Smoke on the Water Armistace Conference IC Thread

[The State of Monavia]

Anno Domini 2010

Royal Residence
Chalcedon, Monavia
Northwestern Nova

Seated in his office on the ground floor of the royal mansion, a spacious complex consisting of dozens of elaborately furnished rooms was a ruling personage that had all but declared a crusade against the Blackhelm Confederacy only months before. He was pensively studying a series of maps of the Sea of Neptune, central Greater Dienstad, and northern Nova. He had spend much of the last two hours poring over recommendations for further actions against targets that had been located along the route of the Coalition’s fleets, he had written several letters to his subordinates about how to conduct the operations in the long term, yet for all of his efforts, the war was not proceeding as expected.

This formidable organizer, the King of Monavia, had invested considerable time in conducting these campaigns. Successes included the repulse of a Brewdomian surprise attack, albeit with some severe damages to the facilities they attacked, the economic damages caused to the Griffincrest Corporation, which was forced into allocating vast resources to defending its endangered fleets and protecting its ability to conduct trade, all but capturing Bellamee Island and eliminating its ability to serve the Confederate war machine, and destroying much of the Confederate, Brewdomian, and other Corporate Alliance assets in space. In addition, while the naval engagement had stagnated into a war of attrition, other strikes on unforeseen fronts had more than repaid Monavia’s enemies for the damages done by rogue terrorists.

A revolutionary new weapon had been deployed against the Glorious Republic of Beiraq, which had caused severe damages to its capital city and several others. Ten thousand people had been killed, and five times that number wounded. Beiraq was certainly wrathful and motivated to retaliate against whoever was responsible, but whether or not they remained as glorious as they claimed was now debatable. Despite heavy losses of ships and crews to a terrifyingly effective missile strike by Beiraqi arsenal ships, one-quarter of the fleet, two ships out of an already small fleet of eight, had been sunk by Coalition strikes.

In sum, the king had been impressed with the results of several military actions undertaken in those past months. True, there had not yet been a significant victory on any scale, but the Monavian Empire had succeeded in establishing itself as a modern state with the technological and industrial prowess to stand off against inhabitants of Azhukali and Gholgoth. Monavian power had not been challenged in decades, yet its new allies in Nova and elsewhere had made a successful war effort possible. The standoff in the Sea of Neptune was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain, for even as Orlkjestadi reinforcements rushed to the aid of their battered comrades, the Monavians had finally played their wild cards, and an entire hand of them at that.

The king cast another glance at his reports and maps before swallowing another draught of rich coffee, thinking only of one thing as he began to compose a message to send to his subordinates in the Monavian fleet engaging their targets. The subject would be simple, lacking any form of complication, inasmuch as it would be able to communicate to the Coalition what a possible plan would be for bringing to an end this bloody war.

Taking up a sheet of official stationery, he fed it into a typewriter, a much faster way of transcribing his words than by hand. There was not need to spend time trying to print out a lengthy message, rather, he wanted to have it produced immediately and sent out via courier to a location where it could be passed along to other Coalition commanders.

To all ranking field commanders of the Nova Coalition fleet in the Sea of Neptune:

It has unfortunately come to my attention that the current engagement in the Sea of Neptune has devolved from a rather successful Coalition advance to a slow battle of attrition. While at the present it appears that our forces are able to continue on as planned, up to a point, the Confederates have thus far been able to successfully make efforts at negating our numerical advantages in terms of the number of ships and crewmen we have brought to bear against them.

To put a swift and decisive end to this drawn out battle and force the Confederates to withdraw their fleets, and then possibly accept some form of peace settlement, I am making a recommendation that a ceasefire be proposed and that a truce be called, during which time we can reopen negotiations. We have made it clear to the Confederates that we possess the technological superiority and manpower to defeat them at our leisure; we have repelled several of their attacks, avenged the deaths of civilians by retaliating accordingly, and have otherwise caused sufficient distress for our adversaries to make them reconsider their current course of action.

It is my intent to use our current position, having now attained possession of the advantage in controlling the battlefield to exact some negotiating power in peace talks if the enemy consents to them. Should they do so, I further recommend that we temporarily withdraw our ultimatum to leave ourselves with additional freedom to draw up alternative terms, rather than restrict ourselves to offering them only those terms detailed in the ultimatum proper or variants thereof. Achieving a lasting peace is paramount, whether we do it now or after we conquer the Blackhelm Confederacy.

I therefore find it most prudent to inform you all that with the sending of this message, a plan for declaring a ceasefire and the withdrawal of the Monavian fleet to a distance of 300 kilometers from sovereign Confederate territory shall be implemented. Consequently, this should result in an armistice, should the rest of our allies do the same, which will make peaceful negotiations possible. We all but have control of Bellamee Island, have sunk or damaged nearly 300 Confederate vessels, and have damages portions of their sea wall. They are fully aware that they cannot withstand a full-scale assault and siege if it were warranted. Let them lick their wounds as they sulk at the possibility of their imminent defeat.

With faith in victory,

His Holy Imperial Majesty, Charles IX, by the Grace of God, King of Monavia, Defender of the Most Holy Faith, etc.

The king needed only half an hour to compose the message, fold it up and enclose it in an envelope, and summon a courier to deliver it to the Ministry of Defense. In only hours, Admiral Petrov was reading it and sending conformation back to Chalcedon that he had received the message.

---

Coalition Fleet
Sea of Neptune

The Monavian fleet continued to bombard the Confederates for the next hour, eventually winding down their assault to reload countless guns, missile tubes, torpedo racks, and other such places where ordinance could be stored for immediate launch. The volleys had been launched with such effectiveness that the enemy fleet was in retreat, the Orlkjestadis rushing at flank speed to obtain the safety conferred upon them by being hidden among the ranks of their allies.

Petrov forwarded the message to allied commanders. Would they agree to the proposal? Would they be willing to offer a ceasefire?

If the terms of the ceasefire were accepted, the peace process could begin...

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

This is exactly why the thread was made unbearable. The damned opening post is taking 5 days. This is absurd. I understand RL constraints, but this stuff is just too much.

[Imbrinium]

This is exactly why the thread was made unbearable. The damned opening post is taking 5 days. This is absurd. I understand RL constraints, but this stuff is just too much.

OOC:Dude get over it and yourself you've been gone for like 2 weeks so stop complaining.

[Katonazag]

OOC: I was under the impression that the armistice was already accepted via TG. I guess I was wrong. At this point, I'm willing to accept OOC negotiation just to get this over with. This isn't complicated. Either you accept, you make a counter offer, or you reject. If you want to make a counter offer, at least say so now. Otherwise, 72 hours isn't an unreasonable amount of time to notify us of your decision.

[Damirez]

“So, we’re finally here,” Admiral Yves spoke the words everyone in the fleet waited to hear.

“Yes sir,” his second in command replied with no small amount of relief, “We’re where the action is.” Nobody added ‘At long last’, but everybody thought it. The fleet’s trip towards Blackhelm’s shores had been less than speedy.

It had all began with securing the supply lanes, then continued with gathering all ships, setbacks of one felt through the whole, for the saying that an army moves at the speed of its slowest unit also applies in the case of naval fleets. But it was done and the pieces were in place.

Behind the main expeditionary force, commanded by Admiral Yves, Admiral Soryu protected the rear, preventing any intervention with the supply convoys, and sealing the area of the sea where the League was most vulnerable. The Animarnian was true to his nationality, cautious, and quick to retaliate disproportionately when provoked.

For the rear of the fleet, such a disposition was perfect. The admiral might have grumbled about not taking part in the assault, but he was going to do his best to root out any threats from the rear, if only because that meant he’d have a piece of the action in his own backyard.

The fleet under Admiral Yves’s command numbered around nine thousand ships, although an accurate number would be hard to find, especially given the fact that the number of submarines deployed for the operation was known only by the most high ranking of officers. In addition, there was the Fleet’s totals in surface ships were known only by a handful of people outside the League, mostly allied commanders and high ranking officials.

The numbers weren’t really important. Yves had at his disposal enough ships to do his job and it was all that mattered for the League admiral.

He had organized his fleet in three large blocks. The centre, under his direct command, and the left and right flanks, under the command of Admiral Robertson and Admiral La Roque. The first was a Stevidian, well familiar with naval warfare, the second was one of Yves older colleagues from the DNF. Both were trusted and skilled individuals, able to act on their own if the situation dictated it.

“And now that we’re here,” on the deck of his Flag Ship, the Admiral addressed his crew, “I think it’s time we make our presence felt and ear our keep,” the man couldn’t keep himself serious. The situation demanded it, but the relief of finally being here, the excitement of combat and the general predisposition of Damirans towards adrenaline rushes were more than enough to overtake his more conservative personality and behaviour.

“Now, shall we?” he turned towards the people on the deck, receiving only brief nods of acknowledgement from people focused on their tasks, “Then let’s let it rain people, let it rain.”

At the front of the Fleet, the Dervish, the lucky ship of the League, and the only one who witnessed all of the League’s entanglements so far, was one of the first to acknowledge the orders.

“Sir,” a young officer started, “The Flagship replayed orders, ‘Blue Sea’ is in effect. I repeat, ‘Blue Sea’ in effect.” On any other ship, the officer would be considered, and rightfully so, as a greenhorn, and looking at his captain, it wasn’t hard to believe that this was a crew of rookies, but the situation was slightly different.

Captain Hubert, the commander of the Dervish, had a history of active combat that bellied his young age. Not yet assigned a command in the overcrowded DNF at the moment the Delian League was founded, he was thrown face first into the joys of captaincy and responsibility. That was the case with many League captains as despite the large number of extra personnel the DNF had, few were actually experienced captains. It didn’t mean that they were unprepared, they just had to learn, and they had plenty of occasions for that.

For Hubert, the baptism of fire, as it was called, came with the Barronian crisis. He had already attended several war exercises with his ship, but only when he faced the Barronian ships in a deadly game of cat and mouse was his mettle really tested. The result was simple. He was still here. The Dervish was still here. And he was in the vanguard of the League fleet. Again.

“Acknowledge the orders,” the captain rubbed his chin in thought as he spoke, “And prepare for action.”

“Yes sir,” the officer replied dutifully as they all started waiting.

On the screen depicting the battlefield situation, particles of light appeared. From the outer edges of the fleet, the ones farthest away from the shores of Blackhelm, to the ships of the vanguard, the dots increased in numbers, dozens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, until the screen could no longer track them all, showing only estimates based on the information provided by the fleet.

It’s a lesser known fact of naval warfare and warfare in general, but you can lose track of enemy missiles. If there’s too many of them, a situation that can be encountered on today’s battlefield, the radar simply can’t keep up with them.

In those conditions, the only way to keep an accurate image of the battlefield was to have dedicated ships that were to occupy specifically with this task, and in addition a good network system between the ships of the fleet. The League, owing it to its Damiran Roots, had those both, but it also had the Damiran predisposition towards launching debilitating cyber-warfare attacks upon foes that met the same criteria.

There were certainly more than enough missiles being launched in this ‘greeting’ to make one go cross-eyed.

And the League certainly had more. With the smallest ship in the fleet being the Sianach class destroyer, the problem of running out of missiles never occurred to Yves. He had enough to level not one, but several countries, without even accounting for the Arsenal ships at his disposal. Those alone were sufficient to wreck a couple of small nations.

“Sir?” a small icon appeared on the screen as the officer spoke, the signal the Dervish was waiting for.

“Go!” the captain’s order was simple, and the crew moved with speed in fulfilling it. The Dervish’s own window of opportunity, if could be called as such, was open. In this carefully orchestrated song of destruction, timing was everything.

“And there they go!” one by one the missiles sped out of the ship, pillars of smoke connecting ship and heavens. In quick succession, one after another, the missiles left towards their final destination.

The Dervish, having parted with a small number of its missiles, would now only wait for the second stage of the plan. Second stage that was shortly to come.

On the deck of his flagship, Yves watched the screen depicting the countless specks of light with a grin on his face. One hundred and twenty thousand bringers of joy. In his chair, torn and wore, a couple of paper sheets rested. On the surface of one, after what seemed to be a series of ideas and plans, a word was circled in red, ‘Saturation’. Bellow, scribbled in great hurry, a short sentence, ‘Stage one completed’.

In Blackhelm, any known AA emplacement, military runway or airport would shortly received a very unexpected surprise. Radars, communication centres, all were subject to this ‘greeting’. And the day was young.

***

Far away from the main staging area of the conflict, League task forces raced across the oceans. Each had a specific destination in mind, and all were in a hurry to get there.

“It’s simple really,” the admiral in charge had explained to those in charge of the command groups, “They’re going to be spread thin trying to face us on the other fronts, and we have the ships to afford it.”

“ Since this is named Operation Bandit, the code name should be pretty telling already as to what your missions will imply,” the traditional live briefing had been replaced in this particular case by Holographic representation, but it didn’t make the various captains feel any less scrutinized by the admiral delivering it.

“In short, we’re going to be taking great care of Griffincrest’s little oil extraction operation,” she smiled, “Either by finding new owners to the installations, or,” the woman ‘s smile became positively feral at this point, “Simply by blowing them up. Either way, it’s a win-win situation for us,” she paused before adding, “And I don’t think there’s any need to remind you that any ships of the Corporation encountered at sea are free game.”

The task forces, or rather expeditionary forces using Damiran terminology, sent on their way were tailored specifically to their proposed targets. Expected opposition, projected outcomes, all had been taken into account when planning for this minor detour from the main offensive. In case the situation was delicate enough to prevent a direct intervention, there was always the option of a submarine doing the job. A few well placed torpedoes or cruise missiles were more than enough to totally wreck an installation after all.

The threat of Griffincrest military ships being out there was also considered, but given the usual force composition of their fleets, there wasn’t a lot they could do to hinder the operation.

All the ships currently at sea and flagged specifically for the conflict had standing orders in regards to the Griffincrest ships they were to encounter. Capture, if the captains proved reasonable, or sink. Most often than not, the second option was to be employed. League ships and personnel were not to be put at risk if the Griffincrest captains couldn’t make their minds.

Obviously, this would provoke delays in regards to their shipment schedules, fuel shortage in nations under contract with Griffincrest and quite possible, make a lot of people reconsider their contract with such an unreliable supplier.

And even if not all of the Corporation’s shipping was captured or destroyed, the unavoidable damage done when hundreds and hundreds of ships interfered with your route would be more than enough to bring the organization in an impossible position.

Building ships take time, replacing entire fleets of tankers? Even more so. Penalties for delays cost, delays to your entire operation? Doubly so. That was even assuming there would customers left for the tankers to service. Oil crises had the honour of ruining many a relations between companies and clients after all. And with so many serious, cheap competitors? The answer wasn’t so hard to find.

OOC: After a rather rough spots of events in RL, I'm finally back to NS. I thought that the armistice was already a done deal, but since it's not the case, I'm going to add a few posts to the whole affair.

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

Damirez, I already wanted to retcon this. I am not accepting any more damage because I just dont want to continue with this thread. It was horribly frustrating. I find this thread only an extension of that frustration. I am only going to respond to the ceasefire as I see fit. I am not going to respond to any reinstatement of hostilities, any missiles, anything at all. I really, really got fed up by your alliance, and so did a rather large number of observers. Th absolute refusal to accept any damage at all, and then the pittance of losses that some members were accepting after I explained that not losing anything is a godmod was childish, and the length of time just made the entire affair boring. It became blantantly clear that no matter what happened, you refused to lose, and this was made even more apparent when thousands of missiles inflicting no casualties. While you all may be very good writers, by and larger you are not good role players. There is a difference between writing and role playing, and many of the members of your alliance need to understand that. Dispute it al you want, say the same goes for me, call me god modder, do what you wish, but I cannot and will not ever again RP with many of those who particpated in this thread. Respect I formerly held for some is now forever tarnished, while a handful of others gained respect in my eyes. I am not just speaking for myself here either. I have heard from a good many other nations, many who had no part at all in this conflict, and they all hold the same idea that I just put out, that the entire thread devolved into a horrible example of what RP should not be.

I accepted the originial idea, to just accept the war as canon and you all go away, but I did so just to appease Monavia, who I have grown to respect. However, I will not surrender Bellamee, I will not remove my assets from Greater Dienstad from nations in which they are welcome, and I certainly will not make the Griffincrest fleet come under government control. Additionally, I will not change the size of my nuclear arsenal or disband any fleets, I most certainly will not hand over Claudius Griffincrest or the Board of Directors, and I definitly will not sever any ties with anybody. This is honestly a waste of time.

[Katonazag]

However, I will not surrender Bellamee,

Then consider all your personnel there dead or captured. Your choice. It's obvious to anyone watching in that theater that they have no escape and no reasonable means to continue the fight. Either they surrender, or they succumb to hallucinogenic agents and/or asphyxiate, your call.

As for the rest of my response, I interpret your response as a categorical rejection of armistice terms. You have until tomorrow to correct me if I'm wrong, when my IC response will show up. Whether you accept it or not, let people who consider RPing with you in the future be the judge.

[Katonazag]

Recommended listening:
Electric Funeral - Black Sabbath
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=itsz0qAAOiw
Supernaut - Black Sabbath
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BRb7-gOsXE
No Shelter Here - Rage Against the Machine
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWQ5GZy6egg

Sea of Neptune

Things had not gone as planned. Despite devastating fleet losses, breaching the defensive wall, penetration of air defenses, and imminent invasion by naval infantry, the government of the Blackhelm Confederacy was not willing to even negotiate. As flippantly as the original ultimatum, the offers of armistice went unheeded. Word of this had reached the Czarina back at her palace in Chesterfield. She issued the order to Lord Admiral of the Fleet Kendrick:

My Esteemed Lord Admiral of My Fleet,
Our enemy must be truly out of his right mind. There is no reason to continue this fight, but we must end the threat that Griffincrest Corp. poses to the developing nations of the world. Since the Blackhelm Confederacy, their elected government, and therefore the people of the Blackhelm Confederacy profit from and shield and condone the threat to innocent human lives, they are in essence accessory to murder for financial gain. Therefore, I hereby condemn them; they shall perish in nuclear flame. Ready the fleet to perform the contingency plan in the strategic safe, which you now have my permission to open. Their kind must never be allowed to walk the earth unchallenged again in such a wanton manner. No more of my treasured sailors need give their lives to defeat such a vile and dishonorable foe, and as such, they are justified in using the ultimate weapon to end this war, this people, their government, their company, and the threat they pose to the fledgling nations. Make all haste and implement SCP-5983 immediately.

With My Greatest Regard,
Czarina Deeane I of the Kingdom of Krommindy

Admiral Kendrick ordered Admiral Trafford and the ship's captain to the command room on the HMS Czar Mathias I. Once there, he let them read the Czarina's royal order, and punched in his code to the strategic safe. The other admiral and captain then entered theirs. With a clank and a hiss, the safe opened, and a vertical file extended forward. Finding the one marked SCP-5983, Admiral Kendrick pulled the thick envelope and broke the seal.

Strategic Contingency Plan #5983 was fairly straightforward. KRNIS and the Admiralty had devised this plan for if things had gone amiss with the invasion of the Blackhelm Confederacy. Which it had. The plan called for expending all but 10% of the fleet's cruise missile supply, in coordination with all 1248 nuclear SLBMs from the ballistic missile subs, each missile with eight 475kt MIRVs. The plan was to overwhelm their systems with the cruise missiles while the nuclear missiles came in to do the real damage. Either way, 108,120 cruise missiles and 9984 MIRVs would have a devastating effect, regardless of which of the systems the Blackhelm Confederacy ended up focusing on. Four of those nuclear missiles (36 MIRVs) were reserved for the corralled Griffincrest fleet in the Bay of Neptune, the rest for the major population centers: Redemption, Paradise City, Angel Bay, Sacrament AFB, New Atlanta, Divinity, and all other known major military installations in the missiles' 7000 mile range.

The orders were transmitted, and the fleet moved accordingly. The Marine Landing Fleet began turning as the hot-launched cruise missiles started burning. No need to land in a nuclear wasteland. All across the Sea of Neptune, the 52 SSBNs that had been lying in wait rose to 150 feet depth. At the appropriate time, their missile tubes burst forth with their javelins of mass destruction. Both types of attacks were timed so that the wave of cruise missiles would reach the range of the outer air defenses roughly 60 to 90 seconds before the MIRVs would begin raining through the top of whatever extreme high-altitude defenses the Blackhelm Confederacy had left. Their radar and other sensory resources in network would most assuredly have an overload, especially when considering the incoming Damiran, Wagdian, Imbrinumian, Animarnian, Mokastani, Zaherani, and Fegosian bombardments coming in conjunction.

The Czarina prompted the closing nuclear volley, which she hoped would forever clear the seas, skies, and lands of NationStates forever of the foul stench of of Blackhelm Confederacy and Griffincrest Corporation oppression.

OOC:
You're ICly dead to us (Nova region, Delian League, Fegosian Union, Fedala Accords) me now. I don't care what you say at this point, you've been nuked to oblivion. At our discretion, all future attempts and threads at militaristic or economic imperialism on your part will be directed to these threads, where you are dead. Any of the noobletts you attempt to intimidate and take over can freely refer to this as your death, and therefore, their IC and OOC right to ignore your involvement entirely. May the Mods have mercy upon your soul, for I believe you don't have one, and therefore no mercy can be granted you given the circumstances.

[Damirez]

OOC: Sighs... I initially intended to Role Play a last ditch assault, much like those of the Chinese during the Armistice negotiations in the Korean war, when everybody knew there was going to be a peace, but that the conditions were still in the air. The ships there had to do something before they were forced to turn back by the Lamonian situation, but if it's not to be, it's not to be. Don't worry Blackhelm, this is my last post in this affair. I won't bother you any more.

The first strike was already under way when news of the failed attempt at negotiations reached Yves's ears.

"So, in other words, we're to keep at it?" he had asked Fatima once he was made aware of the situation.

"Yes," the Secretary had told him, dark circles under her eyes, consequences of the situation in Lamoni, which had served to keep her awake for the past few days, "You're to keep the pressure up to the last minute, even if it means spending all your missiles on bombarding land targets. We can't afford to keep those ships there for much longer with what's happening in Lamoni..."

"Understood," he saluted, but before closing the connection, he took some time to talk to Fatima, not as a subordinate, but as a friend, "Are you OK Fatima? You look tired..."

"You think so?" she laughed, good naturedly, "I thought I was just out of coffee!"

"Any progress with the evacuation?" he asked.

"So far so good, we'll see how it ends up when the fallout hits, until then..."

"Just take care of yourself," he added in concern.

"I will," the woman smiled, knowing that even in the heat of battle her old friend was still thinking about those back home.

Once the conversation ended, the admiral slouched back in his chair, reading a report printed on a sheet of paper. It was like this that one of the ship officer's, panting as if he had run a mile, found him.

"Lieutenant?" the Admiral asked,"What's so important that you couldn't contact me on the intercom?"

At this, the officer shoved a paper in the admiral's hand. The man read the first words on the page before he went white, only lifting his eyes from the paper with great effort.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, suspiciously calm.

"Yes sir, It was received via secure channel as of..." the man answered firmly.

"Shit!" the admiral swore before tapping into the intercom system. "Purple Sky! I repeat, Purple Sky!"

As if a waking call was issued to the fleet, napping after its last delivery, the crews of all League ships in the area jumped into high gear. One after another, each and every one of them, from the gigantic Arsenal ships to submarines that entered launch depth, they all starting spewing forth missiles. Missile, after missile, after missile. All in all, the strike was to make the previous one like a midget when compared to a giant. Almost three times more missiles would be launched, reducing the total number of missiles available for the League fleet close to half, quite a feat in itself when given the arsenal at their disposal.

At the same time, planes sortied from the carriers, a different mission intended for them, squadron after squadron after squadron taking off in a hurry. As soon as the bombardment was over, the fleet was to leave these waters, never to return.

***

Whilst this was happening at the front lines, the news reached Librescu's ears. Just several minutes later, paramedics rushed to the presidential office.