Napadenie [Closed]

[The Sovietyeto]

Napadenie

ORDER REPORT:

December 25th,  Christmas Day
Undisclosed location, somewhere near Zāhedān
100 hours standard Moscow timing

ORDERS TO CAPTAIN IVAN
1: Cross borders into Iran (avoid detection if possible)
2: Capture Zābor after taking Zāhedān
3: Move to and capture Bīrjand
4: Move to and capture Gonabad
5: Meet up with army corp D and advance to Mashbad
6: Move to Tehran and capture it

Ivan grabbed his lighter from his pocket and lit it. With an indifferent gaze he burned the orders; he had already memorized them. Moscow had already failed to keep Iran once, they wouldn't tailor ate failure a second time. And the world was in no position to stop them. By the time they polished off Iran they would have only finished mobilizing their military. Iran was the final step of Soviet conquest, after this they would be the dominate oil reserve state. However this wouldn't meet up production wise and Armedland would still be in the lead in that category.

He packed up this cot, removing the metal pins that held it together until he folded it up into a portable cargo. Now he had to take down the tent and put it in the truck. Then it was 'go time'.

He stepped outside, squinting before his eyes adjusted to the sunlight that glimmered of the yellow desert sand. His black boots sinking very slightly and leaving a very vague print with each step.

Loading his cot in the truck he met other men all doing the same, all deathly silent. He returned to take his tent down.

A young man accompanied him, "Are we going to attack today then?". Ivan awnsered, "If we weren't would we be packing up to leave?". The man asked no questions as they took down the tent. Tank engines roared into existence. It was nearly time to go.

2 Hors Later

Ivan gazed over the small city, it was an easy capture, near defenseless and to be caught off guard in the middle of the red army's blitz. He pointed a finger, shots were fired...

[The Sovietyeto]

December 25th,  Christmas Day
Road heading to Zābol
1700 hours standard Moscow timing

"A good five hundred I think, all blocking the road. They're dug in but not vey well... We have to pass them to reach Zābol".

Ivan removed the binoculars for his eyes. It was dark, so the binoculars were the kind that you used in the nighttime.   A slim flicker of light held out from the entrenched Iranian soldiers. A thin flicker that was just as bright as their hopes Ivan thought, in other words, desperate.

Now it was time to strike, they wanted the darkness in their side, and the sooner they attacked, the longer they held the advantage of the darkness.

In a whisper he said "Set down the artillery and wait for my orders, I'll send up two flares. You should aim for the red one and when you see the green one you fire. And the rest of you move with me. The tanks will wait out this battle, we can't ruin the road and we need them for taking the city. Move comrades, move!"

On his hands and knees he crawled with the other men under his command over the cold deserts sand. It could be sand for a long time, much of Iran could be described as a big sandbox.

So close to them now, they expected a head on assault, and in the dark they would be unable to spot the Soviets until it was to late.

Ivan turned of his guns safety with a click. An enemy troop stiffened; he heard the noise. Ivan aimed his AK-74 in the dim light from a few lamps and fired a brief shot. It went straight to the mans head and a volume of blood came out. No one noticed the dead man on the very fringes of their encampment but they did here the noise. Now they were on the alert. But now there guard was also dead, unable to signal the next step.

Captain Ivan tapped the sand and held it out behind him. He didn't look back for a second because he knew what was coming. He was handed a flare, a red one. He struck it against his guns butt. It lit, and he threw it. He threw it in the middle of the encampment. Then he was handed a green flare, he lit that as well.

Twenty minutes into the battle and the tents of the Iranians were on fire, at least those that hadn't already been burnt to ashes. Everyone that was a target in the encampment was dead, every enemy soldier, every man sent out to fight this war by protecting the roads. And both flares had been snuffed; it was time to move foreword, forward to Zābol.

December 25th,  Christmas Day
Zābol
1800 hours standard Moscow timing

The tanks rushed forward, forward to take a poorly defended city. The tanks weren't even needed. They were more for striking fear, at least for now. It was suspected they would encounter other tanks soon.

Men on the Soviet end rarely shot their guns, the only time they really had to do it was when they stormed a ramshackle army base to take the arsenal and make a base for themselves in the city after the war. Civilians didn't seem to try to stop them, the Soviet Union wasn't well liked, but the current government wasn't any better, as long as they could improve quickly they might have a chance for a better life. But right now it seemed like a bleak end. An end of the line. The end of Zābor, it had been taken.

[Armedland]

December 25th,  Christmas Day
Zābol

The twenty-fifth infantry strike force is full of newly drafted soldiers, most of them have never gone on an actual mission. They are armed with sub-average weapons, and no body armor. The 12 of them have the important job of sitting in an Iranian military base alone and reporting on the actions on the battlefield.
Corporal James M. Mitchell sends everyone in the team except for him, he heads for the gulf for radio and report.
As they see the Soviet tanks roll over the desert landscape surrounding them, they holster their weapons.

45 minutes later
The tanks have already rushed the perimeter of the city by the time the Iranians have actually done any damage. The troops sit in the makeshift military base with only them inside it, expecting no fire, and suddenly the Corporal receives radio from the base that changes everything.

“Still nothing...Wait...No...what the-They’re firing! THE SOVIETS ARE FIRING! WAIT, NO-AHHH!”
“Oh no...” Mitchell thinks. “I NEED SUPPORT! IMMEDIATELY-”




ARMEDLANDIAN HIGH COMMAND
MEASEK

The entire war-room sits in a moment of eerie silence as the report comes in.


1. Private Goatley Michael-KIA

2. Private  Jamie Provenzano-KIA

3. Private  Ted Mcmullan-KIA

4. Private  Esmeralda Jourdan-KIA

5. Private  Lakisha Steinberger-KIA

6. Private  Max Eaker-MIA

7. Private  Max Stoudt-KIA

8. Private  Erik Ivester-KIA

9. Private  Emilia Montaluo-MIA

10. Private Lance Rodenberg-KIA

11. Private James Miller-KIA
12.Private Jonathan Zahid-KIA
13. Corporal James M. Mitchell-KIA

An eerie silence falls over the room. And then, total chaos breaks out.

“They’re dead?! All of them?”
“God help us all!”
“Does this mean war?!”

"For now, we will launch an embargo on all goods imported and exported from the Soviets. We will contact our brothers in Scocialist Provinces, Kommondoria, and if necessary China.
This will be a great day in history, friends. This will be the day Armedland stands against our oppressors, and triumphs!”

"Hurrah!"

[Kauvara]

OOC: Armedland, you don't have the data from Project SOLDIER. You couldn't recreate it, eve if you did. We've been over this. Only 3 people ever accepted it, a less than 1% acceptance rate, even with Kauvara's technology that is a good 50-75 years ahead of yours...

[Kauvara]

UNKNOWN LOCATION, UNKNOWN CITY
UNKNOWN NATION, UNKNOWN REGION
TIME CLASSIFIED TO AVOID TIMEZONE TRACKING

A record scratched as a hand moved a pin on to a record of The Heavens Are Telling by Haydn. It began to play softly from an old Kauvaran record player, its brilliant tones filling the darkened room. It was a fairly large room, at least twenty feet high with vaulted ceilings. However, there was only a single desk in the middle, its small frame dwarfed by the massive room around it. On the desk was a single black laptop, a pair of black gloves shifting across its keys. A black 92SF 9mm. Elite pistol sat on the other side of the table, its clip lying next to it with two of the bullets removed. A FOMA P900iv cell phone was next to an antique lamp, its dim light barely illuminating the desk. The record player sat on a small side table, the scratching of vinyl occasionally interrupting the dulcet tones.

Behind the desk sat an older man, likely in his late-50s. He was wearing a jet-black suit with a matching tie and pair of dress shoes, with a white button-up shirt. He carefully lit a cigar, the brief flicker of light illuminating his scarred face. Even with the flicker of flame, his eyes seemed hard, like two beads of obsidian encased in white crystal. Tired eyes. Eyes that had seen more than most. They were framed by orange hair that fell to his ears, slight streaks of white running through it.

He was holding a black folder in his hands. There was a red label with white lettering that read MOTUS SOVIETYETUM. It had just been delivered by another man who was standing on the other side of the desk. He also wore a black suit, tie, shoes, and white dress shirt. He seemed younger, perhaps in his early-30s. His black hair was slicked back, cropped into a small ponytail. His eyes simply seemed tense. They were not as tired as the other man's, filled instead with fire and a hint of excitement.

"So, that's the situation?" the man behind the desk asked, shifting the cigar in his mouth, looking up from the folder.
"Yes, Director," the standing man replied. "Sovietyetan forces are moving once again. This time they are attempting to subvert Iran. They are using similar tactics as when they moved through the rest of Asia."
"Those tactics being?"
"A lightning-fast blitz, sir."
"So talk to me, Tsven. You've been on the ground over there. What are our options?"
"Based on prior Soviet tactics, as well as classic imperialist movements, they will likely station large amounts of soldiers in the areas that they subjugate in order to keep the civilians in line. This is their weakness, Director. They will be pulling soldiers from the mainland."
"So what do you propose?"
"Director, if you'll recall, our organization assisted in the orchestrated the destruction of Moscow approximately three months ago. 50,000,000 casualties were sustained by the Sovietyetans due to incredibly poor building planning. Moscow was completely annihilated. However, among those 50,000,000 were the Sovietyetan high government, as well as some very high-profile commanders. Their command and control was shattered. They are recovering now, albeit slowly, in St. Petersburg, under the leadership of Kommichar Plaveci, a former general in the Sovietyetan military. Under his leadership, the Sovietyetan armed forces have undergone a major reworking, becoming one of the most powerful in the world."
"Then we would be wise not to engage them. Where is their Achilles Heel?"
"Their people, Director. The Sovietyetan government, in order to hold on to their imperialistic holdings, have been forced to divert all of their funding towards rebuilding the military. Many of their people have become highly-dissatisfied with the Plaveci Administration. It does not help that the leader is a former general."
"So you're saying the people are rife for strife?"
"I am. However, they need a little push, something to spur them ahead."
"Which is what, Tsven?"

Tsven stepped forward, pressing a series of buttons on the Director's desk. The high walls suddenly lit up, a long series of names and dossiers streaming over the massive screens, all of them members of the Sovietyetan military, illuminating the two men with flashing, constantly changing lights. The side of the Director's mouth curled in a smile.

A rarity.

"Ambitious, Deputy Director," he said.
"Indeed, sir," Tsven replied. "If you'll notice, we are not targeting any actual members of the Sovietyetan government. Instead, we are going to target the leaders of the genocides, atrocities, and acts of pure evil that were committed in both the colonies and the homeland." He clicked a button, pausing the stream of dossiers. "Lieutenant Colonel Lavrenty Koslov, head of the 262nd Airborne, responsible for the executions of over 10,000 civilians in Khazakhstan." He continued the stream, before pausing again. "Captain Sergei Pyotorin, commander of the 143rd Armored. He presided over the destruction of an Azerbijani town. Fired on civilians who did naught but protest their imperialist oppression." A third time, the dossiers streamed by, before Tsven paused them once more. "Commander Olga Drunoka, leader of the 2046th Bomber Wing. She and her flying demons were responsible for dropping poisonous gas on several villages in Uzbekistan, Tajikstan, and more. Which was followed up by-" He continued streaming, until he hit another man. "-Major Ilya Stronir of the 108th Motorized, who was in charge of executing whoever was still left alive in the wake of the gas." He continued, highlighting a fifth dossier. "Vice Admiral Lyudmilla Korsakova, whose flotilla was ordered to destroy any refugee ships that attempted to leave the conquered areas for the CDSP. Rate of stoppage? 100%." He finally stopped the dossier stream. The walls flicked off, drenching the room in darkness once more.

"Lot of names... But you only mentioned five," the Director said, turning his chair around the face Tsven once more.
"I did. Those five are our primary targets. The other names that streamed by are secondary objectives. Staffers of the butchers, exceptionally violent soldiers, well-known murderers, et cetera," Tsven replied, stepping back from the desk. "The coldest of their troops."
"So, what you're saying is, these commanders must be removed?"
"Yes, sir. The rebels are too scared to do anything. These men and women are horrible, evil people, ones who the rebels are too scared to touch. But, if we can prove that they are vulnerable, the rebellions will gain strength, and the Sovietyeto will lose its hold on its territories. Remove these commanders, and the rebels will see that they can win. That even demons can be killed."
"Then you have the greenlight from me. What do you need?"
"A stealth transport. The same model we used to insert the CDSPian operatives during the destruction of Moscow; it has been proven effective and undetectable. That will get us in-country. The IKSF could handle it."
"No, I don't want them involved. This mission is too sensitive," the Director replied. "We will have our people fly you in."
"Understood, sir. That will be all."
"Standard kits, then?"
"Yes, Director."
"Then you may have my permission. A transport will be prepared and ready shortly. Good luck, Tsven."
"Thank you sir."

Tsven turned around, walking out. His black dress shoes echoed loudly as his footfalls made contact with the marble floor. He opened the door, and walked out, closing it with a loud crack, just as the vinyl scratched one last time, the song ending.


UNKNOWN LOCATION, UNKNOWN CITY
UNKNOWN NATION, UNKNOWN REGION
TIME CLASSIFIED TO AVOID TIMEZONE TRACKING

The area seemed deceptively still as Tsven made his way up from underground, walking out of the door. There was a helipad directly in front of him. Surrounding it were a few ruined buildings. Around the helipad were several agents. Remus Vipsanius and Rydan (last name unknown) were leaning against one of the pylons. Remus was having yet another one-sided conversation with Rydan, discussing some thing or another. Four other agents surrounded the pad, the security for the instillation. Elena Lockheart approached Tsven.

"Well, Deputy Director Tetsuo," she began, trying to stop herself from laughing. "Are we ready to go?"
"Elena, it's just 'Tsven,'" he replied, smiling at his childhood friend.
"Still, congratulations on the promotion. You did well in Stania. Look how far we've come..."
"Yeah... Seems like just yesterday we were in Danik, going to school together."

The helicopter arrives

He was interrupted as a helicopter began to descend towards the helipad, it's blades causing the group to be buffeted by air, its light shining down on them, piercing the darkness.

"Fox dammit..." Remus muttered. "Interrupts me, and blows my outfit everywhere..." Rydan glared at him, adjusting his sunglasses. "Yeah, good to see you smiling, big guy... And, by the Fox, you wear those things at night?" he asked Rydan as the two boarded the helicopter.
"No substitute for style, Remus," Elena quipped. "You should know that, of all people." She stepped into the helicopter.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Remus replied dryly, shrugging. "Rydan here is a real fashionista, obviously. Can't be helped, I suppose."
"Nope, sorry Remus," Tsven said as he stepped inside as well. "You ready, people?"
"Yeah, we're good to go," Remus replied.

Tsven banged on the hull of the helicopter, and it took off, soaring into the night.


UNKNOWN LOCATION, UNKNOWN CITY
UNKNOWN NATION, UNKNOWN REGION
TIME CLASSIFIED TO AVOID TIMEZONE TRACKING

The wind bit into the agents as they stepped off of the helicopter, making their way towards an airfield. On it was a single, marker-less black transport plane, its engines completely silent despite their fully-active status. Their shoes clacked on the runway as its lights illuminated them and the surrounding ruins in varying colors. Tsven looked at his watch. Precisely on schedule.

The rear-ramp of the transport opened, and the group walked inside, taking their seats. The inside was dark, its only light being several thin lines of sky blue, illuminating the four agents with a dim hue. The four were tiny compared to the length of the transport. It was primarily designed to move armored vehicles, so the mere four agents sitting inside proved to be a very small sight, indeed. The rear door closed behind them with a hiss of hydraulics.

"Hey, what is this thing?" Remus asked. "It doesn't look like anything I recognize."
"It's a prototype, Remus," Tsven responded. "A new kind of transport. An upgrade from the model used to transport the CDSPian team. If this thing works, we're going to build a line of them for the Prizyetsi military."
"With the stealth installed? Wouldn't that be pretty expensive?" Elena asked.
"Yeah, it would be. But they did not ask for it, so we're not going to include it."
"Fair enough," Remus replied. "I'm gonna get some sleep. Rydan? Since you don't sleep... fucking, ever, I want you to wake me when we arrive." Rydan glared at him. "Countin' on ya, buddy!"

Tsven and Elena looked at each other, rolling their eyes. The plane continued onward, bound for the Sovietyeto.

RELEVANT IMAGES:


Most recent image taken of Tsven, this one done by the Kauvaran military


Remus brandishing both his titanium rod and trademark cockiness


Rydan stoically handles his work


Elena holding the heavy rope dispenser she carries in her coat


Elite model of the 92FS 9 millimeter handgun


Standard-issue, used for real-time surveillance and a direct link to The Director

[Prizyetsa]

Coastal Freigter “Dentyr”, Off the Coast of Anadyr, Sovietyeto, Day 1, 05:37

It was a cold morning in the waters off the Sovietyeto’s Eastern frontier. The small town of Anadyr had been chosen as one of the many landing points for the covert operations operatives if Prizyetsa would ever engage Sovietyeto on this level. Waves turned to wake as the Dentyr, a small coastal freighter operated by a local, made its way towards the small town’s sole pier, where the young couple would say their good byes and thanks to the captain, and disembark. The couple, both in their mid-twenties, identified themselves as eco-tourists, coming to see the unique natural sights of Eastern Sovietyeto. They played the part perfectly, since nobody suspected that they were operatives of the Prizyetsi Adienedarii, the elite unit tasked with causing political unrest and sabotage on foreign soil. The Adienedarii teams which were chosen for this task were highly trained, and fluent in Russian, due to years of study, and a passion for the language. To the normal eye, they were as good as locals. Both had studied abroad, in the natural sciences. This would help in their cover.

Anadyr, Sovietyeto, Day 1, 07:11

“So, are we set?” Anya asked her fiancée, Tor. Pulling two Soviet passports and a road map from his shoulder bag, he smiled. “Of course my dear. From now on, your name is Anna, and I am Dimitri, okay?” he smiled. “Hmmm, will you always call me Anna, or can I make you moan Anya when we-“ “Calm down there, tiger.” He cut her off. “Remember, we’re not at home anymore.” She grabbed her passport from him, giggling childishly as she did so. Together they walked along the pier towards the small town’s only tavern, which also happened to be its town hall. The town was as good as dead, there as no one walking around, no one to listen in on them. From now on out, it would be only Russian that the two would speak. Until they reached the safe-house of course, in a matter of hours. The couple walked along the pier, hand in hand, and passed at least a dozen beached ships, presumably fishing vessels, or rather what used to be fishing vessels. On the other side, aged apartment blocks, their paint half faded away, were evidence of the country’s despair, the fuel that would feed the coming fire. The fire that the Adienedarii would set…

Madagan Airport, Madagan, Sovietyeto, Day 1, 09:20

The plane carrying another unlikely pair of Adienedarii operatives touched down on the single runway of Sokol Airport, the sorry airfield that serviced the Administrative center of Magadan Oblast. As the aircraft pulled up to it’s “gate”, a small strip of tarmac, the pair walked down the rusty old stairway, separately of course, and went to the baggage claim, which was another disappointment. What the Soviets called their baggage claim, at least here, was simply an open baggage cart, and you had to wrestle out your own baggage. Of course, the two men showed no signs of disgust, as they normally would, and yanked out their bags. While one of the men went through security, the other waited behind, helping an older man get out his baggage, and helped him to the security checkpoint. By then of course, his fellow operative would be long gone. After the second man was passed security, he put away his professionally forged Soviet passport, and hailed a taxi. Moments later, he was gone. Their mission would be simple. Cause general unrest in the region, and contact several anti-government groups to offer support, indirectly of course, and training. Eventually, they would teach them the ways of sabotage and destruction…

Khabarovsk, Sovietyeto, Day 1, 10:45

Erinn, another undercover operative, walked down the main street of Khabarovsk alone, having melted into the crowd after exiting the metro a quarter of an hour earlier. On her left, was the city’s small cathedral and to her right, the government center for the whole krai. She looked at her watch, and sat down on a bench in front of the cathedral. Moments later, a young man sat down next to her, and Erinn smiled, embracing him. “I’m so happy to see you Sergei!” she laughed, handing him a small present. Sergei opened the small package, and pulled out a small key. “Why thank you Erinna, I’m sure we can use this back home.” He told her. The two shook hands, and went their separate ways. They would not be seen together again.

Khabarovsk, Sovietyeto, Day 1, 11:12

Yuri was also busy in Khabarovsk. Today, he was to meet with the nationalist group, the “Free Khabarovsk Front”, and deliver a “package”. Yuri and his partner had been in Khabarovsk for 5 years and 2 years respectively, Yuri himself being a Soviet citizen. This made the team virtually un-traceable by the Soviet government, especially as thin-spread as they were. Later, he would attend an anti-government rally, and leave behind another package…

Khabarovsk Rally, Khabarovsk, Sovietyeto, Day 1, 15:56

Yuri drove his delivery van into the service-parking lot which was behind the main podium. The Soviets were so arrogant, not expecting an attack in their “utopia”, he thought to himself. Sure, they had checked his papers, which he had obtained through less-than-legal methods, but luckily there was no picture on the military delivery service identity card. They even checked the contents of the van, which was all legit, but nobody cared to check the van itself. Nobody noticed that the van rode a bit too low on its suspension. To be precise, the van would have been 200kg over weight. 200kg of military grade plastic explosives had been pumped into the hollow frame of the van. The very same military-grade plastic explosives which had been removed from a military arsenal three weeks before. The timer which would set off the explosives has cleverly hid in the passenger’s seat. Of course, if need be, the bomb could be set off by an off the counter pre-paid phone he had bought a month before, under a different name. Although the attack would cause many casualties, especially among civilians, it would create awareness to the anti-government cause ,and frame the Soviet government, leading to anti-government sentiment in the far-East.

The plan was simple, create anti-government sentiment by framing the Soviets for a massacre of their own people, although a minority group in the country, then attack a military target, giving the people a group to rally behind. The plan was gruesome, but not as gruesome as the Soviet government had been to its own people before. It was worth the cause for a better future within the Sovietyeto, at least for the people…

[Armedland]

MESSAGE

TO: THE UNITED SOCIALIST REPUBLICS OF THE SOVIETYETO
FROM: THE REPUBLIC OF ARMEDLAND
PRESIDENT

Soviet Filth, you have gone too far this time. You have killed innocent soldiers, under the flag of Armedland, in neutral territory. You shall fall soon.
Moscow shall burn, slowly...
You’re government is a ragged torn old tavern, where bribes are like prostitutes for the hustlers that you’re foolish civilians call “politicans”.
You’re economy is horrible, with sickness and death all around the dirty streets. You are imperialist pigs, who invade peaceful territories in order to promote yourselves.

END MESSAGE

[The Sovietyeto]

SOVIET HELD PORTION OF IRAN, ZĀBOR
SPECIFIC LOCATION UNKNOWN
JANUARY FIRST, NEW YEARS DAY

The KGB would be described as the 'secret police' by haters in the DSP. For the people of the states they were the special forces. Even more special was the spetsnaz. The special force of the motherland. The force was small compared to the army, and smaller still was the part that was on the mission. They were uniformed of the mission. All they knew was they had to storm a lab and take all the data. And this was the tricky part, they didn't know the exact locations. It wasn't a lab, it was a small group of men doing this for themselves. And their project was near completion. It would be to late of they published their findings. And they had almost done until the USSR attacked, providing a handy smokescreen.

The rest of the world believed them to be after recourses. Only a handful knew the full plan. The plan about TK-220. But now they needed the dossiers and the computer data.

Abraham put in his clip. His sleek rifle was equipped with a silencer and a extremely accurate scope. He and ten other people were waiting.

To his right was the door to the building, this was the one they though it was. It was a local business technically but it never was open, despite this the same men came in and out like machines, always at the same time.

To his left was his friend, Gregor, as well as his other comrades. Ten men in total. Abraham walked to the door. He beckoned for Gregor.

Gregor came, Abraham moved away from the filthy, brown steel door and closer to the wall. Gregor aimed his shotgun and gave a blast. The shotgun blew of the door as it fell inward... Empty...

They must be in the lower rooms. Still, they rushed in and looked in ever nook and cranny.

One man spoke up, "you know those people in Afghan?". Gregor responded "Yea" to which the man replied "Well we now have them surrounded by our boundaries do they surrendered this day."

Abraham broke in, "Shut it! We are still on the mission remember?". To this the man and his friend, Gregor, paled a little bit as they remembered their duty.

Gregor blew down another door leading to a set of stairs. They went to the basement. All the men flew downstairs to take the laboratory.

Ten member of the Spetsnaz against ten lab technicians without guns. It was hardly fair; it was just life. A quick fight ensued.

Soon enough the men lay dead, blood washing down the drain in the middle of the room meant for water. Meanwhile the Spetsnaz has left, they have taken dossiers, hard drives, flash drives, CDs, tapes, anything... It is all gone.

That morning the Soviet attack on Iran left. Iran was left alone, that week peace was made. However Afghanistan remained in Soviet possession and do did the data. A new age was coming, and the Soviet Union would be at the front of it.

[b]MOSCOW, RED SQUARE, THE NEW KREMLIN
SAME DAY, 6 HOURS LATER

Komichar sat in his leather chair, only a handful knew the plan. He though it a stroke of genius on his part on coming up with it. Though he supposed that was a bit biased then.

Still, he had finally had the data delivered. Right now it was in one of the most secure locations in the world.

Meanwhile he read a rather rude letter from the president of Armedland. How thick we're these oil barons? And it was a but rich to call the government bad, it was quite the opposite, in fact this kind of thing was probably something you would find happening in Armedland. However he wasn't quite certain it was war yet. Either way they would be dropped from the Trokia. The Soviet Union wouldn't work with these people in the attempt to obtain technology from Kauvara. That was their loss.

Richer still was the nothin that it could be a war. A d there wasn't a drunk in the world that still didn't have the sense to bet for Armedlands victory. It had a heavily oil based economy that was literally hanging on a handful of poorly defended and outdated pipelines an refineries. Any loss on either side would crush their economy. "Honestly, how dumb could these morons get?" Komichar said.

[Kauvara]

SKIES OVER AZERBAIJAN
AZERBAIJANI-SSR
01:52 HOURS

"10 seconds!"

The four agents stood in the back of the stealthed cargo jet, the open ramp causing wind to buffet them at 40,000ft. up in the starlit sky. Each of them was wearing a sleek insertion suit, custom-made for HALO drops by the Prizyetsi military, an item they wanted the Kauvarans to test in exchange for testing their new cargo plane. Rydan was checking Remus's parachute harness.

"Dammit, Rydan, you fuckin' waited until now? For Fox's sake, you gave me like 20 seconds to get ready!" Remus was shouting over the sound of the wind. Rydan pulled his harness tight, eliciting a yelp from Remus. "Rydan, you ass. Fine, point taken. Let's just get this over with."

Tsven checked his watch. "3!" Right on schedule. "2!" He ensured all of his seals on the drop suit were checked. "1!" He gave Elena a subtle wink. "GO GO GO!" Three agents jumped out, Elena following a second later.

Their sleek bodies cleaved through the night sky as they descended towards Azerbaijan. Tsven activated his helmet radio. "All units, check in."
"Remus here, I'm set." The first green light appeared on Tsven's HUD.
"Elena responding, all systems go." A second green light pipped on.
"..." The third and final green light activated.
"Excellent work, agents. We'll be approaching the target, soon. Hard landing near the target itself," Tsven began.
"What is the target, chief?" Remus asked.
"Admiral Lyudmilla Korsakova," Tsven replied.
"'Admiral?'" Elena asked. "Latest intelligence indicates she is only a Vice-Admiral."
"Negative, Elena," Tsven began. "Due to her complete annihilation of the civilians who hoped to flee the advancing Sovietyetan forces, she was given a promotion. Based it on her 'efficiency.' She is now the leader of Sovietyetan Caspian Fleet. If we can eliminate her, then we throw their local water forces into disarray, giving the rebels a chance to regroup amongst the coast. The more high staff and command we can eliminate, the longer the Sovietyetan Navy will be unable to react."
"Damn, Tsven... Landus would love you..." Remus said. He was interrupted by Elena.
"Hey, chief, check this out," she said, sending a live news cast to his HUD. Tsven activated it, a semi-transparent Coalition Information Network broadcast coming through.

A reporter was standing on the bridge of a Coalition Navy observation ship, speaking about what had just occurred. "This is Lucrezia Atia, of the CIN, reporting to you live from the CNS Øye Stjernen. Reports are flooding in regarding the current situation on the ground in the Persia region. Apparently, the Sovietyetan troops have pulled out of Iran completely, but not before accepting the surrender of Afghanistan. However, it still remains to be seen if the Sovietyeto can hold Afghanistan, as it is already stretched to its breaking point, and holding Afghanistan will be yet another place to divert troops. Historically, nobody has ever been able to hold Afghanistan for any prolonged period of time, not even the Soviet Union, itself. Many analysts predict a similar result from their prior actions approximately 40 years ago. A swift surrender from the Afghan government did occur, but the local populace forced the Soviet Union out after several years of guerrilla warfare. Couple that with the untold billions poured into the apparent reconstruction of Moscow, one of their largest cities and central control network, the Sovietyeto is confirmed to be going into debt. However, that being said, there are theories as to why the Sovietyetans pulled out of Iran. One is based off of intelligence of a suspected ace up the sleeve of the Sovietyetans that will change the course of the nation dramatically. Iran may have held the last piece. Whatever it might be, the Sovietyeto clearly expects something to save it, or else it would not have extended itself even further. The nation is fragile, at the moment. Only time will tell if it falls. This is Lucrezia Atia, of the CIN, reporting live from the CNS Øye Stjernen."

The feed shut off. "Holy Fox," Remus began. "These things even have TVs? I fuckin' love the Prizyetsi..." Rydan shifted in the air, slightly bumping him. "Yeah, yeah. Business is business. I know. So Afghanistan is theirs, now? Don't they read their own history books? They tried this before, in the 1970s. It ended badly. If Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Queens Victoria and Elizabeth II, and even their own people couldn't hold it, what makes the 'Yetis think they can hold it now?"
"The ''Yetis' must have some new ace in the hole," Elena began. "That reporter is right; intelligence does confirm something stirring in the Sovietyeto. Who knows what it could be?"
"Once Admiral Korsakova is eliminated, we'll contact the Director, see if he wants anything done about it," Tsven said, checking his altimeter. "Eject chutes."

With a series of four silent flaps, four black parachutes opened, invisible with the night sky above them. "So, sir, you never actually answered my question..." Remus began. "Where are we landing?"
Tsven smiled. A useless gesture, since his face was obscured by the drop mask. "The 'Yeti ship Moskva." The group descended through the clouds, revealing an aircraft carrier below them.
"Korsakova's flagship."

With four splashes, the agents landed in the freezing water. It was cold, black, and unwelcoming. A fitting analogy. The agents began to swim towards the Sovietyetan flagship, carefully grabbing on to the rope netting on the side to help sailors who might go overboard. As soon as the agents were on the rope, Tsven made a gesture with his hand. The agents tapped a series of buttons on their HALO suits, and they quietly popped off, landing in the water below. Now clad in the standard black suit, black tie, black shoes, black socks, and white dress shirt of the Agency, the four agents began to slowly climb up the netting. Remus, the quickest of the group, reached the top first, hanging on the ropes just below the edge of the ship. A pair of voices was talking, standing on the deck just over his head.
"Did you hear? Another group of civilians tried to pass through today," the first said.
"What? Past the Admiral?" the other replied.
"Da, they hoped to reached the safety of the swin'i in the CDSP."
"What happened?"
"The Bezdyshn'yekh blew them away in a salvo of our might!"
"Excellent! Pathetic foreigners... Some part of me wishes they'd all just pick up arms already so we could shoot them. The other part just wishes we could kill them all now!"
"I hear you, moy drugh!" The pair began laughing.

Remus activated his earpiece. "Two 'Yetis up top. Permission to engage?" he whispered.
"Confirmed, Remus," Tsven responded. "Heard the whole thing. Smoke the bastards."

With a flick of his feet and hands, Remus launched upwards, launching himself vertically over the railing, flipping over the heads of the two sailors, cracking their skulls with his titanium rod before landing again on the deck. The soldiers fell, their lifeless bodies hitting the deck with a pair of thuds. "Clear." Tsven, Elena, and Rydan climbed up and over the railing. Rydan silently dumped the bodies over the side. "Where to now, boss?" Remus asked.
"We're splitting up. Rydan, Remus, you two plant charges all over this thing's runway. Intelligence suggests that large cargo planes land on this thing every so often, laden with supplies. When they do, they'll hit the explosives, and this tub will go up like a Unification Fireworks Show on the First of August. Elena, you're coming with me. We're going to find the good admiral." The group wordlessly split up into their assigned pairs.


COMMAND TOWER
SUPERCARRIER MOSKVA
02:01 HOURS

Tsven and Elena made their way through the steel, grey corridors of the Sovietyetan flagship. They had finally reached the bridge tower. So far, there was not much resistance. Just a few easily-evaded patrols, due to the fact that everybody was asleep. However, the bridge tower would be another story. This was where Korsakova herself took refuge. It would be heavily-defended. They finally reached a corner leading to the corridor to the main doorway. Tsven sneaked a glance around the corner. Two guards were standing next to a fingerprint-locked door. He moved back, motioning to Elena, counting down from three. "3." Elena removed her heavy rope dispenser. "2." Tsven cracked his knuckles. "1." They nodded to each other.

Elena raises the dispenser

They quickly moved around the corner. Before the Sovietyetan guards could even react, Elena fired the heavy rope dispenser, the spinning talon-tipped coil spinning forwards, slamming into the left guard's skull, swirling his head into mush before lodging itself within. The other guard raised his rifle, but Tsven was faster. He grabbed the rope, swinging it right, knocking the rifle out of the man's hands, then delivering a swift uppercut to his jaw. The man fell to the ground, and Tsven jumped on top of him, drawing his pistol. Before the guard could even shout, Tsven lodged the barrel into his mouth, firing off a single shot, the sound silenced by the guard's own flesh. Tsven stood up, looking around. One guard lay slumped against the wall, everything from the neck up a white and red mess, as well as the wall. The other guard was not looking much better. "Messy..." Tsven thought. "Landus would hate this one..."

Elena walked up to one of the guards, grabbing his hand and applying it to the thumb scanner. The door slid open, revealing stairs leading up. "Well, there's a surprise," Tsven quipped, winking at Elena. "Nice work." Elena quickly turned away, her face slightly red. He got on his earpiece. "Remus. Rydan. Be advised. Two 'Yeti guards down. Unclean neutralizations. Only a matter of time before somebody finds these bodies. Work quickly. We don't have much time."


FLIGHT DECK
SUPERCARRIER MOSKVA
02:04 HOURS

"Roger that, boss," Remus replied. "Just find Korsakova. Leave the rest to us." He looked to Rydan. "Tsven called. We gotta hurry." Rydan looked at him, then tapped his own earpiece.

"Shut up, Rydan."

Remus prepares to set one of the Sovietyetan-made explosives

The pair emerged from underneath a Sukhoi-27 "Flanker," having just affixed charges to its fuel lines. They were of Sovietyetan design, in order to throw off any potential tracking. "Primitive pieces of crap..." Remus muttered. They carefully moved from plane to plane, ensuring that the charges would set off a chain reaction. Remus was affixing some to one of the fuel trucks when a pair of legs began walking towards it from the left. Remus quickly rolled right, quietly getting into the passenger seat of the truck. One of the men opened the driver's side door, and Remus swiftly brought his baton forward, cracking the man across the face, his blood arcing through the air. The other man opened the other door, and Remus rolled on top of him, burying the pistol in the man's chest and firing, using his body to keep the shot quiet. "Fuckin' 'Yetis, gettin' my suit bloody..." He carefully put the bodies inside of the truck.

The charges were set. They only had one objective left. Get the runway itself prepared for the massive pyrotechnics show that was soon to come.


OUTSIDE OF THE BRIDGE
SUPPERCARRIER MOSKVA
2:04 HOURS

Tsven and Elena carefully approached the door leading to Korsakova's location. "You ready, Elena...?" Tsven whispered. She nodded, drawing her rope dispenser. Tsven grabbed the metal door, throwing it open, slamming the guard on the other side into the wall, crushing his bones. Before them lay the bridge. Korsakova was in the middle, in a command chair, while four of her command staff worked consoles in front of her. To the left, three guards stood watch, with another guard on the right. Elena rolled inside, firing the dispenser into the rightmost guard, blending his brain into mush, then swiping the rope left, snapping the neck of the leftmost staffer. She recoiled the rope, bringing the guard she had impaled to her as the other guards opened fire on her. However, she quickly moved the Sovietyetan guard's body in the way, using it to stop the bullets, before throwing it at one of the guards, knocking him over.

Tsven quickly rolled inside, as well, contouring his body with seemingly inhuman speed, bullets whizzing by him, as he discharged two shots into the standing guards, killing them both. Elena dove on the one on the floor before he could stand, her thighs wrapping around his neck. She jerked them hard, snapping it, killing him instantly.

Two of the staff members drew pistols, firing at Elena. She quickly flipped backwards, their shots hitting naught but air and bulkhead. Tsven, meanwhile, had moved around the other way, taking them from their exposed flank. He fired two shots, killing two more of the command staff, before Elena rolled back around, firing her heavy rope dispenser into the final staffer's chest. He looked down, tentatively touching the bloody metal prongs, before his suffering was ended by Tsven firing a shot into the side of his head at point-blank range. Less than 10 seconds after they entered the room, they looked to the sole survivor.

Tsven laments having to shoot Korsakova

Korsakova quickly tried to draw her pistol, but Elena had already recoiled her dispenser, firing it into her arm, impaling it and sticking it to the chair. Korsakova cried out, trying to yank her arm free, to no avail. Tsven calmly walked towards her, pulling photos out of his coat, throwing them in her lap. They entailed the Sovietyetan genocides, what she had perpetuated. She looked down at them, her eyes filled with fear, but no horror at what she had done. "Whoever you are... I regret nothing!" she said, before looking up, her eyes looking squarely down the barrel of Tsven's pistol. "Good," Tsven began. "Then you will have no problems dying." He fired a single shot between her eyes, killing her instantly. "A pitiful waste..." he whispered.

Elena retracted her dispenser. Tsven opened his phone, getting pictures of the bridge and the carnage caused, before sending them to the Director to both confirm the kills and get them ready for broadcast, ensuring he also got the pictures of Korsakova's horrific deeds in the same shot. "Elena," he said. "That was loud. We have to go. Use the dispenser." Elena shot out one of the windows. "This is Moskva control!" Tsven shouted into the radio. Elena fired the dispenser into the wall outside of the tower. "We're under attack!" She dropped the dispenser on to the deck below. "Send reinforcements immediately! A cargo jet full of them!" Alarms began blaring. "Th-they weren't human!" Elena checked the line. "Demons!" Tsven shot the radio. "Let's go."

Tsven picked Elena up, eliciting a slight yelp from Elena. "She sounds... excited...?" Tsevn thought to himself. He grabbed the rope, sliding down to the deck.


FLIGHT DECK
SUPERCARRIER MOSKVA
02:06 HOURS

Remus explains the situation to Tsven

Bullets ricocheted around the deck at the feet of Remus and Rydan as they fired shots into the approaching platoon of Sovietyetan soldiers. "Fuckin' 'Yetis!" Remus shouted. Rydan grabbed him, throwing him behind some metal sheets that were next to the bridge control tower, as he himself took cover as well. "Well, Rydan, old buddy, looks like this is it!" Remus shouted, firing off some more shots. Rydan shook his head, moving Remus again as Elena's heavy rope dispenser hit the ground next to them. "What the fu-?" Remus was interrupted as Tsven and Elena hit the deck. "Status?!?" Tsven shouted over the gunfire.
"Surrounded, boss!" Remus shouted back. "Gotta be at least 100 of them out there! I dunno how we're getting out of this!"
"Did you plant the charges?!?"
"Yeah! We got 'em on the planes and fuel trucks, but we didn't have time to get the runway! Some jackass decided to shoot up the bridge!"
"Well, that jackass got us some insurance!"

Tsven pointed to a cargo jet that was descending towards the flight deck. He grabbed a handful of charges, hurling them all across the landing strip. "We gotta go, NOW!" he shouted. The group ran for one of the lifeboats attached to the deck, their bodies contouring and jumping, bullets streaking past them. They dove into one of the lifeboats, Tsven firing shots through the ropes, cutting them. The boat fell, hitting the water hard. "Go go go!"

The small motorboat sped away from the aircraft carrier as the wheels of the cargo jet touched down, rolling over the first of the explosives. In a string of explosions, the entire flight deck erupted in a sea of fire. The command tower was blown loose, falling into the sea with a sickening shriek of metal. Then all was quiet again, the burning ship illuminating and reflecting off of the murky, black water. "Fuck..." Remus breathed. "I guess that's-" A loud crack erupted from the Moskva as the fire reached the munitions. With a thunderous clap, the ship split in two, each half lifting above the water for a few seconds before crashing back down again, slowly sinking. "I guess THAT'S it-" Yet another explosion rocked the Moskva as the interior flight deck exploded, blowing the bow half of the ship to pieces. "Oh, just fucking die already!" A fourth ball of flame erupted, this time shredding the stern half, the engine room going up. "Finally!"

After a few minutes, the motorboat reached the beach. "C'mon, people, let's get this thing hidden," Tsven ordered. The agents pulled the little boat from the sand to the forest nearby, carefully shifting the sand to ensure it could not be followed, before covering the boat with plantlife. Tsven looked over his shoulder at the flaming bits and pieces on the horizon that was once the Moskva supercarrier. The agents had just cracked the back of the Sovietyetan Navy in the south, and due to having no money left, the Sovietyetans would not be able to fix that any time soon. Hopefully that would give the rebels some breathing room. But at the cost of thousands of sailors' lives. Tsven shook his head. There would be time for grieving later. He turned back around, following his agents inland, bound for their next target.


OOC: Yes, I know, a little over-the-top and intense XD But, you gotta remember: covert sabotage, assassination, etc... Kind of Kauvara's specialty We've got the best covert operatives in the Darklands

[Armedland]

Message from the Republic of Armedland to the People's Republic of China

Dear Chinese brothers, we call for your aid against the Soviet brutes. They are imperialist pigs, intent on destroying neutral nations for their own benefit.
They are corrupt, their economy lags behind the rest of the world, (especially yours) and they have killed millions in constant wars and genocides. In order to stop the spread of the Soviet disease, we call for your aid.

END

[Charles Buckingham 2]

OOC: DIdnt even see this..... TAG

[Armedland]

Coast of turkey

Cpt. James Orchid knew he had to escort the fifteen trade ships carrying weapons home to Armedland, but he also knew these were Soviet waters.
Two destroyers from the Armedlandian navy was a good force. They were well-made ships, with powerful military capabilities, and capable men. But the Soviet navy was one of the strongest in the world, and they were in territory that was said they could be shot down in. Suddenly, three red dots came up on his radar system.
"Mitchell! What is that?!"
"Soviets, sir. They're approaching."
Oh, god no.

[The Sovietyeto]

SOVIET NAVAL SQAUD OFF THE COAST OF TURKEY
1000 HOURS STANDARD MOSCOW TIMING
ARMEDLAND ILLEGALLY MOVING WEAPON SHIPMENTS THROUGH SOVIET TERRITORIAL WATERS

Captain Tupel was the captain of the SUS Petromesky. Among all battleships the Petromesky was perhaps the worlds most formidable. It's massive size an many guns seemed to be the big reason. And now the Soviet Union was not going to allow weapon shipment to cross through their waters. Captain Tupel sat in the bridge. Looking over the deck and all the controls of the Petromesky. And he pressed the button. Suddenly his voice rang out on both the radio waves and the ships speakers.

"This is captain Tuple, captain of the Soviet Union Ship Petromesky. You are tresspassing through the waters. If you do not turn around this squadron will be forced to sink your cargo ships."

[Armedland]

The Captain takes out a speakerphone of his own, and replies.
"According to our government, these are not Soviet waters. If we are trespassing, and we have made a mistake, we will move towards our waters in Iraq. We sincerely apologize for this mistake," He says with clear malice.
"Thank you for your cooperation."
This is what they had told him to do if he was discovered. Head west, and he was back in the waters that Armedland could protect.
The dirty soviets had always been imperialists, staking claims in waters they had no affiliation with.. He thinks. He'd much prefer to call in command and see if they could get the entire squad sunk, or just do it himself. But he couldn't. He had to follow his orders.
He grins. Maybe they'll fire. That will be fun.

[The Sovietyeto]

Captain Tuple blinked, this man was an idiot. Not only was it common sense the USSR controlled Turkey to anyone sailing through it. But he didn't know that Iraq was a landlocked province. You could not sail a ship to it. His story was doubtlessly just as poorly cobbled together.

Tuple pushed the button again. "I find that unlikely. You will accompany us to the nearest port, only your ship may dock but all must come. Any attempt to resist will be met with force against the perpetrator. From their we will look over some questions. Thank you very much."

The last bit could almost be consoderred sarcastic. But you would only know if you knew Tulpes kind of tones. Otherwise it might sound more like a drawl. It was not yet known what the ships carried, but Moscow had put two an two together, and what they concluded was clearly undeniable.

[Armedland]

OOC: You do not get to decide whether or not I go with you or not.
Delete that part.
Thanks.

[Armedland]

Orchid hesitates. He knows that he can't go with the Soviet, but he also knows that he can't just sail away.
First, he radios command. "I want at least six Haukas in position on the ships near me. don't fire, but I want them online, and ready to fire at a moment's notice. Got it?"
The man over the radio confirms. "We'll be sending a few of the Prizes, if you know what I mean."
Orchid grins. He loves the play on words that they made out of it.
He picks up the loudspeaker.
"We refuse your request kindly. The merchant-ships are not government property, so we have no jurisdiction over them. If you fire, we will return fire, with support."
He hopes this will work.

[The Sovietyeto]

Tuple smiles, he realy is an idiot. A young commander comes in. "Captain!" he salutes. Tuple smiles. "Ready the weapons on all five ships. Three ships and two sustained they can't see. They just don't have the technology to see them. The man leaves, bursting with a desire to prove himself.

He pressed the button again. "If they are no the governments then you have no reason to pretext them, no reason to defend them. You have no reason to miss them if we take them for a search." he paused. "And you would have no reason to import the weapons they carry. Oh yes, we know their cargo. I have permission to fire if I must. And if you do not follow we will do so."

About now the helicopters the ships carried had buzzed of the helipads. The Armedlandian ships have none. They are not as heavily armed or as scientificly advanced. One move and the enemy would be lucky to fire a single return shot before sinking. Then the cargo ships would be either taken or sunk. Their cargo forever lost to the government of Armedland.

Captain Tuple took his finger off the red button as waited for the reply.

[Armedland]

Orchid hesitates, and reports back to command.
"They're threatening attack. Are the prizes here yet? Please tell me-"
"Yes, they are. Thank god for it too...You all were in serious danger." The man says.
Begin descent back. A frigate is coming to explain the situation, and we can hopefully end this without bloodshed. If not-well, by the time they get the first shot off, they won't be so cocky anymore. The Prizes have already spotted two more ships that you had previously thought, and I have serious doubts that those idiot Soviets could have picked them up. No, no way.

He looks at the water, apparently "soviet-held". Liars. This was Armedlandian and CDSPan water. The mediterranean.
"We'll be going now."

[The Sovietyeto]

As ssoon as the cargo ships started moving Tuple was calling for more ships. As many ship as he could convince the red fleet to send. And now he had ordered the Peteomesky to move. And how she moves.

Despite its size the Petromensky is surprisingly fast and agile. Nearing the smaller ships will be easy. They have a head start, but it is a small one and teu cannot hope to outrun the Petromensky.

Meanwhile a small blockade has begun to move to kelp the ships from exiting. Armedland is now, outrun, outgunned, and outnumbered. The only place those ships will go is down to the bottom of the sea if they keep this up.

Now once more within meters of each other the Petromansky looms behind and to the side the much smaller Armlandian ship. If Tuple wanted to he could use the four small but deadly torpedo tubes in the Pertomanskys belly. The back of the ship will go first. Along with several shots to the side hull. There isn't a hope in the world the Amrlandian captain can escape.

However the Helicopeters have yet to catch up, although it won't take them long. When they do they could even board the ships by force if they wanted to.

In the SUS Vladimir...

The endless ping changed in one spot. At the speed of sound it traveled back to the smaller SUS Validimir. They had found reinforcements. They didnt know what they were but they were there an they were manmade. It wasnt hard to figure out. Now it had to be wired to the Petromensky.

[Armedland]

1,000 feet under the surface of the battle
Four Prizyetsi Ladanja class submarines begin to go nearer to the surface, with their targets in sight. As they near, well in sync, they enable their sonar pingers.
First Lieutenant Mitchell is in charge of one of these. He can imagine the havoc that must be going on inside of the ship as all sonar is deactivated suddenly.
He counts down the five seconds before the blast of four 480mm torpedoes rushing from the sub into the exact same spot of the hull of the ship.
He sees the other three subs do the same actions, as the massive, previously dominant ships take damage.

He sees the remaining ships desperately trying to retreat or flee, but it is too late.
He hears it over the radio 30 seconds before it happens.
"Fire!
Four Hauka Medium Range Anti Ship Missles blast into the four ships with unbelievable force.
The entire fleet takes up position, and prepares to fight the other ships.

[The Sovietyeto]

OOC: And mere minutes after you told me not to godmod.

[Armedland]

OOC: What did I do to godmod?
Was it the sonar-disabling? Because that's part of the product description, ask Priz about it.
The torpedoes and the depth also are. I kept it to the books. We lured you into our coastline, and had you in range for anti-ship missles.

[The Sovietyeto]

OOC: These are the issues I have with your post.

1. Even the most advanced subs cannot go from Isrral to Turkey in minutes and avoid detection by constant Soviet monitoring.
2. You declared my losses.
3. We have not gotten very far at all from Turkey. You are still smack in the middle of it.
4. This isn't an issue with it but more of a request, I would apretiated it if we actually did this little battle in a few posts instead of a single breif one.

After you fix up the post I'll post then, no hard feelings, ok, good."

[Armedland]

OOC:
\1. It was an ambush. I have been discussing and planning this with another person for several days.
Also:

warfare weapon used to temporarily disable enemy sonar by eliminating the sonarman. This temporarily blinds the enemy ship, but also lowers the morale of the ship's crew. The Ladanja's main armement however, is the 480mm torpedo tube, which can carry many different types of torpedoes, whether they fit perfectly, or have to be launched from a cradle.

It also has a long-distance radio jammer, which can be used while surfaced.
2. Fixed.
3. What?
4. I attacked several of your ships. The battle isn't over yet. Although you're in a fairly bad position.