” replied the President.

[Cossack Peoples]

(Incoming) (Once Trenaka answers on OOC)

[Cossack Peoples]

Sky High
Flight Чарлі Ромео
08:25 hours, Richting Time
8 kilometers from Richting Atoll

---

Roger. Moving to intercept.

“I read you, Shashka. Present altitude, 11,000 meters; vector-- west, airspeed 1-8-5-2 kph. Target on scopes.” Maksym Ihnatenko said. The young pilot was one of the few lucky individuals in the Cossack Air Force that got to fly the revered PkV-21 stealth fighter-- a fighter with some speed, some stealth, and a whole lot of armament and gizmos. From his helmet-mounted display he could find easily where command wanted him to see-- in a red box overlaid onto his vision by the helmet was the bogey he had been dispatched to intercept. Due to the radar-absorbent-materials, shaping, and infrared minimization of the aircraft, the bogey probably didn’t know he was up in the sky until he directly radioed them.

“Unidentified aircraft, you are not scheduled to approach Richting airspace. You are therefore obligated to avert course or return to your airfield to avoid violating sovereign airspace, at which point you will be subject to being shot down. Please respond.”

While awaiting a response, the offending aircraft finally came into view: nothing more than a speck against the morning sky. He sent what was on his scopes of the aircraft back to Shashka, hoping they could identify it. It was more than 9 kilometers away, but it was fairly large-- a bomber or transport if Ihnatenko had to guess-- and if his radar was correct, travelling fairly slowly, but by now well within their airspace.

After a minute, Shashka replied with a message--

Bogey identified as Trenakan strategic, nuclear bomber-- priority target. Engage immediately.

“Roger, Shashka. Чарлі Ромео moving in to engage.”

At 9 kilometers out, especially through cloud cover, guns would have been useless-- but it was of no consequence to the loadout of the PkV-21, because it was not equipped with one, instead opting to use electronic countermeasures in lieu of an autocannon in the WC-147 Multimission Pod. Ihnatenko armed one ”Veles” air-to-air missile and using his helmet, designated the still faraway target as the recipient. Flipping off the cover on the throttle, Maksym keyed the launch button and the fighter rocked as the missile streaked away towards its target.

---

Fire in the Hole
Andrij Shchur Administration Building
08:29 hours, Richting Time
Fort Sriblo, Richting Atoll

---

The full report layed strewn across Polkovnyk Vadym Nesterenko’s desk. Pictures of their Boslanian guests standing over the perforated corpse of a man-- with weaponry and equipment he had only seen in one place: Dernel.

“When did this happen?” He asked, not looking up from the report’s elaboration. In his office that oversaw the bulk of the major administrative operations in Fort Sriblo, he was accompanied by two cold-looking Cossack Intelligence agents he had met before, as well as a older Uryadnik that appeared close to being released from active duty who had written the report.

The Uryadnik looked conflicted-- it was a stupid question, as it was already detailed in the report. But he answered anyway. “06:46, this morning, sir.”

“And where were our units while this happened?”

“As requested by prior orders, sir, behind the base perimeter guarding the checkpoint, sir.”

“Whereas the Bolslanian contingent had advanced with a supply column when they were approached by an armed individual.” Nesterenko said, quoting a passage from the report as he read it.

“Yes, sir. The perpetrator was advancing towards the gate when they engaged or were engaged by the Boslanians.”

“Engaged or engaged by, Uryadnik?”

“As I have detailed in my report, sir, I, among others in my unit, am unsure who fired the first shots.”

“Interesting, Uryadnik.” The Polkovnyk consolidated the papers of the report back into the folder. “Thank you, you’re dismissed.”

As the sergeant left, Nesterenko turned to the Cossack Intelligence agents. “What do you think?”

The taller one responded. He was dressed in the traditional grey uniform of a CI operator, but had his pants rolled to his knees due to the heat of the morning. “We’ve examined the cadaver ourselves, including their armament-- they’re Dernellian all right, but we’re unsure how the deceased came by them.”
The other CoNt merely nodded their assent of the conclusion.

“Really? That’s all? I would have thought you would have a bit more than that, being what you are.”

“Unfortunately, there’s only so far we can investigate with the means at our disposal. Perhaps if we were given permission to communicate with our Dernellian allies representatives-- but there’s only so much that can come out of that. We also have no idea if it was even intentional that the deceased got ahold of the gear-- the Dernellians are known for their black market activities.”

“I see. You’re dismissed, I need to get something to eat.” Nesterenko said, standing up and beginning to tidy things around his desk. “Lying through their teeth, the snakes.” He muttered under his breath as the door shut behind the intelligence officers. “Unfortunately this-- Perhaps if that. They’re fucking hiding something. How else does Dernellian equipment get into some дурень’s hands?”

His mumblings were cut short as the door opened once again, this time with a lieutenant assigned to his staff.

“A heavy bomber entered our airspace. They were given orders to shoot it down two minutes ago, sir.”

Nesterenko shot up. “What? Who gave them those orders?”

Shakily flipping through papers, the lieutenant responded, “At 08:26 hours a large aircraft infringing on our airspace was identified as a Trenakan strategic bomber, nuclear capable. Orders came in through the 19th Fighter Squadron to intercept and engage without delay. Flight Charlie-Romeo engaged.”

Shit.

“Status of the bomber?”

“Neutralized, sir.”

Shit.

“Shit. Is there any response from nearby Trenakan forces?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“I’m going to have to file a report to the Department of War, then. Keep me updated.”

Nesterenko fell back into his chair as the lieutenant turned to leave. “One more thing, Khorunzhy. Find out for me who gave the order to shoot down that aircraft. Don’t dawdle.”

“Yes, sir.” The Khorunzhy said, leaving the office.

By Yermak-- just when they thought they were in the clear, something fucked up in the chain of command and suddenly a Trenakan bomber gets shot down. This was more than just a military mistake-- this was diplomatic FUBAR and his superiors would have his дупу.

---

PIEDSG Headquarters Building
18:31 hours
New Munich, Richting Atoll

---

Orest Morshun was doubly sure to make sure his call history was properly disposed of-- with the semi-digital phone produced on the onset of the internet that he had in his office it was tedious work, with him having to consult some secretaries in order to make sure he knew what he was doing when he pressed a button. He was doing this not only for his own neck, but those of his superiors, too. Something he did on that phone would, if discovered, ruin many things not limited to his individual career.

Such was the life of Morshun, he thought mockingly, always forced to double back and cover your tracks whenever your actions were not the most savory.

The member of the advisory board had just finished clearing all the evidence away when a knocking came at his office’s door.

“Please, come in.”

It was Fedir Horban, a long-running acquaintance of many skills-- Morshun quit fiddling with the phone in order to extend and shake the hand of Horban.

“Fancy seeing you again,” Orest said. “How are you doing, Mr. Horban?”

“Stepped in three potholes on the way here. You could say I’m in a chain of bad luck,” Horban said, taking a seat across Morshun’s desk. “But I’m not here to jinx you or I.”

Horban produced a letter of silky white paper, emblazoned with a broken wax seal of the government of Carthatska. “My colleagues in the Richting Republic’s administration recently received a communique from Carthatska essentially bequeathing us 230 billion Cossack Bills-- well, that is, split between here and the Kupferlands. So that’s still 115 billion-- now, there’s no memo attached to this check, if you know what I mean,” Horban paused to take a breath and wet his lips, “So how do a handful new offshore petrol platforms sound to you?”

“They’re just giving us the money?”

“Well, they did tell us we could spend it however we choose, but I feel like they implied that we should ‘improve the lives of citizens’ yakety-yak. I suggest that we ignore that though.”

“If they gave us the money for that purpose, then we should at least keep up appearances. Maybe a new line of trees down Koralle Road, or finishing that one hospital on Ahorn Street?”

“Well, if that’s what you want, Mr. Morshun. But I’m just here to let you know of the opportunity.”

“Thank you, Fedir. I’ll take it into account.”

“Well, I’ll take my leave then.” Horban said, waving him as he stood up.

“Here’s my advice-- walk on the grass instead.” Morshun called out, causing Horban to chuckle as the door closed. The smile left Morshun’s face as if he had forgotten the very occurrence of humor-- then he sprung to life, getting back to the work yet unfinished when he was interrupted by his colleague. He piled his papers and personal belongings from the office into a suitcase--

How could anyone in their right mind think of investing into the islands now after what just happened? I’ll give Fedir a pass because he’s overall an ignorant fool, but that Carthatskan money is not going anywhere near the islands; it’s going to be relegated to the PIEDSG and then stored away in a WURCo. financial holding until this blows over-- or doesn’t.

Morshun was booked on the first flight out of New Munich, towards wherever-- Piikala, Continental America; anywhere that had connecting flights to New Krasnoyarsk. He was going away before things got incredibly difficult for the islands.

[Trenaka]

Somewhere above Richting Airspace,
Richting Republic

“Unidentified aircraft, you are not scheduled to approach Richting airspace-“

The message played in the cockpit of the Trenakan bomber, before being cut off. The Department of Defensem wanting to not lose too much in case of disaster, had sent an aging bomber to do the aggressive work of nearly violating Richting airspace. This aging bomber had less than satisfactory communications equipment, which broke down about every couple of months. Today had, unfortunately, been one of those days where it broke down.

“Can we get a response through?” asked one of the two pilots to his comrade.

“I’m trying! Are we close to Richting airspace?”

The first pilot’s face went white when he checked the GPS.

“Shit! We’re violating their airspace!”

Upon hearing this, the other pilot grabbed hold of the yoke and turned the bomber around.

Then, a warning beeped on the display.

“Missile incoming!”

“Do we have flares?”

“The flares are offline!”

“Go! Get it going as fast as we can!”

“I can’t go fast-“

BANG

The explosion lit up the sky around it in a bright ball of orange and white flame, vaporizing the two pilots.

New Augsburg Air Base
Eisenküste Island, Trenaka

A red flashing light would appear on the large screen in the command room. A plane’s communications had gone offline, and had not been reactivated. Either the pilots were extremely negligent, the communication system was completely destroyed, or the plane had been destroyed. A tech officer then put the plane’s GPS tracker on the screen, showing that it hadn’t entered Richting airspace. A few minutes later, the GPS signal went dead. The plane had been shot down. Unfortunately for them, the plane HAD strayed into Richting airspace. The GPS tracker was faulty.

Pilots readied on the tarmac of the airbase, getting into fighters and modern nuclear-capable bombers. It looked like a war was about to start. A bomber that hadn’t strayed into Richting airspace had been shot down by someone, likely the Cossacks. The nuclear missile silos on the island were readied for war for the first time since the Cold War.

Foreign Office Headquarters,
Munich, Trenaka

An email came through to the Foreign Minister, Otto Müller’s office in Munich:

A Trenakan plane was shot down in the Pacific. Get to the Executive Mansion NOW. The Cabinet must meet to discuss the event.

Upon reading the email, Müller quickly grabbed his coat and laptop, running out of his office and down the hall, not bothering with the elevator and taking the 3 floors of stairs. He quickly made it to the lobby and ran out of the building towards the Executive Mansion.

Executive Mansion,
Munich, Trenaka

Müller made it just as the meeting began. Unusually, the Speaker of the Reprasentantenhäus and the President pro Tempore of the Senate were in attendance.

“Gentlemen, I will not waste time with formalities. We have to send a message to the Cossacks to get them to explain the incident. You two,” President Schmidt said, nodding to the Speaker and President pro Tempore, “are here to see if they are declaring war. If they are, get a vote started to declare war in Congress going immediately.”

Müller spoke up, “It should be quick and concise. ‘Explain today’s incident where a Trenakan plane was shot down.’ We can’t afford to waste any more time.”

“Are we in agreement?” asked the President. The Cabinet members nodded.

“Alright. I will send it,” the President said. He opened his secure laptop and sent the message to the Cossacks.

[Palmyrion]

sigh

Apologies if I haven't been posting much since that IC incident. I have been caught up in academic stuff, and the most I could dedicate to NS is probably a few snippets of domestic worldbuilding here and there amidst the torrent of schoolwork.

Thanks for bearing with me.

Cossack Peoples' Embassy
Baldivino Street, Aragon, D.C.
Royal Palmyrian Commonwealth
23 February 2021 1610H
Heart of Darkness

“Please, leave the guns at the door-- I’ll speak with you inside.” Perevernykruchenko asked Guillermo to leave their QRX submachine guns by the door, which Guillermo's bodyguards, upon Guillermo's command, did. It was one thing to talk with the likes of the Ralkovians and Ordenites here in Greater Dienstad, seeing their tendency to perfidy; talking with extra-regionals whose best knowledge of intra-regional Greater Dienstadi geopolitics and intrigue was another, but at least the FRCP wasn't the type to commit perfidy with wanton disregard.

Perevernykruchenko - a name which Guillermo had been practicing the entire time as he and his entourage rode to the Cossack embassy - lead them through the ornately-decorated Reception Room, soon arriving to a spacious boardroom dominated by a long oak table and chairs. Both men sat on their chairs, facing each other.

“I trust your superiors, or your media, have kept you informed of the brewing situation regarding the presence of your so much of your armed forces so near to the waters of the Richting Republic, who we are obliged to defend?" Perevernykruchenko started, sternly asking Guillermo in English with a Slavic-accented tongue.

"Yes, I have been informed by the Department of National Defence about this. Though, quite strangely, the media has been awfully silent." Guillermo replied, keeping a stoic posture.

“If so, then I must ask on behalf of my government a thorough and substantial explanation for your military’s presence and operations so far from your waters or your allies’, as well as their complete withdrawal from the area." Perevernykruchenko continued, as sternly as before, trying to get his point across. "I am justified to declare that any act of aggression on Palmyrion’s part will be responded to proportionally.” he added, reinforcing his point further.

"Officially, Battlefleet Silakbo, led by Rear Admiral Julius Fedelin, is in the area for freedom of navigation operations as well as commerce escort, considering how militarised the area is." Guillermo replied stoically, while hiding the unofficial reasons why an entire Palmyrian Navy Battlefleet was in the area.

"As for pulling out of the area, we would want a semblance of assurance that Palmyrian merchant vessels can freely pass through the area unharmed, while being compliant with international and local rules on maritime navigation." he added. He knew full well that Palmyrion was a self-made thalassocracy, one whose geopolitical power relied on the sea. Such geopolitical thought wasn't new to Palmyrion; it was a time-honoured geopolitical tradition, for even their ancestors living in the first few centuries of the Palmyrian civilisation-state saw the world's oceans more as superhighways than as barriers.

---

125km SE of Richting Atoll
22 February 2022 1730H
Palmyrian Navy Battlefleet SILAKBO

"Silakbo, this is FDN Nomen we hear you, it is appreciated knowing you'll be on your way, but you still didn't answer if you need assistance. Also, mind clarifying what you mean by recent events?" came the reply from the other end of the conversation.

Fedelin had to make a passable excuse for establishing a BARCAP after his vessels just got hailed, and at this moment the S6 was waiting

[Dernel]

Michael Masotsuki imagined snapping his fingers. This was the time. Idly, he wondered if he was a "pet terrorist". That thought had just wandered into his brain a couple seconds ago.

Michael ran, shooting at any Bolslanian he could see. Michael preferred subtlety, but there was no way he could be subtle in this gear. When the airstrip was covered with corpses, he walked to the guard booth, catching a man, Islanovich, paralyzed in his seat with fear. Michael shot him in the head.

"I am deeply sorry, Mr. Stiff," Michael said, as he pushed the corpse out of his way. "That was dishonorable." Michael sat in the guard booth and waited for more Bolslanians to come along. More targets.

OOC: I do not take godmodding lightly. Your man attacked an airfield defended by armed soldiers, there is no way that he ever gets within 50 feet of the airfield with such a brash maneuver.

Bolslanian supply column

"CONTACT RIGHT!" The gunner on the LPPV shouted as bullets bounced off of the armored vehicle. He swiveled the gun right and down, depressing the trigger. He let loose with a burst from the MG3, mowing the attacker down as the man broke cover and charged.

"What the fuck!" the driver shouted, the man riding shotgun dismounted, slowly advancing on the assailant (Masotsuki) with his rifle levelled. He reached the body and checked for a pulse. He stood up and shook his head, the man was dead. He got back in the LPPV and the convoy continued on, in a heightened state of alert. Wouldn't want to get caught off guard again.

Private Islanovich

He shot out of his seat as the man attacked the supply column, grabbing up his rifle as the gunner mowed the man down.

"What the fuck?!" He said. Why did a man charge an armored car?

"Ramirez! A man just attacked the column." He shouted, Ramirez had come running from his booth.

"Well goddamn. Go get his body, I'll cover you." He said. Islanovich and Traeger slinged their weapons as they dragged the attacker's body. An ambulance had come up, and they loaded him into the back.

30 minutes later it was officially stated that Michael Masotsuki was dead.

Richting Atoll Hospital
Trauma and Emergency center
8:45am, Richting Time

Following the official announcement of Michael's death, came a couple of men dressed in black, they claimed to the nurses they were relatives and wanted to recover his body for religious purposes. Initially the nurses objected, but the men produced papers showing their relation to the man. Of course, these were fake, produced by the Dernellian government, a fake identity, a fake relation, the men themselves were of the government. The body was placed into a body bag which the men zipped up and carried out of the hospital and placed in a hearse.

The men got into the hearse before the driver started talking,
"What the fuck is this anymore?" the passenger rested his head back before replying,
"I don't even know, I signed up for this job to work at home, not some off-brand tropical hell hole. I didn't want to be collecting bodies, I wanted to be making them."
"Goddamn right, you can barely breathe in this place, the air is so thick you could cut it with a butter knife at this point... sigh what's with our guest in the back anyways?"
"Dunno, saw he had quite a few holes in him though, probably was on the wrong end of an MG if i had to guess."
"Not what I meant, what's with us needing to steal a fucking corpse?"
"Also dunno, just doing what I was told."
"You're useless sometimes you know that?"

The passenger chuckled to himself after the driver insulted him. They were nearing the airstrip, and pulled into the check-point. A Crysukan guard stopped them and strode up to the window of the hearse and knocked on it. The driver rolled it down,
"Identification?"
"Right here." The driver handed the guard his ID, it wasn't a military card, just a civilian card. The Crysukan guard was about to tell them to turn around when his radio squeaked,
"Let them through, Dernellian business." The guard looked back at his co-worker and shrugged as he opened the gate. The hearse rode through the gate, and into a hangar with a large transport plane. The body was unloaded from the hearse and into the plane. Shortly after that the plane was finished loading and took off towards Dernel.

[Cossack Peoples]

FRCP Capitol Complex
00:30 hours, New Krasnoyarsk Time
New Krasnoyarsk, FRCP

---

Great. Just what we wanted.

Vadimir Bezukhov wrung his hands as the room was suspended with silence.

“At least they didn’t immediately retaliate,” Nikita Kazakov, Chairman of the Department of Foreign Relations said.

“Oh, the small victories,” Bezukhov said sourly. In a tight boardroom among many in the expansive Capitol Complex, Bezukhov scoured over reports fresh off the print, with Sara Lysiak, Chairman of the Department of War, and Nikita Kazakov present. “Now, to be absolutely certain, the bomber did violate our airspace?”

“Yes, sir,” Lysiak said.

“If I may, sir, I would suggest we relay the flight data from our fighter, which shows their aircraft’s offense, to our counterparts in Trenaka. Might put the matter to rest before it even starts.”

Bezukhov nodded, not moving his eyes from the reports; black-and-white print-offs of the film from the fighter’s perspective, complete with jargon filling the margins of the image of the descending wreck of a bomber.

Lysiak cleared her throat. “Principle Chairman, I am obliged to inform you of my concerns regarding our nation’s relationship with Trenaka.”

“And that is?” Bezukhov asked listlessly.

“I don’t believe we should trust Trenaka, sir, or for that matter any of the former aggressors against the islands. They may very well use the shoot-down as a pretense to retake the islands. The Chairman of Commerce is aware of the damages the increasing petroleum prices are doing to their economy-- I don’t think Trenaka, with new leadership as well, will just sit there. They’ll try something, sir, I’m sure of it.”

“Do you propose anything?”


“Not yet, sir, other than quietly readying our forces on the island for any attack that may come.”

“Then do so. Give the order.”

“Yes, sir.”

He beckoned the two officials to leave him. He flipped open a computer with the emblem of WURCo. besides the device’s start button and pulled up the diplomatic letter he had received from Trenaka’s President Schmidt for reference-- meanwhile, he keyed a response:

To: President Schmidt
From: Principle Chairman Vadimir Bezukhov

---

Honor and respect upon you, the Head of State of Trenaka.

It is unfortunate that this correspondence could not be sent nor received on better terms but with the catastrophe that occurred off the shores of the Richting Atoll. However, despite the suspicions many in the international community may carry regarding the shoot-down of your nation's bomber, I will inform you that it was never our intention to provoke war.

The offending bomber, according to the flight and sensor data of Cossack Air Force Flight Charlie-Romeo, was within the RIchting Atoll's airspace-- as allies and strategic partners of the islands, we at the time were obliged to defend their interests, including their territory.

However, such a violent response was likewise unwarranted. Due to what can only be attributed to a failure in the chain of command. As such, we are willing to compensate the families of the lost flight up to B 5 million to express our nation's sincerest condolences.

Sincerely,
[Digitally Signed]
Vadimir Bezukhov, Principle Chairman of the Federal Republic of Cossack Peoples

---

Embassy of the FRCP
16:10 hours
Aragon, Palmyrion

---

”. . . while being compliant with international and local rules on maritime navigation.”

Viktor sighed.

Freedom of navigation. Not too long ago, Cossack naval forces used the exact same pretense in the exact same region.

“If your forces are exercising their freedom of navigation, why do they linger? And why do you feel the need to send a battlegroup to escort your commercial vessels? Which actor do you fear will strike your vessels when they benefit the only landmasses for hundred of kilometers?”

Perevernykruchenko let the questions linger for a second, long enough for him to take a breath but still too short for his adversary to reply. He pressed his dialogue as he briefly remembered how he was taught that diplomatic correspondence was not speech in the slightest, but instead the inflexible repetition of policy.

“As for any assurance I am capable of making I have nothing to offer but a logical line of reasoning; ever since the navies of Crysuko, Dernel, and my government have responded to the islander’s request for assistance, the waters surrounding the Richting Republic and Kupferland Islands have never been safer, nor do we anticipate any pirates or criminals to pop up anytime soon. So, when you ask us to assure you that your trade is allowed through, we cannot give you that from my perspective because that would imply there is something we can change; however, it is merely certainty, beyond our control, that no unwarranted attack will fall upon your shipping unanswered.”

[Trenaka]

Executive Mansion,
Munich, Trenaka

The message from the Cossacks would be received by President Schmidt.

“The bomber actually went into their airspace.” said the Minister of Defense, Frederick Becker, looking uncomfortable.

“I recommend you get the Air Force to inspect the location trackers on their planes,” the President responded icily. “We should also try to see if there’s any debris we can inspect for any abnormalities in the plane. Those types of bombers are essential to our national defense strategy if nuclear war were to break out, and if we are to continue our aggressive stance in the Pacific, we must ensure that such an incident does not happen again. I will send a message to the Cossacks, requesting that we be able to send a salvage ship to search for debris and to see if we can recover the pilots’ bodies.”

“Speaking of which, we should accept their compensation offer to their families. The families of those men deserve to be able to support themselves,” said the Foreign Minister, Otto Müller.

“Right you are. I will include that in the message that will be sent,” said the President. “I’m debating whether or not to try to mend relations with the Cossacks. If we can gain their trust, which will be difficult at best, we could gain influence in the new island nations. That could secure us more oil from there, and we could pause the domestic expansion of oil, which is costing the government a lot of money to prop up.

“Couldn’t we try to go directly to the Richting and Kupferlands governments?” asked the Minister of Commerce.

“They would likely follow the directions of the Cossacks, which is why we would have to improve our standing with them,” the Foreign Minister replied.

“Right,” replied the Minister of Commerce.

President Schmidt would open a laptop and would begin typing a message to the Cossacks:

---

TO: Principle Chairman Vadimir Bezukhov
FROM: President Otto Schmidt

---

Chairman Bezukhov,

From an investigation launched by our Air Force, we have determined that a faulty GPS system caused the plane’s pilots to violate Richting airspace, and also caused the control room at the airbase where the plane was launched to not recognize when the plane violated Richting airspace. We apologize for the incident, and will be doing an investigation to determine how widespread the issue is for other Trenakan planes.

I, on behalf of our Air Force, request that a salvage ship be allowed to try to find the debris of the plane, if there is any, to locate the GPS tracker. We would also try to find the bodies of the pilots, if there were not vaporized, to allow them a proper burial. We will also accept your compensation offer for the families of the pilots.

Sincerely,
Otto Schmidt, President of the Federal Republic of Trenaka.

[Carthatska]

Carthatskan President Serge Maitre grimaced. He'd just read the morning's news while sitting in his bedroom, and CNN (Carthatska News Network) had released a story about the $150 billion sent to the Atolls. How in the world did they find out? "GILBERT!" he yelled, calling his Foreign Relations Advisor.

---

Gilbert Laurens heard his name called from a nearby room. It was the President. Oh crap, what does he want now? He forced his portly body up out of his chair and ran to the President's office/bedroom. he knocked on the door. The president replied. "GET IN HERE!"

---

"GET IN HERE!" Serge yelled. Gilbert opened the door and stumbled in, standing in front of the President. Serge rewound the TV to the beginning of the story.

"In other news, the Carthatskan Government has sent $150 billion to the recently independent Kupferland and Richting Atolls, yet another example of his constant worrying about other nations and not the average Carthatskan. We have an expert in the islands here with us to talk about why this much was sent, but..."

"Tell me, Gilbert," Serge calmly asked. "Tell me how CNN knows."

Gilbert stumbled over his words. "Well, uh, sir, you see, uh, I maybe, just possibly, went to a bar last... night..."

"... And you told someone, who told someone else, and now CNN knows?" Serge sighed. "Great. Just great. You're fired, I hope you know, but first you're gonna have 24 hours to devise a good reason for us to have sent the money, and if you convince CNN, I'll say you were fired because of something not embarrassing."

---

24 hours later, Gilbert walked into the Conférence de Presse, or Press Conference, room. He stood on a stage and took a deep breath.

"I'd like to say two things. First, the $150 billion Carthages we sent to the Atolls were an incentive to ally, not a reward for any scandals that One Carthatska Daily Journal has come up with." Gilbert prayed silently that CNN and other news sources would take it.

"And two, I'm being fired because of an incident at Barre de Porc Soupirant, or Sighing Hog Bar."

[Dernel]

OOC: I do not take godmodding lightly. Your man attacked an airfield defended by armed soldiers, there is no way that he ever gets within 50 feet of the airfield with such a brash maneuver.

Bolslanian supply column

"CONTACT RIGHT!" The gunner on the LPPV shouted as bullets bounced off of the armored vehicle. He swiveled the gun right and down, depressing the trigger. He let loose with a burst from the MG3, mowing the attacker down as the man broke cover and charged.

"What the fuck!" the driver shouted, the man riding shotgun dismounted, slowly advancing on the assailant (Masotsuki) with his rifle levelled. He reached the body and checked for a pulse. He stood up and shook his head, the man was dead. He got back in the LPPV and the convoy continued on, in a heightened state of alert. Wouldn't want to get caught off guard again.

Private Islanovich

He shot out of his seat as the man attacked the supply column, grabbing up his rifle as the gunner mowed the man down.

"What the fuck?!" He said. Why did a man charge an armored car?

"Ramirez! A man just attacked the column." He shouted, Ramirez had come running from his booth.

"Well goddamn. Go get his body, I'll cover you." He said. Islanovich and Traeger slinged their weapons as they dragged the attacker's body. An ambulance had come up, and they loaded him into the back.

30 minutes later it was officially stated that Michael Masotsuki was dead.

Richting Atoll Hospital
Trauma and Emergency center
8:45am, Richting Time

Following the official announcement of Michael's death, came a couple of men dressed in black, they claimed to the nurses they were relatives and wanted to recover his body for religious purposes. Initially the nurses objected, but the men produced papers showing their relation to the man. Of course, these were fake, produced by the Dernellian government, a fake identity, a fake relation, the men themselves were of the government. The body was placed into a body bag which the men zipped up and carried out of the hospital and placed in a hearse.

The men got into the hearse before the driver started talking,
"What the fuck is this anymore?" the passenger rested his head back before replying,
"I don't even know, I signed up for this job to work at home, not some off-brand tropical hell hole. I didn't want to be collecting bodies, I wanted to be making them."
"Goddamn right, you can barely breathe in this place, the air is so thick you could cut it with a butter knife at this point... sigh what's with our guest in the back anyways?"
"Dunno, saw he had quite a few holes in him though, probably was on the wrong end of an MG if i had to guess."
"Not what I meant, what's with us needing to steal a fucking corpse?"
"Also dunno, just doing what I was told."
"You're useless sometimes you know that?"

The passenger chuckled to himself after the driver insulted him. They were nearing the airstrip, and pulled into the check-point. A Crysukan guard stopped them and strode up to the window of the hearse and knocked on it. The driver rolled it down,
"Identification?"
"Right here." The driver handed the guard his ID, it wasn't a military card, just a civilian card. The Crysukan guard was about to tell them to turn around when his radio squeaked,
"Let them through, Dernellian business." The guard looked back at his co-worker and shrugged as he opened the gate. The hearse rode through the gate, and into a hangar with a large transport plane. The body was unloaded from the hearse and into the plane. Shortly after that the plane was finished loading and took off towards Dernel.

Illaria Central Hospital
Central Dernel
5:34pm

A mortician was overlooking Michaels corpse, though, not in a morgue.
"The body is completely fucked, he took 6 rounds that not only penetrated his armor, but also fragmented it. His armor didn't even stand a chance against this stuff, too large of rounds. Looks like his liver, heart, left lung, stomach, small and large intestine, crotch, and left leg were all basically removed from the MG..." An officer was standing near watching the mortician work, point out the areas of impact, where the bullets had completely ripped parts out of the man.
"And of his brain?"
"Starved of oxygen for too long, this man isn't coming back. We could still take his DNA and recreate him, but he'd have no memories, no experiences, he'd have to learn all basic motor functions again, it wouldn't be worth it. It's just not like Purgadellhi where we have his important memories on file."
"All that diplomatic work, and red taping for nothing huh?"
"Unfortunately for you it seems that way."
"Send his corpse back to his home country, let them deal with his body."

The officer left the room, he began walking down a hallway of which to his left had a window. While he was walking down to the end he peered into the glass. Vats, tubes about two feet tall and one foot in diameter with machinery hooked up to them. Filled with a translucent, off-white slime, and embryos. It was the Dernellian birthing center. The officer sighed, he kept walking until he left the building. After he left, the officer pulled out his phone and sent a message up the chain of command which eventually reached Zubeknakov.

When Zubeknakov finally got the message it went from "Michael's dead, corpse recovered, brain unusable, revivable but worthless to do so. Sending man back to country of origin." to "Man dead, worthless, sending to home country." Zubeknakov read the message slightly confused, he sat down at his desk trying to figure out what was meant by the message until he saw the report for the body recovery of Michael. He connected the two and simply responded to the message with, "Ok." Zubeknakov needed more people like Michael, people not associated with Dernel, that he could control and use to complete the more internationally-looked-down-upon deeds. The issue was finding such people.

---

FDN Nomen
5 km west of Richting Atoll
10:35pm

Salucci was more than just concerned now, he had just watched radar feed of a Cossack plane shoot down a Trenakan plane. First there were Palmerians basically practicing brinkmanship with damn well near no explanation behind it, and now an ally just shot down another relatively friendly country. Random Christians are actively touting non-sense about a dog god, though, they had mostly been dealt with. Terrorist acts are still being committed on the Kupferlands, and those being mostly ignored by Dernel due to difficulty to deal with, save for Dernellian Industries who is located on the Kupferlands. Some country that his men keep calling Bosnia is attempting to give aid to the Islanders, but was just attacked by a random man, who apparently was utilizing Dernellian weapons, but wearing a nondescript helmet and plate carrier with some rather highly rated plates. Of which was killed and now his corpse is missing.

Salucci had his hands full. The islands were getting more hectic than planned, and him being only acting admiral did not know what to do, he could only attempt things and hope they worked out.

The first thing he did was order that some air-patrols be established from the airbase and for some officers to contact the Cossacks to understand what had just happened. The missing corpse would be handled by subordinates, and his fleet was already on alert due to the Palmerians. The terrorist would be handled by the forces of the Kupferlands, but the issue was the Bosnians as his men would call them... He figured he should find out who they actually were first, but what could he do to create an actual excuse for them to leave for good? That's what he had to figure out. He was exhausted, he wouldn't find answers if he didn't get any sleep after the last 26 hours of staying on vigil in case of emergency. He elected to go to his quarters and maybe come up with something in the morning.

[Drifterica]

To: The Governments of The Kupferland Atolls and The Kupferland Island
From: Imperial Empire of Drifterica
Decryption: High

-Dear Leaders of the Kupferland Atolls and Island

The Houses of the Drifterican government have elected to send support to you and your government. With your permission, we request to send you two state of the art Humanitarian Aid ships and two transport ships to go along with them. These ships will bring medical aid, luxury goods, and construction and engineering supplies which will be distributed out to the populace.

We are also requesting your permission to deploy our own Drifterican peacekeepers to the atoll and island. They will protect our ships and assist you in anyways needed to rid of crime and the terrorist plague on your island. We will be deploying the 1st Royal Airborne Division, 83rd Mechanized Infantry, and the 21st Royal Engineer Brigade. As well as 500 members of the D.I.E.C to help organize and efficiently help your citizens.
We wish to hear back from you soon, and wish you well on any future endeavors

Signed,
Shino Kyuwa, Emperor of the Imperial Empire of Drifterica

Port Musi, City of the Waves. 8:00AM

There was a lot of commotion at the port today. Soldiers, civilians, and workers loaded various types of crates and cargo into 4 large ships. The two biggest where large white ships with red crosses painted on the side. The E.D.S Hope and E.D.S Mercy. Large Humanitarian ships which children and passersby's looked at with great awe.

A man in a military uniform stood at the far end of the dock, a white eagle patch on his shoulders and various medals hanging down from his uniform. He was watching the soldiers and workers load the ships. He took a drag of his Drifterican Cigar. And is suddenly startled by a voice behind him.

"General Uoi." The woman bows her head in respect
"Mrs Olsen, you nearly scared the daylights out of me!" The man gives a large bellowed laugh.
"I am very sorry sir, I am here to let you know that our ships are almost ready to be launched. We are just waiting for the go ahead from the higher ups."
The General nodded, taking a long drag of his cigar before putting it in an ashtray that was along the railing.
"Very good, I want to make sure we have everything and everyone accounted for. I don't want to deal with Tankan and the rest of the ministry."
"Yes sir." She responded, quickly bowing and leaving the general by himself.

[Carthatska]

Press Conference Room

Carthatskan President Serge Maitre cleared his throat. He was holding a press conference, his first since the news broke about his $150 billion to the Atolls. Why did I listen to Gilbert... Serge opened his mouth, stalled for a bit, and began a small speech.

"My fellow Carthatskans, you have no doubt heard by now the... gift that we sent the Kupferland and Richting Atolls. I'd like to clear a few things up about that. The Atolls are in bad shape. They are very polluted, recently independent, and my sources tell me there are cold war-like conflicts beginning there. We sent the money to them to help them stay alive. I will now take questions."

Cameras flashed and multiple reporters raised their hands, all clamoring for Serge's attention. Maitre locked his eyes on a young, male reporter with a Rock & Roll jacket on and scraggly orange hair. "You, with the weird jacket and bad hair. What's your question?" The reporter spoke shyly, probably his first press conference.

"Well, um, sir, you sent $150 billion Carthages to the Atolls, but the crumbling infrastructure in our nation's south only requires $75 billion. You could have renovated it, but you chose to send it away- again. What decision-making went into this?"

"Well, kid, first off, check your numbers, because you're wrong. Two, it's all Gilbert Laurens. He sold me on it and did most of the decision-making by himself, so blame him. NEXT!"

More reporters clamored, and Serge was getting tired of it. "STOP! RAISE YOUR HANDS!" He yelled.

The reporters all raised their hands slowly.

"Better. Now," Serge said, focusing on a young lady with a red jacket on and a CARthatska wristband. "You, with the red jacket and wristband. Whaddya want?'

"Sir, you've brought Carthatska into a civil war that really was none of our business, sent trillions to a different country, and now you're sending more money away to recently independent nations? I just think that you should be spending on us, rather than other nations. So why won't you?"

"Well, red jacket lady, I'd like to say that these nations, once again, needed a sense of Carthatskan charity and freedom. If you'd like to overthrow democracies all around the world, please, go ahead. But leave me to help form them."

"But sir, that's irrelevant, even our Capitol building is crumbling. One of our Représentants suffered a head injury after a piece of brick fell on their head-"

"STOP TALKING! Pourquoi vous ne vous taisez pas? I'm leaving." Serge grumbled, grabbing his assistants' arms and walking out of the room, leaving the press unsatisfied and the people unbelieving in their leader.

Later, in the President's Meeting Room

Serge sat down with his advisors. His Press Secretary, Ms. Émile Gaumont, sat next to him. "Émile, what should we do about the press?" Serge asked. Émile stumbled over her words. "Well, Serge, maybe if they, uh, maybe if they like the Atolls, they'll approve of the donation."

"And how do we make them like them?" The Secretary of Transportation asked. Émile had an idea and began to form it while still talking. "Well, if we had you fly to these, uh, Atolls, Mr. Maitre, and showed off the good parts of the Atolls, the press will view them in a good light. And then they'll begin to think that maybe this donation wasn't such a bad thing at all."

Serge chewed on the idea for a minute. "This had better work, or I'm firing you all." Serge looked at his various secretaries and advisors. "Get me a plane there in 48 hours, get the press there, and keep me safe while I'm going. We're going to the Atolls!"

To: The governments of the KUPFERLAND and RICHTING ATOLLS
From: Carthatskan Leader Serge Maitre

We'd like to visit your nations for a day or two, just to see the sights and show off to the world your beauty. With your permission, of course. We'd have 5 escort security guards with us and possibly some Carthatskan press. I will leave it up to you. Farewell.