Crisis in the Tortoishell's

[Tortoiseshell Isles]

The three headmen of Spider island looked at each other with worried expressions, they sat in a small hut near the island's harbor occaisionally glancing out at the crates of tobaco they had harvested for trade.

The traders ship was now several weeks late and their attempts to radio the regions Dominar, who was in charge of overseeing such things had met with no response. They all feared disaster as almost all of the fields that had once yielded rich pickings for the three villages had been turned over to the production of the tobacco crop. Now they faced starvation should the trade ship fail to come and honour the agreement that the head men had made.

Aron of Podal was first to speak; the headman of the smallest village, Podal, drew a breath and sighed,
"If the ship takes much longer then we will face hard times, we have already been forced to reduce the meals our people eat. We must send a boat to the next island asking for help."
At this the second headman, Rummish of Gnow replied,
"This will not help us Aron, the storms are almost here, and even should a boat make it to the next island, I doubt the villagers ther will help us. They have envied our trade arrangement. We should wait, the traders ship will come"
The third headman, Yon of Yon chewed upon some tobacco, as he ruminated on what the others had said.
"A boat will likely fail us, but not all of us can afoard to wait as long as the Gnow, we do not have the same reserves of food you do. I feel the answer lies in the radio we were given. The Dominar may be quiet to us but I think we know enough of its workings to try to contact others, maybe they will help us, maybe they will trade for our tobacco."

The others nodded wisely at this suggestion. They would try to contact other traders.

The radio message:
This is Spider island, Tortoishell.
We need food, we wish to trade tobacco, our need is urgent please speak, please respond.

[Tortoiseshell Isles]

bump for interest

[Chimaea]

CS Gallant, Returning from interdiction missions in Topicale

Captain Ian Krosko felt relaxed for the first time in what felt like years, although in reality was only three weeks. It had been an intensive three weeks though, and largely unpopular with the crew. The Gallant, a destroyer with the Chimaean First Fleet, had been officially on general 'interdiction missions' near the People's Republic of Topicale. The grim reality had been somewhere between 'pre-emptive invasion' and 'outright siege'. The Gallant, along with other ships of the First Fleet, had stopped not only weapons shipments but food, medicines and other aid as well. Captain Krosko was experienced enough to know what that meant.

It hadn't sat right with the crew and he couldn't blame them. They were bad orders and he'd felt the ship's morale take a beating. He'd been happy to finally leave the place behind and head for home; the atmosphere on the ship, though surly, was better. For the first time in a while he'd dragged a chair from his cabin, up multiple flights of vertical ladders and near-vertical stairs, and placed it directly between the mighty barrels of the forward canon battery, right on the edge of the safety railing. He'd then fished a bottle of softdrink out of his pocket, a bunch of briefings securely clipped together against the wind and plonked himself down to enjoy. That had drawn a few wry smiles and sniggering from the crew, which was his intention. It was horribly against the rules and if the canon fired accidentally he'd be deaf and probably sailing over the edge, but the eccentricity comforted the crew somewhat.

He took a gulp of the foul-tasting softdrink and peered at the horizon, ignoring the briefings. In the far distance, a storm-front was developing. He'd kept an eye out on the weather radar for a while, although he didn't think the storm was serious enough to hinder the Gallant, a G-Class, state-of-the-art destroyer. It displaced around 8000 tonnes and was designed to stand multiple water-burst ordinance.

Still... it was storm season for the area they were travelling through. The closest land were the Tortoishell Isles and he wasn't certain if they were developed enough -- or friendly enough -- to shelter the Gallant. He felt a little exposed--Chimaean Navy vessels usually travelled with escorts or in Carrier Groups, but due to the proximity of Baron to Topicale, it was deemed unnecessary.

He glanced back to a briefing he'd ordered. There wasn't much information on the Tortoishell Isles--small population, a minor economy, disparate populations on each island. Sounded a bit like a small paradise to him. No technicalities, no command, no technology. Probably no pizza either, he reminded himself. And possible basic amenities.

He shook his head and was about to start another train of thought when there was a clanging, following by several drawn out swearwords and his first officer, Lieutenant Commander Briggs, climbed onto the platform. "Some odd news, Sir," she said, rather stiffly from having to traverse so much height to reach him. "We've received a radio transmission."

Krosko shrugged. "And?"

"Well it's from the Tortoiseshell Islands, sir. From one of the islands in particular. It appears to be a call for help, reads: We need food, we wish to trade tobacco, our need is urgent please speak, please respond."

Krosko nodded interestedly. "That is rather unusual. Which Island?"

Briggs consulted her PDA briefly. "Spider Island, apparently."

Krosko shuddered. "Ugh, I hope that's only a name. Is it real? It's not just some kid messing around?"

Briggs shook her head. "It doesn't sound like it, and there really is a Spider Island."

Krosko sighed. "All right, all right. Answer back and see what they say. Also, prepare two drones, let's see if we can get a visual on all of this."

"Yes, sir."

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

"This is the CS Gallant in international waters near the Tortoishell Isles, we have received your emergency message and are changing course towards you. We come in peace and cross any territorial boundaries responding to this emergency. Please give any further information, including details of any food or medicine needed."

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

TO: CNHQ
FROM: CS Gallant
MESSAGE:  Changing course to respond to distress signal enclosed.  Further information pending.

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


OOC: Hope you don't mind me randomly joining in... if you're willing, we can make this even more interesting by Chimaea not giving permission for the Gallant to intervene and the Captain deciding to go against that... possibilities. If I'm way off the mark, just tell me and I'll delete this post.