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Airliner Crashes over Gang-Infested Region (IC/MT/CLOSED)

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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Nation M
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Airliner Crashes over Gang-Infested Region (IC/MT/CLOSED)

Postby Nation M » Wed Feb 14, 2024 4:33 pm

[This will be official canon in my nation]

***Ideas welcome***


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Elanore & Naulington are CTE Nations / NPC's

UPDATE 05/16/24 (Summary)

A member of The Way Sun Cooperation has appeared in the Badlands.
The Kaisers Syndicates armed forces have entered Federation proper - the crew of the crashed helicopter is taking refuge in a Badlands city. The Moon Flower citizens are both dead. Soldiers from Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1 have engaged gang-members in the badlands in search of their 3 teenage citizens, and one adult male taken as hostages. Nation M has sent reinforcements to a squadron of 4 gathering having found 1 survivor from Garawa.

UPDATE 05/07/24 (Summary)

The Kaisers Syndicates are the second nation to send a lone helicopter to rescue their survivors. It too had been shot down by gangs - its crew survived. Victims from Moon Flower are confirmed dead. Soldiers from Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1 have engaged gang-members in the badlands in search of their 3 teenage citizens, and one adult male taken as hostages. Nation M has sent reinforcements to a squadron of 4 gathering having found 1 survivor from Garawa.


UPDATE 04/10/24 (Summary)
Plane crash discovered by a 4-man squadron. Survivors confirmed, 1 located and in the hands of the 4-man Squad. Cause of crash appears to be sabotage. No claims of responsibility. Manifest of passengers [so far] include citizens of Garawa and Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1. One naval ship from USSR off coast. Moon Flower claims 2 of their citizens in crash.

Summary


A single Airliner (Aerolineas Garaweñas of Garawa) crashed over the gang infested territory of Nation M, sustaining major damage. Unable to continue beyond the territorial confines of the Badlands. The Badlands are part of the sovereign borders of Nation M. Rulership within the Badlands is at the decree of local gangs, some that have been locked in bitter war against the other. Gangs mostly honor nonaggression pacts between them and the Federation (Nation M).

These gangs rely heavily on illicit practices that extend outside the Federation. These gangs are extremely dangerous with, rapes, kidnappings, and murder being a common occurance. A super highway connects the East and Western shores of the Federation, it is in constant surveillance. The RP could possibly begin at the originating nation [ie: Flight ABC234 departs for Maxtopia...]. The cause of the accident is speculated to have been an intense geomagnetic storm. Nation M frequently has massive storms caused by sprawling chemical plants throughout the country. Commercial aircraft can at most times determine the time of these disturbances.

Theories:

Was it shot down?
was it a Bomb?!
Weather Phenomenon?
Other?!

Nations Involved (as of 05/16/24): Garawa, Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1, Moon Flower, The Kaisers Syndicates, The Way Sun Cooperation


Rules


This RP will use an interactive map that will change at the direction of the RP. Updates will be published regularly on the OP. Nations are encouraged to telegram eachother and agree to terms that would inflict casualties or infringe on anothers territorial claim. You can side with a gang, a clan, use mercenaries, your main, your puppet, be an individual, or an observer. Militaries of your nations are allowed to be used. PT, and MT nations may join.

• No Godmode • No Nukes • No Entering/invading Nation M (excluding Badlands) unless agreed to by the OP • Stat-Based RP with some exception for mercenary groups (TG) • Mature content • Limited FT (Think Bladerunner, all type 1 civilizations)
Last edited by Nation M on Sat Jun 15, 2024 8:17 am, edited 21 times in total.
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Garawa
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Postby Garawa » Thu Feb 15, 2024 3:46 pm

Carlos Huerto woke up early, he knew he has to make it to the airport on time for his flight. There was a business meeting in Federal Republic of Cordoba and he wanted to make his best impressions. So he collected his files and packed them into an old briefcase while dragging a 22" bag behind him. It was an old apartment building, and the stairwell was at the exterior of the structure, the hot was hot, and the humidity unbearable. Across the street of a busy intersection a taxi, or at least for most Garawans it was so. The dingy little rickshaw was marked with the name of a local transportation company, barely visible as it was mostly peeled. The adhesive used was poor grade, as were most Garawans. On time he marched to the check-in counter, and much to his luck the company out of Cordoba was wealthy enough to afford him the comforts of business class.

Five minutes late boarding had begun, and the airport leisons marshalled the passengers out of french doors leading to a hot tarmac sizzling in thermals. His suede shoes seemed to stick, peeling off the asphalt with each step. Ahead of him, a chrome tube of an aircraft with an airstair attached. Working his way onboard the aircraft he could barely touch the side railings from the blistering temperature. Once on he found his seat, 2A, a window seat with a bottle of water at the arm rest. "Aerolineas Garaweñas" read the safety information card at the forward seat pocket. Downing the complimentary beverage he made himself comfortable, and said a little prayer in Spanish.

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Now 20 minutes from boarding and the flight attendants made a predeparture announcement. It was a short taxi, with a single runway to service the only international aerodrome of the small tropical island nation. The jet engines screamed, the brakes released, and the jetliner was rolling down the runway. On takeoff Carlos could see the beautiful crystal clear waters of the Marinero coast bidding him a happy journey. So he relaxed, pulled of his shoes, scrolled through the inflight entertainment and fell fast asleep. After all, it would be a 12 hour flight.
Last edited by Garawa on Thu Feb 15, 2024 3:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Nation M
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Postby Nation M » Fri Feb 16, 2024 9:13 am

Zeina V Area Control Center (ACC) expects busy airspace transitioning over the Federations Flight information boundry (FIR). Forecast reported the general transition airways would be clear of inclement weather. An advisory was issued for :::known foreign military::: presence operating within the international waters of the Federation. This was normal, and there were no high alert issues beyond a standard advisory. Airlines with operating permits through the Federation understand they are overflying an area outside the control of the Federation - should they divert and land within these Badlands.

Air Traffic Controller Derreck Pathol sat at his station clearing traffic in and out of his airspace when an alert beeps on his monitor. He radios to all aircraft operating in his airspace of the following:

NOTAM (Notice to Airman) 23: Be advised for potential rocket fire by military ships operating 100 miles outside Federational waters in the following vicinity...[Coordinates displayed]

SIGMET TANGO (Inflight Weather Advisories for Significant Meteorological hazards), line of building chemical clouds observed and moving ENE, at least 4000 squaremiles, accompanied by severe turbulance between flight levels 250 (25,000'- flight level 400 (40,000') associated with temperature shifts.
Last edited by Nation M on Fri Feb 16, 2024 9:34 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Garawa
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This is how I die

Postby Garawa » Sat Feb 17, 2024 12:13 pm

A violent explosion, a sudden rush of air, painful screams, and flying debris. Carlos must be dreaming, and those sleep aids he's taken led him down a state of deep slumber. He wakes in disbelief as a short flight attendant weeves through the aisle with a small oxygen bottle and a gash across her forehead. Thick white air now fills the cabin and time seems to almost slow as the screams intensify. The man to his right squeezes his eyes tightly shut moving his mouth as to speak to his ancestors.

His life now begins to flash before his eyes. He remembers his first tricycle, a second hand rusted little thing that he none the less displayed proudly to all the neighborhood kids. His mother in the kitchen cooking his favorite dish one day as he came hungry, tired, and saddened by the loss of his best friend. Alejandro Mantoya was run over by a speeding vechicle that morning, and the kids all ran to see his mangled body lying on some dirt road where he was dragged near a garbage pile. He remembers graduating, only second to top of his class. His parents proud never the less.

Being the first college graduate of his family, and on to work for a renowned soap manufacturing company, using locally grown coconuts, living modestly with his two parakeets he affectionately named Julio & Esteban. Now in the care of his housekeeper Mariabella, who would now become the adoptive mother. This is how he would die. Achieving what most in Garawa could not, called to travel abroad in business class to a far off destination. Without knowing the outcome of the meeting he hit the highest point of his life. Would it now be so bad he should die? Back at home his family would celebrate his life, and he would be a reason to gather up his relatives.

"BRACE, BRACE, BRACE!" Yelled the short stocky flight attendant who was now at her jumpseat, and tighlty strapped. The oxygen bottle she was hauling around was now travelling down the aisle, rolling uncontrollably. From his vantage point he was able to see her at her station, sitting beside her coworker whos swarthy skin seemed to turn a pale purple. In that split second he wondered if they'd regretted their decision to become air stewards.

Looking out the window he could barely make out any terrain, or water. They had been travelling over an ocean for most of the flight. The intense G-forces pulled him firmly to his cushion, and stretching out his hands he felt the lifevest under his seat. No one ever listens to those repetative safety briefs, and now he realized his mistake. Whether or not they impact land or water, his fate is sealed. Forget the safety brief. From the windows a series of flashing lights made the now dark interior glow...then impact, he lost conciousness.

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Nation M
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Postby Nation M » Sun Feb 18, 2024 11:20 am

OOC: Gonna give it another day or two, see if anyone else wants to RP as the second air crash. Otherwise it will be a single crash, Garawan airlines.
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I live to See another Day

Postby Garawa » Sun Feb 18, 2024 4:29 pm

Nation M wrote:OOC: Gonna give it another day or two, see if anyone else wants to RP as the second air crash. Otherwise it will be a single crash, Garawan airlines.

ooc: understand.

The smell of burning jetfuel burned his nostrils. Strobed images of people moving about crumpled aluminum with cuts, bruises and missing limbs catches his eyes, that are now fully immersed in tears, set on by the thick black smoke consuming every inch of his body. Carlos was middle-aged, slightly pudgy, but certainly not weak enough to remove the dead mans arms laid across his face. Turning his neck took an incredible amount of effort, as did moving any part of his body. He coughed violently, thinking his lungs would give out and he'd pass out. He recalled a fire safety course taken in grade school, and he knew he needed to get low wherever that might be. He was still disorientated from the crash, and wondered how he could possibly have survided. There were humans remains at every direction, limbs, digits, even the severed mandible of a young man who sat behind him. Numb as his legs were he felt he had enough control to negotiate the debris, and he followed in the rays of a light, emitting from a partitioned section of the planes fueselage.

Moaning and groaning were the only discernible sounds after the blazing inferno plus the cracking sounds of melting metal. With the most strained effort Carlos pushes himself far enough from the wreckage to feel relatively safe, and he can now gather at the scope of the harrowing events playing out before his eyes. His big brown eyes reflect a blazing interno, and he's too weak to go back and pull any other survivors. On his right he notices another survivor "Oh no, what happen, what happen!" the man cries, holding his left forearm, concealling a wound of some sort. They both sat on solid grown, no weeds, no grass, just a dry lot of land. Where they've crashed was beyond him.

He rocked back and forth, cradling his nerves and scanning for any signs of first responders, but there were no sirens, and no helicopters overhead. Looks like they've crash landed on some remote barren land, miles from civilization, but how could that be, if in the distance he could see the emitting glow of a bustling city, or town. Why haven't they sent for help? What sort of a land was this? what people were these? It was nightfall, and their only beacon was the intense light pouring out of every nook of their once expensive flying machine. The minutes passed with each moan growing weaker, and the blaze was too settling. In light of the fire he could see the other survivors. Definately not all 170-odd passengers, but certainly more than 10, maybe even 15.

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Nation M
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Postby Nation M » Tue Feb 20, 2024 6:19 pm

The Hunters were a ruthless gang that prowled the Badlands looking for victims. Horrifyingly brutal in their nature, they also happened to be cannibals. Food in the Badlands was afforded to only the toughest of the gangs. Some banded together to form communites, with fortified cities, while others chose to roam the lands in search of stragglers, or lost adventurers. Thrill seekers and war tourists who would often visit some of the cities within the Badlands, and always warned from venturing off unescorted by locals.

Even the toughest city was often subject to raids, gang violence, and the occassional blood feud. The crash victims of Aerolineas Garawanas just so happened to be on the unfortunate end of crash-landing on one of the worst sectors within the Badlands. These "Hunters" were hostile to anyone, especially to citizens of the Federation.

It was a clear night, the night of the accident. The hurdling fireball streaked across the sky, a beacon that alerted the locals of fresh meat.


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The Hunter 1: Oy' look there in the sky, it's a fockin' comet eh?

The Hunter 2: Is you dim headed, looks like a silver bird fallin' from the sky *He says rubbing his belly* I say we ride out and let her settle. Looks like hell has favored us.

It's a pack of 10 men, heavily armed. They wear their hair wildly, colored in symmetric patterns - more than a fashion statement but a common intimidation tactic employed by many gangs within the Badlands.

Their vehicles are fashioned from various parts, welded together, death traps on wheels. These bandits are mostly leaderless, but this particular group of Hunters follows the lead of a hefty man, with a deep rasp in his voice. His skin decked in a myriad of tattoos, each commemorating a unique kill.

By now Air Traffic Controllers would have alerted to an aircraft in distress, the issue being the Federations military unwilling to meddle much in the Badlands. They had their contacts, those gangs who would cooperate to some degree - often relating to some sort of deal, an exchange of goods or information.

But this was different, this now involved a foreign Airline, with possible passengers from various nations across the NationStates world. Back at Zeina V the Ministry of Defense is informed, and now it would be a waiting game. How would they respond? They knew any possible survivors would fall victim to the bloodthirsty gangs. Who would investigate the crash? Garawa would now need to assemble a team, and engage in talks with the Federation.
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Postby Garawa » Wed Feb 21, 2024 3:52 pm

Carlos was now amongst 12 total survivors. They all appeard to have all their limbs, with minor cuts and bruises. "I don't think any of the flight crew made it, I would have thought our flight attendants or pilots would take some sort of charge at this point" said a man lifting himself from a piece of debris hurled some 20 feet from the wreckage. "Does anyone have any idea where we are?" said another man, also wearing business attire with his tie undone. "I have an idea, the last I checked we were about 350 miles from the coast of Nation M, and beyond that our flight path had us right back over another ocean. So, if I were to bet we are somewhere in M". "I'm not familiar with M" Carlos spoke with his heavy spannish accent. "The signs point to a place most unwelcoming...there are absolutely no signs of any attempt at rescue. I can see a damn city! and yet not one helicopter, or siren. Had this happened in Garawa we would have known by now there was some sort of a rescue effort ordered". "Let's not jump to any hasty conclusion, who knows of their resources, or their manpower to offer such an immediate response". The business man ran his hairy arms across his sweating forehead "my friends, the Federation is most well equipped, our Garawa pales in comparison. We are in a magolith of scientific advancement, and a nation known for its foreign occupations. So if we have the strength I say we try and make it for that city" he jerks his head toward the bustling city lights in the distance". A flare was launched on the farside of the wreckage by another passenger. "Looks like he located the flare box, I say we stay put". Carlos was caught between two differences in opinion, and still he was shaken up about just having survived a plane crash. "Guys, I am seeing lights now, and they are coming toward us". These lights however were not from emergency response vehicles, nor were they coming from the city.

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Nation M
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Postby Nation M » Mon Feb 26, 2024 6:29 pm

Zeina V felt this air disaster was a nuisance - Airliners were granted overfly permits with full disclosure of the dangers that lurked below should they not have the fuel needed to reach one of the safe zones within the Federations controlled cities. Last air disaster within the Badlands involved a Elaneri Airline, but this was different in that their relation with the Elaneris was fairly close. Nored Glump was a human octopus, his arms moving about his office, clicking on his computer, answering phone calls, and ordering his administrators around - a constant, never ending job for a nation with a massive grid of air, land, and sea traffic. These days were especially busy, the military was being deployed for yet another exercise - the juggle was enough to drive anyone mad. Upon hearing about Aerolineas Garawenas he scuffed at the stack of papers strewn across his desk. There was just no way he'd ask the military to divest an interest in the Badlands, and much less for a foreign airline of some small island nation the world probably never even knew existed. Shaking his head his picks up the phone...

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Minister Glump: General, hi, this will be quick. Regarding the crashing of the jet over in Sector 8, I say pull a team...say four or five. Assuming anyone survived the crash they're probably bait for the marauders. A reconnaissance bird heading to Cyber City picked up a band of riders, the trajectory indicates they are likely headed to the crash site. Hunters presumably, and not many.


The conversation is barely more than 10 minutes, they exchange pleasantries and waste time with other less trying matters. The General was one of many within an armed forces of over 600,000,000. By this point if the international press has overlooked this incident it would be easy to sweep this tragedy under the rug. After-all, the Emen were more concerned with their own population. Had the Airliner crashed within Federation proper, it'd have been a massive undertaking - with responders wasting no time at all.
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Garawa
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Postby Garawa » Thu Feb 29, 2024 12:59 pm

The telephone rings in Julio Hernandez office. A tiny office with near empty shelves and a fading blue wall with cracks and cobwebs evenly arrayed about each corner. It was another typically hot day, and his fan made a strained effort to cool down the room. The hot air circulated just enough to keep the office administrator content. Julio was head of the Aeronautical division in Garawa, small enough to administer 1 national carrier with a fleet of 5. "Señor" said the voice of a man coming faintly from the other side of the landline. "Aerolineas Garaweñas flight 227 with service to Cordoba was lost over the Federation of M". Carlos sat motionless, containing an inward panic he's not experienced before. "What do we know so far? Has the Federation been contacted? how many souls were onboard" he says as he types through his old mackintosh computer attempting to retrieve the manifest. "173 souls onboard, the cause as of now is speculated as having been weather related...The Federation reported electro-chemical storms in the area, which was not forecasted for the window Aerolineas Garaweñas would have been transitioning through".

The man on the other line pauses momentarily, then continues "We did reach M, and they will not launch an investigation, nor will they contain the area. A small 'team' is all they mentioned, and only to serve as an 'on-ground' reporting task force. The manufacturer of the Boeing 707 has been contacted, and they will take the first available flight, but there is more...The area of the crash sits in a gang-infested zone known as the Badlands". Julio knew of this, he was among the three men who accepted this risk as a means to acquire the overly permit. The flightpath saved the airlines over 5 hours of fuel, and from a cost savings angle was the smarter decision at the time. Garawa has limited funds, and these long haul flights were big cash cows.

Locals didn't travel these long distances, but tourists, and foreign investors to Garawa sure did. With each ticking of the clock on his wall, a new worry arose. "The foreigners onboard, do we know what nationalities they held? and were their respective embassies told?". "Yes Sir, but they are caught in the same predicament as the manufacturer, unable to secure a means of accessing these Badlands without cooperation from the Federation". "Well Damn it! I will have to contact these Federation folks myself, there's just no way a civilized society can allow innocent people to fall victim to God knows what out there!". "Yes Sir, I agree" The voice of the man was enough to suggest the whole effort was pointless, still it wouldn't be a wasted effort if a miracle could be won. "Adios" Julio hung up and scratched his head is dismay.

He stood and walked slowly toward a cupboard on the far-side of the room where he pulled a small bottle of aged rum. First things first, he contacted the Director of Operations for the downed Airliner. Pacing back and forth he talked quietly to himself, and finally mustered enough courage to pick up the phone and get a phone patch over to the Federations Ministry of Foreign Affairs. "Buenas...I mean, good Afternoon...My name is Julio Hernandez, from the Officer of the Civil Aviation Authority of Garawa..."
Last edited by Garawa on Thu Feb 29, 2024 1:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Nation M
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Postby Nation M » Fri Mar 01, 2024 8:53 am

Minister Nored Glump is once again bothered with yet another call about this Garawan ordeal. On the line he's patched to a man identifying himself as the Civil Aviation Authority of Garawa, a Julio Hernandez.

"Minister Glump: This is Minister Glump go ahead...". His office was massive, in immaculate order with digital screens canvassed across the walls. The air was a comfortable temperature, kept regulated by a body sensing climate control unit that doubled as a freshener - spraying a light mist of oud. The arrogance in the ministers voice was telling of his indifference to the plight of the Garawan minister and his downed airliner. "Listen, I've already talked to another one of your officials, and we can't afford to dump any resources into this, save for a squad of army personnel.

They'll assess the damage, and report back to us. I can tell you that from a passing reconnaissance aircraft of our Air Force it looks unlikely anyone has survived. You're more than welcome to send a delegation of investigators, we'll grant the necessary entry visas, but you'll need to find your way through the Badlands without an escort...and I doubt you'd be willing to assume such a risk to yourself or anyone of your compatriots.

So, with that there's really nothing more I can do for you. We will be sure to reach your office once our soldiers have something worth reporting. Good day". The pleading voice of the Garawan man on the other line made Nored Glump angry. He took it as weakness, and he hated Julio for it.


Image


Mega-highway 1, the largest single stretch highway in the Federation connecting the nations coasts was a gargantuan link that hosted millions of travelers daily in both directions.

The highway was regulated by the Federation, and gangs were kept out. It was secured on either side, with lookout posts manned by military soldiers of the Federation.

On their way from Dreifusf to Cyber City is a 4 man squad, Private First Class Stacey Glassjaw, Private Emily Krill, Sergeant Keith Bonak, and leading the pack is 24 year old Corporal Randall Trent.

Their weeklong assignment is to provide tactical support for a deploying battalion. Sergeant Keith and Corporal Randall had made the drive before. Along the way there were numerous rest stops, with super-restaurants, super-hotels, vehicle service centers, and other necessities and leisurely options.

There was more than enough conversation to be had. They carefully went over every detail of their assignment, making sure they were well prepared.

Making it 1 hour past the exit point of the Federation and through the Badlands expanse of highway they receive a call from their base supervisor.

Sergeant Keith Bonak sits at the drivers seat, bobbing and weaving around the slower traffic, Randall Trent sits shotgun. Emen military are impervious to traffic rule enforcement action.


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_______CPL Randall Trent________________SGT Keith Bonak___________________PFC Stacey Glassjaw__________________PVT Emily Krill_______

Randall: "Not even a day out and already base is calling us...I wonder what it could be". He leans over and turns down the local radio station that was playing a local favorite "Technical Itch - Dark Way".

Stacey: "Aww man, right when the music was so good!"

Randall: "Corporal Trent Go-ahead".


The static is unbearable at the plumes of dark clouds create sporadic radio disruption. It was the crash. Their mission has now shifted to gathering information about the downed craft.


Randall: "For fuck sake! the Badlands, just us 4?! They have lost their damned minds. A small-fry drops from the sky, and they care just enough to send us on a suicide mission!"

Keith: "...yup, and here I was, thinking we'd had it too easy. Guess my thinking got us in this bind". They all laugh, brushing off the thought of a nightmare they'd knowingly encounter.


They drive an M21 Cyber-Truck, large enough to fit enough food and water to last a year - telecommunications, and medical equipment. Guns, ammo, pyrotechnics and night-vision.
Last edited by Nation M on Fri Mar 01, 2024 9:11 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Garawa
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The Devil in Prayer

Postby Garawa » Fri Mar 01, 2024 11:29 am

A whooshing sound and draft of a hurling object passes inches from Carlo's now scruffy face. He ducks instinctively, too late to avoid getting hit, yet having missed him the spinning object continues on. The thud of the crashing axe into the man next to him shatters his skull. Spirts of blood sprinkle about and land on Carlos chin.

He lets out a blood curdling scream, panicked, in complete disarray. He turns and falls to the ground, ducking under a 12 foot piece of aluminum from the wreckage. It's now daylight, and the drama unfolding before him seems like something out of a horror movie. Raiders have gathered. These were not humanitarians, or good Samaritans, not fire fighters, or medical responders, not even armed forces.

These were a rogue band of blood lusting men, with tattoos, piercings, decked in sharp weapons, fashioned for murder. What sort of men are capable of massacring survivors of an airline crash? With the same spit of survival adrenalin he felt moments before the crash he kept low, motionless, keeping his limbs entirely beneath the shield of aluminum. The others screamed frantically, running about aimlessly muddled with panic.

Hyena-like and amused by the terrified survivors, the gang members picked out those making a run for it first. An elderly woman, looked to the heavens with teary streams down her eyes. The miracle of the angelic being that saved her from the crash had now abandoned her as she was dismembered, legs first, then arms.

Her torso flopped like a dying fish out of water, the final throws of nerve endings giving out their last impulses.

The laughing of the men echoed deep in Carlos navel. His stomach churned and he became violently nauseous, then began to vomit.

Image


Greyish with a streak of black eyeliner, decked with what appeared to be an arrangement of feathers was a hefty member of these bandits, he pulled rope from one of the pipe fitted four wheelers and leapt toward another man who pleaded for mercy.

Hogg tied, the man was dragged to a much larger vehicle outlined with skulls and chains.

Still, no sign of any rescue. Maybe that's what a younger passenger thought as he stood up in a fighting stance. The petrified look on his face betrayed his willingness to fight, and the gang broke into a deranged laughter.

Distracted by this Carlos made a dash for one of the smaller motorbikes. Back at home he operated a Bajaj Biker with a strikingly similar mechanical design apart from the menacing outer shell.

Whimpering and breathing uneasily he sped away, continually jerking his head back to ensure he wasn't being followed. He wasn't.

He made for the city in the distance. The environment seemed arid with patches of mud dispersed unnaturally. He swerved around car wrecks and random metallic objects. It was a barren land, corrupted by industrial waste, and a fitting smell.

Accelerating the motorbike vroomed, speeding through fast enough to reduce his chances of being spotted, yet slow enough to quiet the sounds of the motorcycle beneath the screams and laughs. He felt cowardly, in the moment thinking how he failed to invite anyone to escape alongside him. "I will get help, somehow, I will" he spoke softly, catching his breath as his cries suffocated him.
Last edited by Garawa on Fri Mar 01, 2024 11:38 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1
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Postby Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1 » Fri Mar 01, 2024 11:37 pm

2 regiments of the 5th Guards Armored Division were ordered to the Badlands of Nation M due to Soviet citizens being on board the crashed aircraft and the hostile gangs in the region. The Soviet nuclear aircraft carrier the Admiral Savalov and her CSG entered the body of water separating Nation M and Naulington while launching 6 Su-35K armed with 8 KAB-500S-E precision guided bombs and 4 drop fuel tanks along with 6 Su-35K armed for air to air combat also be launched once they reached within 25 miles of the coast of the Badlands. The 12 Sukhois climbed in altitude to extend their range with Su-25 with buddy packs ready to launch to refuel the 12 Sukhois once they return.
Leader: President Alexei Navalny
Member of: NATO, The Indo-Pacific Pact, ASP, CSL
Observer of: KTO
Population: 450 million
Year: 2025
Country: The Union of Soviet Sovereign Republics or the Soviet Union
Territory: All Soviet Territory plus former Iranian provinces of East Azerbaijan, West Azerbaijan and Ardabil.
Tech Level: MT-PMT
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Nation M
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Founded: Dec 21, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby Nation M » Sat Mar 02, 2024 10:15 am

Off the Southern coast of Nation M and resting on the international waters boundary sits an Emen (Demonym for people of Nation M) Fleet. It's the 5th Emen Naval Fleet that regularly conducts off-shore military drills and stands at the ready for any incursion deemed too large for the Coast Guard. Captain Morimor Hexx sits at the bridge when he learns of a Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1 carrier approaching. What the Captain knew was a foreign aircraft had crashed in the Badlands, no further news was disseminated through Naval communication channels.

Most assumed an Airliner could contain citizens of nations outside of Garawa, including Federal Republic of Cordoba - the Airliners country of destination. The Captain pulls up a tablet hinged within a small mechanical opening at his armrest. The tablet unfolds with a smooth electrical hiss and automatically prompts to a welcome screen displaying the Naval Arms crest. The encrypted cloud based scanner identifies the Captain and unlocks to reveal a command screen. "Admiral Gyeis", his monotone voice speaks to the tablet. With a heavy robotic voice the tablet responds the command and patches to Admiral Gyeis.


Captain Morimor Hexx: "Admiral, 5th Fleet, observed incoming armed neutrality, registering as Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1. Subjects heavily armed - carrier - weaponized craft. Advise response..."

Admiral Gyeis: "Understand, neutral forces, armed, incoming. Advise contact. Manifest of downed Airliner shows possible nationals of the Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1 among casualties."


Fleet realigns - Helms 5°, and contact is initiated. Bridge crew relays message to carrier:

"Foreign military carrier, you are approaching the military authority of the Federation of Nation M - State intention"

Back on superhighway 1 the Squad led by Corporal Randall pull over at a local commissary owned by a Badlands gang licensed by the federation. These locals worked closely with the Emen, although they were also involved heavily within crime syndicates outside Federation judicial zones. They each take with them a single handbag, enough clothing and toiletries for the night. They'll look over the coordinates of the crash site that evening and consider a strategy that will disguise their encroachment in hostile territory.

Image


Stacey: "Hmm, let's see, 'dear diary'...no, um, 'Captain's log'! yea much better. That's how I'll headline this weeks journal entry, I'm sure HQ would love to post this. 'final words of suicide squad', hey I'll die the best damn journalist in the army.

Keith: "No one will die, you're charmed to be in the presence of one of M's finest gunslingers" he pats his side arm.

Emily: "I believe that, but I don't believe you'll succeed against a dozen armed thugs hosing us with automatics from every directions"

Keith: "They chose us cause we have M's finest medic as well" he gestures his hands like a little pistol firing toward Emily and clicks his tongue. "They looked at all the squads and said, this one's a package deal! why sacrifice an entire battalion when we have M's 4 top soldiers in close proximity...genius!"

Randall: "...and led by it's best Corporal". He pulls a government credit card from his chest pocket and hands it to the fragile skeletal man standing behind a metallic counter at the hotels reception desk.

Emily, leans over the counter and grabs a handful of complimentary mints "we're M's pride and joy" she tells the pale man, who stares at her solemnly and corpselike.
Last edited by Nation M on Sat Mar 02, 2024 11:22 am, edited 1 time in total.
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War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.
My Nation is not entirely representative of my personal views, Stats are canon
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Garawa
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Posts: 61
Founded: Jan 29, 2013
Left-wing Utopia

City of Despair

Postby Garawa » Tue Mar 05, 2024 1:15 pm

Carlos was closing in on the city, a grisly exhibition of concrete structures, metallic underbellies and graffiti painted walls. Most unwelcoming and still his only available saving grace, to avoid hiding out near the crash site and risk being captured by the gangs. He felt a sense of resignation, but his only glimmer of hope expected some sort of civil force that maintained a bit of order amidst such chaos. The motorcycle took a beating as it rammed the rusted alternator of a half buried generator, front tire blown and rim now bent he was thrown off, breaking the fall on a trash mound. Getting up he checks to make sure he was still intact, no cuts. An infection would kill him. There were probably no hospitals anywhere near this battlefield of a city.

He heard a hissing now, close to his ear, making the hairs stand up on his neck, then a second followed by a penetrating shot to a near by barrel. It was a sniper, and he was the target. Automatically he pulled his hands atop his head and ran to the nearest enclosure. It was a basement perm entry to one of the rundown buildings. He was being targeted. It must be the motorbike, and the snipers mistook him for a gang-member. "Please, I am a victim of a crash! do not shoot!". Fearing the snipers would close in on him he thought it best to attempt communicating.

"Come out, keep your fucking hands up or we'll blow out your brains!". It was the voice of a child, not more than 12 or 13. He cooperated and slowly came out, fixing his cracked lenses now fogged by the perspirations and sweat dripping from his tanned forehead. "I do not have any weapons" Carlos voice visibly shaken. He felt a small wool gloved hand taking hold of his wrist, then two boys came from either side of him. They were definitely young teenagers, dressed in raggedy clothing with rifles flung across their backs.

"Who are you? it was your plane", "Yea who the fuck are you?!", "why are you here?", the questions came too fast to answer but their ages helped calm his nerves. "Please, I was involved in an accident, my name is Carlos, I am a citizen of Garawa". "Garawa?" The boys looked perplexed, they've never heard of such country. "Yes, a peaceful island nation, very very far from here...the airliner we were on was destined for Cordoba, I am one of the survivors" he caught his breath and gulped "there are many more who survived, but some people from the barren lands came and began executing them "he began to cry subtly but caught himself. Knowing these were only teenagers he wanted to seem stronger, and less vulnerable.

"Hunters" the angrier of them said. "Your friends aren't the only ones in danger of them, so are we...we are 'Ethrikk', and belong to a sniper clan that has a duty to monitor the outer limits of our city. We did not sound any alarm, since you are one, and we could have killed you if we wanted to". "Yea we fucking spared you, be thankful". The angry one had scars all over his arm, he has seen violence. "I understand" Carlos continued, "please I don't have much money, my country is very poor, but I was recruited to a wealthy company. I am sure if I can contact them we can give you money and please, I want to go home safely, to my family". "We don't want your fucking money, we're no beggars!". Carlos would be extra careful of how he addressed the boys, they didn't seem to have much trust of outsiders, or even know of any.

"Look, we're no bad guys and we'll take you to our clan and they'll decide what happens. If you say you're a foreigner then your people will probably want to come looking for you. The city isn't safe once the sun goes down, but we're well inside, away from the edge so it's not so bad", the angry one seemed to relax a bit.

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Nation M
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Founded: Dec 21, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby Nation M » Wed Mar 06, 2024 5:07 pm

Sergeant Keith Bonak woke up early, just in time to hear his timed coffee machine grind away sending a delightful java bean aroma floating through his hotel room. He plopped out of bed, stretching out his long muscular arms. Corporal Randall was leading the mission, even though he outranked him - needless to say it was an additional undertaking for Keith since Randall would be under his watchful eye. It was a promotional evaluation, and Randall was one performance review away from being considered for advancement. The challenge was mostly keeping the two girls safe - they were considered soldiers on paper, but their jobs were non combative. Keith spoke to his tablet to contact Corporal Randall.

Keith: "Morning Randall, what do you say we meet at the executive lounge in...*he glances at the bedside analog*...30minutes. Enough for you? we'll order breakfast up there with the girls. Go ahead and ring them up".

The synthetic fibers on his uniform were freshly laundered and wrinkle free. Daily, each squad commander quickly ran through any new email, possible division notices, or mission changes. Nothing new, their mission was still toward the crash site. He washed his face, keeping a well trimmed soul patch goatee. He was young enough and still hadn't grown full facial hair at the sides. Picking up his shoulder bag he gives his room a once over, collecting all his items, then headed for the conference room.

Emily: "Morning sunshines!" She bursts through the door, her youthful composure gives off an air of spark and joy. Her golden-reddish hair is strung in a high ponytail, it's curls frizzy and wild, and her cheeks glowing rosily.

Stacey: "Oh well aren't we cheery today, I'll start off the day on that high note, aaand work down from there", she's leaning against the wall, her right leg bent comfortably. She's old fashioned, taking notes from an old paper pad.

Image

Randall: "Now that's the most nature I've seen in a while", poking fun at the paper note pad. "Morning fellas, I've been up quite a bit last night, running through some possible entry points". Clearing his throat he pulls out his army issued tablet, and projects a signal onto a blended screen on the wall. "Based on the likely exit points along highway 1, I picked out our best course. Last night I also met one of the local clan leaders, our old friend at the front desk was kind enough to lend me a contact. We'll go over the inventory once more in the truck, and ration 3 days worth...I figure that would be all. I don't intend on staying more than that. We agree?". Keith nods in approval, as the girls voice equal approval.

They spend the rest of the morning making small talk, about their plans for after the mission and Keith's admiration for Randall's leadership and planning. They each order a healthy serving of eggs, sausage, and hearty acai bowl full of oats and berries. The two men drank a second cup of coffee, while Emily and Stacey had a spiced breakfast milk chai. Downstairs they handed their room keycards to the mannequin-looking receptionist and called for their truck that met them at the entrance. It was a typically cloudy day, yet the temperature was a windless comfortable 68 degrees. Keith took the wheel while Randall inspected the navigation application on his tablet. Off the highway, about 2 miles east they found an offramp with large neon signs "Warning- You are leaving Federation Security Zone - Proceed at your own risk". They flashed their high beams at an iron sentry tower with tinted bullet proof plexiglass windows. A code from the cars transponder was automatically transmitted to the tower with a mission ID. They were now in badlands proper.
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War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.
My Nation is not entirely representative of my personal views, Stats are canon
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Garawa
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Founded: Jan 29, 2013
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Garawa » Thu Mar 07, 2024 12:56 pm

The teenagers took Carlos through narrow alleys, crumbling facades and and derelict storefronts. On the way one of them handed him a protein bar. Carlos examined the wrapper, it was a rich chocolate manufactured in the Federation. Closing his eyes slightly he took in the taste. Fires were kept burning by scrappers that created makeshift homes inside collapsed buildings. It was strange for him, in Garawa a large population could be considered poor, yet each lived halfway descent compared to this.

They entered a large building, with balconies on every floor, this part of the city was more put together, and pedestrians crowded the streets. Some looked at him inquisitively, especially having the escort of the teenagers. "We're in this building" the angry one said as he sprinted to catch a closing elevator door. Carlos felt a load off his chest, the danger seemed far off now. He could only hope the adults of this 'clan' would be as welcoming as their children.

On the wall were posters, they seemed political, written in the local language. They were on the 25th floor. The hallway was cluttered with boxes, weapons, and miscellaneous metals. Inside one of the apartment units were several men slouched on couches, rifles leaning against the base. "Go on" One of them told the teens, "we'll take him from here". "as la ta nuego" said one of the boys, which he later assumed meant "hasta luego". They seemed to have put together his native language was Spanish, very similar to Garawan.

"Boy, are you lucky to be alive" a heavy set man said entering in from another room, rubbing a wet cloth around his hands. He was completely bald, clean shaven, and covered in tattoos. He must have been in his 40's. He wore a white t-shirt, much too small for a man of his size, denim pants, and heavy duty boots. With a welcoming gesture the man held out his hand. Carlos paused a second. "I am so sorry" Carlos must have had a second of amnesia, since the man was only offering a handshake. "My name is Carlos, I am a native of Garawa, I was involved in an aircraft accident...I was on my way to the nation of Cordoba for a business meeting". He divides his attention around the room, making sure to include everyone. They sat quietly, uncaring, starring at a television screen.

"Ah yes, I think I heard of Garawa. I was a geography nerd when I was in school. Don't mind the glamour of the city, some of us are well educated. You see, the Federation sectioned off 800 miles worth of land, and gave it to tribes that don't wish to abide by Federation law". He took Carlos into another room, away from the others, sitting together on opposite ends of an old table. "The Federation does not bother us, and we don't bother them. We have our own laws, and I mean each Clan...having laws of their own. Prowling outside the confines of the city are any number of gangs, most that will kill first, then ask questions later. We generally have a good standing with the Federation, and some of us have gone and studied in the larger cities, but some of us, like myself, voluntarily decide to come back. This will always be my home, and this is the life I've grown accustomed to. You'll stay with us while we try and find a way to get you out. One thing we hate about the Federation is they think themselves omnipotent...they see most of the world beneath them. So, I have an inclination to believe they've brushed off the government of Garawa, and there will be no rescue mission. We will need to secure funds however, from you. We will ensure your safe keeping, plan your exit, and see about getting you back to Garawa, or Cordoba if you still intent on going. Our fee is 50,000NS dollars, it's not asking for too much really. In the mean time, feel free to wash up, we'll give you the soaps, toothpaste, and other toiletries you'd require, some change of clothes, food, and a room of your own to sleep.

Carlos shuddered at the price, 50,000NS dollars was more than double his annual salary. "That price is high, I won't lie, and I will see what I can do...do you have any way for me to communicate home?". His thought was he could reach out to the mining company in Cordoba, maybe even Aerolineas Garaweñas, or the government. Garawans were peaceful, and they would always prioritized the safety of their citizens. While the majority of the population lived in relative poverty, no one ever went without food or shelter. The people came well before tourists or expats. He was satisfied knowing his government would not let him down, they never have.
Last edited by Garawa on Thu Mar 07, 2024 1:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Nation M
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Founded: Dec 21, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby Nation M » Tue Mar 12, 2024 2:47 pm

Dreifusf, Nation M's largest city. On the tarmac a diplomatic arrival is marshalled in to a remote stand. There is no welcome reception much more than midranking officers. They await at the bottom of the air stair to receive a Garawan representative. The Garawans were short on air power, and so the Federation, at the request of the Civil Aviation Authority of Garawa sent for Julio Hernandez.

"Mr. Hernandez, welcome to the Federation. I hope your flight was comfortable. Please come with me". The Lieutenant leads Julio into an unmarked black sedan. It's windows a thick bulletproof polycarbonate. The body of the vehicle a high grade alloy steel, with a young soldier at the wheel. It was unsettling, with the Federation unamused by Mr. Hernandez request. "You've been told via teleconference of a dispatch. There was a squadron of 4 men sent to survey the site. I understand you've already been informed the likelihood of no survivors. The Badlands is a very unforgiving place". He stares out the window.

Image


Back on the Badland excursion Corporal Randall activates a 4P-oven - a small built-in cookware, the oven autosenses the 4 meals starts a timer. They've now travelled long enough to set up camp for the night. Their cyber-truck's state-of-the-art design is large enough to provide all the living amenities. It was designed for long off-road expeditions, with combination washer-dryer, washroom facility, and 6 independent sleep quarters. Keith inserted his thumb to a print reader that activated a paper thin monitor that defaulted to a home screen. A robotic voice 'Welcome Sergeant Bonak, say request'

Sergeant Keith: "B654, Sergeant Major". The prompt momentarily fuzzed, then onscreen appeared a static image of Sergeant Major Malmet Grenthrom. This meant he was offline, perhaps preoccupied with more pressing matters. "We've set camp, no sign of hostiles, estimates for a 0700 departure to position 2...rations, health, munitions, nominal, status green...over". The monitor hisses and folds back into it's storage.

Emily: "Health Check! let's see those vitals, calorie intake, how's hydration?". On mission daily health checks are required, and the Federations armed forces catalogs daily rations, vitals, and hydration levels of all operative troops.

Randall: "I haven't been sleeping well in the last 48 hours, if you'd had already guessed". He was now feeling the pressure of his mission, but Keith was reassuring, making regular praises. He'd let Randall make every decision, and did a professional job at sitting on the side lines.

Stacey: "Day 2, and already our fearless leader suffers from chronic sleep deprivation" she taps the pen on her chin "our medic has been neglecting us, and tells us malnutrition is a just punishment".

Keith: "I bet one day you'll accidentally forward your fanfiction to our press and sit through hours long interrogation", they laugh and down shots of horilics juice, a concoction of distilled alcohol and lingonberries.

Emily: "Let's pop some chunes", she voices a command and electronic music blares in surround sound.

Randall: "I'll take my meal to my sleeping quarter, have fun". He entered his quarters and begins planning Day 2.
Last edited by Nation M on Tue Mar 12, 2024 4:25 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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My Nation is not entirely representative of my personal views, Stats are canon
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Garawa
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Founded: Jan 29, 2013
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Garawa » Wed Mar 13, 2024 3:57 pm

Carlos wakes up to the sounds of a screaming woman. The deafening sounds of the young woman set his heart into a frenzy. His heartrate accelerates and he pants in distress, falling from his bed and crawling beneath the metal frame until he musters the courage to peek outside his small window. He's high enough and takes the risk, pulling apart two small shades of the blind. Looking down into a narrow alleyway are several men rushing the small petit woman into a thick steel door lit by a small red bulb. They laugh as she kicks, crying, her eyes convulsing with fear, eyeballs rolling behind her head. They will rape and kill her he's sure, then he gasps, putting his hands over his mouth as he realizes it's a young flight attendant. Yes, this woman was on his flight, but these couldn't be nomadic hunters the children spoke of. Could they? was he lied to? he began to sweat profusely sitting against the wall on the floor as the screams dissipated into the night air. His hands were shaking as he grabbed a digital clock off his small nightstand. It was 5AM. He passes out.

Julio Hernandez meanwhile finds himself before the local aviation authority. The man, slender, his hair combed neatly to the side and his cheekbones protruding robustly. He wore a fitted suite, and a pin with the logo of the Emen Aviation Administration. Like the Lieutenant on the car ride over he repeating himself, stating their best effort was nothing more than the deployment of a 4-man squad. They shouldn't be long he said, saying they were 2 days from reaching the site. The thought that these Federation types could easily have sent a helicopter, or some sort of aircraft to have a better picture, and yet refused to do so, was more than bothersome. "Sir, all we are asking is for help bringing back any survivors". He's shown a picture taken of an air force jet that had flown over the site 48 hours prior. "Sir, this is a survivable crash, please I am begging you, send more help. I will do everything I can to provide you with the funds needed. Each passing moment spells lower survivability". The man stops him. "If there is anyone left alive, and our soldiers get to them, we will, and I give my word, promise to have the survivors brought back". Julio ran his hands through his hair, desperate to yell, but needed to contain his frustration. "It's been a few days sir, please, what food do they have? even if some have survived". "Look Mr. Hernandez, you're no idiot" he pulls a map of some 10mile ring around the site. "See here, they're well within the outer limits of this city, I'm sure if they had survived, some locals would have taken them in...now, whether or not the bandits and marauders got to them first is another question". He's ushered out the door and into the custody of a younger man, a military type. "The sergeant will see to it you're placed in one of our finest hotels, you'll be given a stipend, feel free to tour the sites and get some rest, you look tired. Once we have more information we'll be sure to contact you and have you back to sort this whole thing out".

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Nation M
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Founded: Dec 21, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby Nation M » Thu Mar 14, 2024 2:41 pm

It's now the second day for the quartet - and Randall is the first to wake. He's plotted the next course into the cyber trucks digital navigation system, still he'll need to sit at the wheel. The roads in the Badlands were ever-changing, the navigational data-base use satellite imagery, but the quality of the roads wasn't always easy to decipher from space. Improvised explosive devices would sometimes be set, the gangs were particular about their control zones. They're on track, only a day away from reaching the crash site, when they're ambushed.

Rattled by the explosion, Randall gets on the PA and warns the crew.


Randall: "Guys we've hit a mine."

The trucks thick outer skin was durable, and near impenetrable to the average mine used by the marauders. It was the sound of metal rain, simultaneous bullwhips beating at the side. Converging was a band of 10 armed men. Their faces, painted with charcoal, masking their eyes. Large war bonnets on their heads, and tattooed bodies. They were out for blood. From a distance it was difficult to distinguish an Emen armored vehicle from any other cobbled together tank of a rival gang. As they came closer they realized it was the Emen military, however at this point it became clear to the gang they would face death even if they'd fall back. The Emen were notoriously vengeful.


Keith: "Marauders? looks like it, I'm surprised it took this long for anyone to engage us. I'll take the headgun". The headgun was a massive multipurpose weapon that could cycle through 5 settings, the larger being a devastatingly huge 460mm projectile. Because of the range Keith set the turret in calibration for a smaller 12mm diameter bullet.

The marauders had no way of effectively eliminating the squadron, their only hope was to leap toward a mechanical hatch on the vehicles port side. Their ingenuity helped them design a scrambler. The scramblers magnetic tip would attach and emit a signal that bypassed a keycode, being able to breach to truck.

Emily: "They've got a scrambler!" in a panic she curls beneath the enormous consul at the 5 forward station seats

Keith was in every way an expert shooter. He's able to decapitate 2 with multiple headshots. These were the drivers, carrying the scramblers on top of the cage like contraption of their off-road vehicles. The gang was not match, the remaining members stood down and the squads was able to safely drive off.

Keith: "You alright there Emmy?". He slides off the the gunners seat. "Where's Stacey?"

Randall: "Writing more patriotic news about the front I presume"

Stacey peeks her head in the cockpit of the massive truck

Stacey: "you might want to drive a bit better...the rain 'aint a good enough excuse".

Keith: "If you mean a rain of bullets then sure. Seems you were oblivious to our little ambush"

She notices Emily crying and quickly runs to comfort her. Taking her hands she rubs them gently and dries off her tears.

Stacey: "It's ok hun, they've gone"...."They've gone right" her eyes wide, fearful, looking at Keith.

Keith: "They are, at ease guys...guessing you didn't hear the PA, Stacey?" He looks down at the navigation device. "It's 6 hours till our next checkpoint, I'll start on the morning meals...go ahead and relax girls". Noticing how visibly shaken they are he relieves them for the day. It was their first run in with hostiles.
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My Nation is not entirely representative of my personal views, Stats are canon
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Garawa
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Posts: 61
Founded: Jan 29, 2013
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Garawa » Tue Mar 19, 2024 12:41 pm

The thumping is subtle, dreaming he wakes to the steady knocks at his door. “Morning Carlos, I hope you’ve slept well. It’s the bald man, he appears to be wearing the exact same thing as the previous night. Peeking in his room he nudges his head sideways at the window…waits for a couple of seconds then continues “you must be hungry, so we you fixed you up a nice breakfast, come out and join us once you’ve dressed”. He closes the door softly behind him. For children of anarchy they seem quite nice, Carlos thought, trying to keep the memories of last nights rouse at bay.

Back at Dreifusf Julio prepares for a night out. He’ll take the suggestion of the officers and wait patiently to be contacted. Fixing his suite he looks at himself in the mirror, takes the credit card provided by the federation and heads to the lift. The hotel was luxurious despite its industrial theme, with elegant walls, and high ceilings. In the elevator he’s joined by a mysterious man, an officer. From the looks of it he was naval. The man had no expression, and his eyes obscured by round spectacles. The dark glasses highlighted his young skin, he must have been no more than 30 - he presses the -5th floor. Reaching the lobby the naval officer holds his arm out, keeping Julio inside the lift. “Stay”, the man says in a monotone voice, making Julio seem uneasy.

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Nation M
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Founded: Dec 21, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby Nation M » Fri Mar 22, 2024 3:18 pm

There it was, the half mile trail of the downed craft. Evident from the wreckage the aircraft would have been flyable [to some extent] when it impacted the terrain, it's fuselage distinguishable, and it's 4 jet engines nearly intact. Gangs have, as expected, made use of the survivors - able to salvage scraps of avionics from the cockpit. The side of the aircraft in charred yet unmistakable letters read "Aerolineas Gawarenas", they had finally reached the site.

Image

Keith: "Outstanding job Randall, you do handle yourself well enough to earn yourself that promotion". From an overhead compartment he pulls down a periscope, adjusting it while running a 360° scan of the immediate area. It's mechanical gears whine and hiss as he calibrates its numerous range modes.

Stacey: "Keep pumping he's ego and he'll turn into a balloon"

Emily: "POP" Emily exclaims, poking her finger through an imaginary balloon.

Randall: "How ya feeling Kid? doing alright?". He leans over and puts his hand on her shoulder.

Emily: "Yea" she shrugs shyly looking down at her feet.

Keith: "Guys, my hunch tells me this was no 'accident'. I'm looking right on the planes starboard side wing...I mean the airplane is practically intact, save for what's burned through, but that damage isn't indicative of any sort of structural failure..."

Randall: "Huh?...no way let me see" he swaps with Keith and peers into the optic scope. "I'll be damned...and it's on the trailing edge side, must..." He tries to think of probable explanations. "Ok, so, shot down, by whom? for what? an airline from a country I've never even heard of, over a Nation that's essentially neutral on a world stage...".

Keith: "I'm starting a live feed, we'll sit here guessing all day but wouldn't know our ass from our elbow soon as investigators have their say". He inserts his thumb into the cyber-trucks onboard tablet. "Captain Falin Totheim, code 2-3-3-3-1". Onscreen the image of a man materializes into view through static distortions.

Captain Falin Totheim: "Evening gentlemen, and ladies...let's have a look". The Captain is a senior flight instructor for the Emen Air Force, and heads the investigatory team on Cyber City - Commanding the base of their original destination orders. "Interesting, I'm remote accessing the periscope Sergeant". Keith lets go and the periscope is now remotely manipulated by the Captain. "Stay put, we're sending you new orders...fine job troopers". The signal is lost, the screen falls blank.

Bewildered their faces fall, looking to each other for answers non can give. Their curiosity was born from the uncertainty of it all, from the fate of the survivors, to the causation of the airplanes downing. They were in the Badlands, alone, awaiting orders.
Last edited by Nation M on Wed Apr 10, 2024 6:48 am, edited 3 times in total.
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War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.
My Nation is not entirely representative of my personal views, Stats are canon
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Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1
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Posts: 314
Founded: Jul 14, 2023
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1 » Sun Mar 24, 2024 9:38 am

Nation M wrote:Off the Southern coast of Nation M and resting on the international waters boundary sits an Emen (Demonym for people of Nation M) Fleet. It's the 5th Emen Naval Fleet that regularly conducts off-shore military drills and stands at the ready for any incursion deemed too large for the Coast Guard. Captain Morimor Hexx sits at the bridge when he learns of a Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1 carrier approaching. What the Captain knew was a foreign aircraft had crashed in the Badlands, no further news was disseminated through Naval communication channels.

Most assumed an Airliner could contain citizens of nations outside of Garawa, including Federal Republic of Cordoba - the Airliners country of destination. The Captain pulls up a tablet hinged within a small mechanical opening at his armrest. The tablet unfolds with a smooth electrical hiss and automatically prompts to a welcome screen displaying the Naval Arms crest. The encrypted cloud based scanner identifies the Captain and unlocks to reveal a command screen. "Admiral Gyeis", his monotone voice speaks to the tablet. With a heavy robotic voice the tablet responds the command and patches to Admiral Gyeis.


Captain Morimor Hexx: "Admiral, 5th Fleet, observed incoming armed neutrality, registering as Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1. Subjects heavily armed - carrier - weaponized craft. Advise response..."

Admiral Gyeis: "Understand, neutral forces, armed, incoming. Advise contact. Manifest of downed Airliner shows possible nationals of the Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1 among casualties."


Fleet realigns - Helms 5°, and contact is initiated. Bridge crew relays message to carrier:

"Foreign military carrier, you are approaching the military authority of the Federation of Nation M - State intention"

Back on superhighway 1 the Squad led by Corporal Randall pull over at a local commissary owned by a Badlands gang licensed by the federation. These locals worked closely with the Emen, although they were also involved heavily within crime syndicates outside Federation judicial zones. They each take with them a single handbag, enough clothing and toiletries for the night. They'll look over the coordinates of the crash site that evening and consider a strategy that will disguise their encroachment in hostile territory.



Stacey: "Hmm, let's see, 'dear diary'...no, um, 'Captain's log'! yea much better. That's how I'll headline this weeks journal entry, I'm sure HQ would love to post this. 'final words of suicide squad', hey I'll die the best damn journalist in the army.

Keith: "No one will die, you're charmed to be in the presence of one of M's finest gunslingers" he pats his side arm.

Emily: "I believe that, but I don't believe you'll succeed against a dozen armed thugs hosing us with automatics from every directions"

Keith: "They chose us cause we have M's finest medic as well" he gestures his hands like a little pistol firing toward Emily and clicks his tongue. "They looked at all the squads and said, this one's a package deal! why sacrifice an entire battalion when we have M's 4 top soldiers in close proximity...genius!"

Randall: "...and led by it's best Corporal". He pulls a government credit card from his chest pocket and hands it to the fragile skeletal man standing behind a metallic counter at the hotels reception desk.

Emily, leans over the counter and grabs a handful of complimentary mints "we're M's pride and joy" she tells the pale man, who stares at her solemnly and corpselike.

Admiral Alexei Ivanov picked up the mike responding to the incoming radio message, "This is the SNS Admiral Savalov Carrier Strike Group of the Union of Soviet Sovereign Republics. We have received word from our government that a commercial airliner with Soviet citizens on board was shot down over an area of your country ruled by dangerous gangs. We have been ordered to rescue all survivors that might have survived the downing of the aircraft. As we speak, 2 regiments of the 5th Guards Armored are landing at the beaches of the area you call the Wasteland and will proceed to the area where the plane crashed. The commanders of both regiments have received orders that if they are attacked then they can return fire. We have sent a message to every gang in the Wasteland warning them not to attack the regiments or face serious consequences. Savalov out."

The 6th and 8th Guards Armored Regiments were fully deployed in the Wasteland of Nation M with plenty of fuel and ammunitions to get them to their destination and back. The 2 armored regiments consists of T-90M MBTs, T-14 MBT, T-15 IFVs, 2S35 Koalitsiya-SV SPAs, BMD-4 IFVs, 2K22 Tunguska SPAAGs, the S-400 missile systems and the Pantsir missile system as well as Ka-52 and Mi-35P attack helicopters making the 2 regiments very dangerous to anybody who attacks them.
Leader: President Alexei Navalny
Member of: NATO, The Indo-Pacific Pact, ASP, CSL
Observer of: KTO
Population: 450 million
Year: 2025
Country: The Union of Soviet Sovereign Republics or the Soviet Union
Territory: All Soviet Territory plus former Iranian provinces of East Azerbaijan, West Azerbaijan and Ardabil.
Tech Level: MT-PMT
Flag: Soviet Flag

User avatar
Garawa
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 61
Founded: Jan 29, 2013
Left-wing Utopia

Signs of Complexities

Postby Garawa » Fri Mar 29, 2024 6:48 am

Ushered into a subterranean loft it's evident this is a military observation point, and inside a commercial hotel, odd. Their presence seems nowhere, and everywhere all at the same time. The Naval Officer was expressionless but polite, "I do not mean to keep you from your own devices, but there's a matter you must know, please sit Mr. Hernandez". A large barrel chair slides into view, a thick comfortable leather. "What's this all about? I was told a small military squadron was sent to the site? have they arrived?". Julio was sure it was this. A young girl, no more than 11 emerges from the shadows, she's wearing coveralls, with Federation military logos, patches, one a skull and crossed machine-guns. "Something to eat, or perhaps drink? we can accommodate much of what you'd like" she wears a smile, eager to impress the foreigner. "If you have a cafecito, I will take one please, thank you kindly" Julio returns a smile. The girl unsure of his requests looks upon the Naval Officer. "It's a coffee", the spanification he knew threw her off."...and I an earl scotch...Mr. Hernandez correct, the squadron has made contact with the ship.

We were able to remotely access the site as well, and learned this was no accident". Taking the seat across from Julio, "This was a case of sabotage". Julio jumps back into his seat "Garawa is a peaceful nation, we have no enemies, we have not seen war since our nations inception, there is no social unrest, no gangs, some petty criminals here and there sure, but no political movements large enough to pose internal or external threats". His hands run through his thick black hair, almost pulling nervously. "I wouldn't even know what to report back to the Civil Authority, or even the Presidential office". The Naval Officer tilts his head slightly, the bright LED lights reflecting his spectacles, beaming at Julio, he leans forward. "No need to stress over this...you see Mr. Hernandez, this will now create an environment that will seek to extract those contained in the manifest". He gestures to an enlisted man nearby, calling over with a wave of his hand. "The Chief here informed me of an approaching naval fleet, we've made contact. Citizens of the Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks were onboard, and they've been approved by our government to proceed into the wastelands". Their drinks arrive, and they engage in idle chatter for an hour before the officer thanks Julio, extending an apology for the abrupt interruption, and going on to recommend some sights that might interest Julio.

User avatar
Nation M
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1115
Founded: Dec 21, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby Nation M » Fri Mar 29, 2024 7:50 am

Union of Soviet Sovereign Republiks1 wrote:
Admiral Alexei Ivanov picked up the mike responding to the incoming radio message, "This is the SNS Admiral Savalov Carrier Strike Group of the Union of Soviet Sovereign Republics. We have received word from our government that a commercial airliner with Soviet citizens on board was shot down over an area of your country ruled by dangerous gangs. We have been ordered to rescue all survivors that might have survived the downing of the aircraft. As we speak, 2 regiments of the 5th Guards Armored are landing at the beaches of the area you call the Wasteland and will proceed to the area where the plane crashed. The commanders of both regiments have received orders that if they are attacked then they can return fire. We have sent a message to every gang in the Wasteland warning them not to attack the regiments or face serious consequences. Savalov out."

The 6th and 8th Guards Armored Regiments were fully deployed in the Wasteland of Nation M with plenty of fuel and ammunitions to get them to their destination and back. The 2 armored regiments consists of T-90M MBTs, T-14 MBT, T-15 IFVs, 2S35 Koalitsiya-SV SPAs, BMD-4 IFVs, 2K22 Tunguska SPAAGs, the S-400 missile systems and the Pantsir missile system as well as Ka-52 and Mi-35P attack helicopters making the 2 regiments very dangerous to anybody who attacks them.


Image


The 5th Emen Fleet anchored offshore provides the USSR with information regarding the downed craft, along with an unconfirmed manifest, provided by the Civil Aviation Authority of Garawa.

Captain Morimor Hexx: This is Captain Morimor Hexx, speaking on behalf of the 5th Naval Fleet, we'll need to establish an encrypted line between our military forces before you're allowed access into the badlands. Coordinates of the site and a dossier of the known gangs operating within the vicinity will be wired. Be advised we will not provide military assistance, your military will operate independently and assume all risks. Your military has been approved to use the Elvira International Airport, located in the city of Elvira to stage aircraft unable to land on your carriers. We strongly advise deploying land forces/vehicles from within Federation proper, know should you directly enter through the Badlands southern shore there are no sentries posted - advise how you'll proceed.
Factbook
War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.
My Nation is not entirely representative of my personal views, Stats are canon
ISD CoFounder

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