StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Midgar, Shinra Republic

Paul saw the President's expression and flinched a bit, before remembering the cameras watching his every gesture. He didn't want to bring Kamila here, but for that to happen he would've had to fire her: and he had no good reason. "She was Rufus Shinra's wife in her former life" definitely didn't count in this world.

So he smiled, and shook the President's hand, and posed for the cameras, and waved and expressed how glad he was to visit the Republic (again, his false memories told him) and thanked for the President's kind words.

"I would like, at the same time, to pass my heartfelt condolences to the families of those lost during the One Week War. Every death is a tragedy, and no matter what some say, they cannot be reduced to statistics.", the King finished his short statement for the cameras.

As both state leaders powerwalked towards the waiting limos, Paul took the opportunity to make a few remarks complimenting the city this time of year. Finally, after a fifteen minute ordeal, car doors separated them from the journalists outside.

"Relief at the highest levels, huh? Goddamned journalists never check their sources, it would seem.", Paul said as soon as they were off-camera and grinned, "It's good to see you again."

PeZook wrote:"Relief at the highest levels, huh? Goddamned journalists never check their sources, it would seem.", Paul said as soon as they were off-camera and grinned, "It's good to see you again."

"Well, at least some things stay the same no matter where you go." Rufus left it intentionally vague. After all, he wasn't sure if this was the same Queen Agatha as before. He suspected it, certainly, but he decided not to appear like some insane leader talking about "past worlds" just in case.

"Just so you know, there's going to be a bit of a welcome parade for you. It's PeZookian Heritage Day, the first one ever, and it was a lucky coincidence that the king of PeZookia happens to be here to celebrate it with us." Rufus smiled at Paul's bit of discomfort when the realization set in that he was about to become the focus of a national holiday.

Of course, Rufus had more reasons for such a day than to play a bit of a joke on his friend. Aside from making people generally happy about another holiday just three days after New Years - he knew full well how much people loved time off work - it helped to bring a positive light to the Slavic nations. While President Shinra himself considered the Slavic National Confederacy to be a friendly bloc in general terms, he knew that some recent actions by its members had cast a bit of a shadow for them. He was very sympathetic to that sort of thing, of course, since the same effect happened to him through the MESS.

The Crimson Star Republic had been rather assertive of late, and that made people nervous. When Rufus thought about it, he could consider that Stanislav had gone through and could understand why he was apparently very aggressive when it came to Crimson citizens. Of course President Shinra telling the world he understood Comrade Stanislav's actions because the Crimson leader had been through a nuclear war in a past life wouldn't exactly be a good idea. Likewise, the USSR was viewed with a little suspicion. Granted through a well crafted propoganda effort the whole Border State annexation was viewed somewhat more favorably, but some of the government institutions, such as a bodyguard force known as the Black Hand, made people wonder. And just like the CSR, President Shinra could hardly say that the Black Hand and similar elements of the USSR government existed for the same reason he called his presidential transport the Highwind or the real reason his name was Rufus Shinra.

And so it was he made a feel good holiday for an SNC member when he could.

This train of thought, long though it may have been, in truth took only mere moments in real time. And thus there was no mysteriously long pause after Rufus told King Paul about the PeZookian Heritage Day parade.

"PeZookian Heritage Day? I didn't know Shinra actually had any PeZookian heritage.", the King said and smiled, "Though, I guess, one learns something new every day."

"Now, before we're spirited away to the inevitable series of public announcements and photo-ops, I'd like to ask about your opinion of the recent...troubles.", the King changes his tone to something more conductive to state business, "Especially with regards to Astaria, the CSR airstrikes and the situation there. I actually have a very interesting report with me, from our people there, detailing their internal politics."

The Siege of Cassino, Part I

Cassino Fortress-Monastery, Costa de las Cinco Muertes



November 22, 2009 [Unreal Time]

The walls of the townhouse shook with the blast. Dimartino looked up from the cards and then glanced down again. The four of spades should go there, he thought. His fingers placed it meticulously down below the five of diamonds. Keep thinking about the cards, he thought. Don’t think about what’s happening outside. He turned over two cards, looked at the third. The jack of hearts. Useless.

“Fucking bullshit”, Captain Milingo’s voice was full of anger as he slammed his fist into the table. “This whole mess is fucking bullshit.”

Dimartino stared at the smooth-featured Klavostani captain, almost unable to conceal his derision. He admitted to himself that he disliked the captain. Milingo was a hot-head, always looking for an easy fight. As far as Dimartino was concerned that wasn’t a good trait for a mercenary officer. Easy fights were easy. What mattered was what you did when you got in over your head. And all Milingo did so far was gnash his teeth.

The private looked at the small, faded black and white photograph of his old platoon. Most of them had gone now – in Velaria, in Shepistan, in the CFR or in the Border States. They had been good friends and comrades. He knew no-one would remember them when he fell. He would probably join them in obscurity today.

“God-dammit”, Milingo fumed. “And for what? For fucking what? I don’t even know what we’re doing in this god-forsaken wasteland.”

Dimartino glanced at the captain, then shrugged. He’d long since learned that mercenaries shouldn’t ask questions as long as they were paid. You just did what your employer asked you to do. He had chased down what he’d been told were intelligence operatives, he’d driven crates full of lord-knew-what through the Costa countryside, he’d suppressed the local militias. And like a good mercenary he hadn’t asked who it was they were working for, nor where all those shiny new guns had suddenly come from.

He’d always known there was a chance that don’t-ask policy could come back to bite him in the ass one day. And now, it looked like it finally had.

The telex in the corner chattered. Milingo tore off the paper. He read the words, his eyes widening in disbelief. He thrust it under Dimartino’s nose, obscuring his view of the cards. It contained only one word: Golgotha.

Dimartino smiled bitterly, knowing what that the code word meant: stand and die. He was prepared. He had known all along. Something had gone catastrophically wrong. He did not know why it happened, but the San Doradans were coming for them in full force. The Klavostani mercenaries had repelled two attacks so far, but this attack was too big. Darkwater Private Military Solutions would not relieve them.

“So, private?” Milingo asked grimly. “What now?”

“Now, we die”, said Dimartino, picking up the assault rifle that leaned against the table and slammed a magazine in place. Lesser mercenaries might have surrendered. They did not: they were Klavostanis, and they had a reputation to maintain. What did it matter? No death, no glory, thought Dimartino ironically as he sighted his gun. From somewhere outside came the thunder of artillery.

---

“This is going to be more difficult than we had anticipated.” General Meyer glowered as he gazed at the theatre map. EIA, ISIA and BIS field agents looked at him impassively. With the help of the External Intelligence Agency the armed forces had pinned down the location of the missing gas canisters. Unfortunately, it had immediately become apparent why they had been brought here. Cassino was a fortress. The mountain top monastery had been built in the early 18th century by Yaroslav of Jerusalem, the Orthodox monk who had tried to Christianize the Frequesuan wilderness. Through the centuries, neither Shroomanian marines nor San Doradan corsairs had been able to seize the monastery. Its defenders, Yaroslav had said, were blessed by the Almighty.

In the early 20th century however the monastery had fallen into neglect. The Yaroslavoi Order had declined; only a few monks still remained. And now, with the aid of the rogue MIC agents in Sam Ralson’s pocket, Klavostani mercenaries had taken over the monastery and fortified it. That was a problem, because the SDA didn’t want to indiscriminately shell the ancient structure into oblivion. There were to reasons for that: San Dorado didn’t want to offend the Byzantine Empire by bombing an Orthodox monastery, but more important was that if the weapons cylinders were damaged in a bombardment Good Fortune knew what might happen.

“We’ll do it the hard way” Colonel Rourke, commander of Citidef’s Dirty Third chomped on his Canissian cigar. “My men are ready sir. We’ll take that damn rock, stone by stone if we have to.”

“I guess we don’t have much of a choice. The Board wants that monastery taken, and they want it taken fast.” Meyer grimaced. He didn’t like throwing his men into a meat grinder – and thanks to Ralson Arms and the weapons they had delivered to the mercs, the battle was certain to be bloody. “Signal the attack, and may Lady Fortune smile upon us.”

---

The scarred earth exploded. Even over the sound of the detonations he could hear the whistle of more incoming shells. Acting sergeant Alex Ross vaulted into the trench in front of him and, by instinct, snapped off a shot at the lone figure he saw moving to his right. The enemy soldier went down convulsing. Explosions threw dirt into the trench. Ross spat out a mouthful of grime and hauled himself onto the ledge. He wriggled beneath the barbed wire, then he pulled himself to his feet again. Ahead of him, the fortress monastery was visible, its massive stone spire rising from the scorched earth like a spear piercing the belly of the sky.

Ross looked at the edge of the little village separating him from the base of the monastery. He was getting close now. Squat limestone houses with wooden roofs lined narrow, winding streets. It would have been picturesque if the mercenaries hadn’t fortified it. Killing ground for armoured vehicles, he thought.

Which was why the SDA artillery batteries were targeting it indiscriminately. Huge explosions tore through stone and wood as airstrikes hit the village. Armed vehicles and mercenaries on foot raced from the monastery gates to defend the village. It was like watching an ants nest stir after you’d poked it with a stick. Helicopter gunships strafed the top of the monastery. Anti-air missiles flashed out. Shuddering explosions tormented air and earth.

This was hell on earth. Suddenly Ross was aware of just how far out in front of his section of the advance he was. The men of his platoon were somewhere behind him, waiting for him to do his solitary heroics. He crouched low and adjusted the helmet on a more rakish angle on his head; then he fumbled for the demolition charge for the hundredth time. Yes, it was still there, still strapped to his back. And there, off to the right, was the pillbox that dominated the road into the village. He’d flanked it, just as he’d intended. He’d managed to avoid the killing ground where those awful heavy machine guns cut down every man that moved. Now all he had to do was sneak forward and swing the charge in through the slot in the bunker’s front. Piece of cake, really.

---

Rockets flared out from one of the Tiger attack helicopter’s stubby wing-mounted launcher pods, screaming overhead and impacting on the building behind Dimartino. He was momentarily disoriented, until he realized its target was the mortar nest. A massive tremor shook the ground around the private as an incendiary rocket hit and exploded, balls of flame blossoming momentarily and throwing men in all directions, bodies and weapons and limbs visible in the fireball.

The mercenaries rallied quickly. A team carrying a MANPAD rushed out, crouching and firing their launcher. The Tiger peeled away, popping flares and wildly spraying its machine guns as it pulled back and up from the edge of the village. Dimartino scrambled for cover in the abandoned fighting trench near the edge of the road, dodging the helicopter’s machine-gun fire.

A volley of 155mm shells seemingly fell out from nowhere, air-bursting fifteen feet above the road. Shrapnel pierced the ground around Dimartino, miraculously missing him. The missile team was not so fortunate. Their blood and body parts intermixed with those of the dead mortar team. Captain Milingo slid into the ditch beside him. There was dirt in his hair, and a crazy sparkle in his eyes. “C’mon private, don’t just lay there. Are we going to make these scumbags bleed or what?”

“Captain, we’re getting slaughtered out here.” Dimartino grabbed his rifle and quickly checked if no mud had gotten into its firing mechanism. The engines of fighting vehicles roared behind him. “Let’s do it.”

---

Ross shivered. The smoking husk of the ruined pillbox was two hundred meters beside him, and he and his men were approaching the edge of the village. The sergeant glared out of the foxhole, hefting his assault rifle into firing position. Despite the artillery bombardment and the strafing runs there was still movement in the village, men and armoured vehicles scrambling into firing positions. Erratic fire now also erupted from the monastery, automatic guns firing out of ancient firing slits designed a long time ago for muskets and other primitive weapons. Two technicals rolled to a rest in-between two burnt-out houses, one mounting a 12.7mm heavy machine gun, the other a recoilless rifle.

“Definitely trying to form a fire zone, sarge”, whispered Rohrer, who clutched his Minimi as if it was his baby. Come to think of it, Ross thought, he probably did consider it his baby.

“We don’t have much in the way of firepower”, Fredericksen added. “If we stay here any longer we won’t be able to punch a way through there, we’ll have to wait for the canboys to show up and bail us out.”

As if to punctuate his point, the technical carrying the 12.7mm opened up, fire licking from the muzzle of the rifle as its gunner targeted a group of Citidef soldiers trying to make their way forward past the destroyed pillbox. Mercenaries hurried into position beside the vehicles, opening up with assault rifles.

That was it. Ross had enough. No sleep. Two combat operations in a single day. And these bastards simply refused to fucking give up and die properly. It was time to put a stop to this. “Hammond, Rohrer, keep me covered”, he ordered.

The young private Hammond threw him an astonished look. Rohrer simply grinned manically. He seemed to be enjoying himself. “Sure, Sarge. Where are you going?”

Ross didn’t answer. He dove out of the foxhole and scrambled forward through the hail of automatic fire. Holding his FAMAS one-handed, he unclipped a grenade from his belt. He let off a burst at a group of mercenaries, just to let them know he was coming. The recoil from the assault rifle almost broke his wrist. With a crazed, sleep-deprived grin on his face, he rushed forward over the open ground.

The Klavostani fire actually wavered for a second. Maybe the mercenaries simply couldn’t conceive of anyone conducting so obviously suicidal a charge. The sergeant didn’t care. Despite the odds he closed the distance. Now or never, though Ross, and lobbed the grenade into the technical carrying the machine gun.

For a moment, it looked like nothing had happened. Then a dull blast rang out as the frag grenade exploded, taking the vehicle, the gun and the gunner apart in a cloud of dust, fire and shrapnel. Ross pumped his fist in the air in triumph. Then, to his horror, the wreck of the technical caught fire and its ammunition began to cook off. The mercenaries dove for cover and the second technical tried to pull away. Too late. A discharging round tore through the windshield, taking most of the driver’s head off. The vehicle swerved and slammed into the burning wreckage.

Oh crap. Ross turned and raced away as the second technical overturned and rockets for the Carl Shroomstav recoilless rifle spilt out onto the fire as more machine gun munitions cooked off. He dove for the foxhole just as the two wrecked vehicles exploded in a titanic ball of fire.

If I live through this, he thought as he felt the seething hot rush of the explosion catch up with him in mid-air, somebody is going to pay.

---

For the second time in minutes Dimartino dodged shrapnel as the two vehicles detonated in a spectacular ball of fire that sent deadly shrapnel flying everywhere. He landed face-first on the floor, then crawled up and sought cover behind the shell of a burnt-out building.

Suddenly a wave of gunfire peppered the edge of the village as San Doradan soldiers swept over the rubble trying to catch the wavering mercenary troops. Klavostani machine gun fire chattered in response, short bursts of lethal 7.62mm rounds chopping down the lead soldiers. In the smoke and confusion the Citidef troopers sought cover, just like Dimartino did.

Grenades flashed out of enemy launchers, first one, then more, blowing holes in walls and sending dirt flying. The Klavostani line fell back, their fire discipline briefly disrupted. The San Doradans pushed forward again. Their gunfire intensified as Citidef machine gunners set up their support weapons.

“Disengage and fall back!” the voice of Captain Milingo rang out from somewhere. His voice was full of fury. The captain had found his fighting spirit.

Dimartino broke from cover under heavy covering fire of the remnants of the platoon further up the village, dodging and weaving as bullets buzzed by, making it to the next line of houses unscathed. To his left another Klavostani soldier was less fortunate and took three rounds in the back. He was dead before he hit the dirt.

He glanced around the corner and saw the shapes of at least a dozen Citidef troopers advancing through the smoke and rubble. Suddenly Milingo was beside him again, panting and frantically trying to get his radio to work.

“This is Catweasel. We’re pulling back toward the monastery under heavy fire. We sure could use some covering fire. Over."

“Catweasel. Are all your men out of the forward positions?” the radio returned, relaying the voice of the Klavostani commander somewhere in the monastery.

"Everyone who is coming is out. Over."

"Roger, Catweasel. Suppressing fire is on the way. Heads up down there.”

A series of monotonous thuds boomed over the noise of the gunfight as in the monastery courtyard high up on the hill, the mortar battery opened fire. Milingo grinned. “We’d better get the hell out of here.”

The two mercenaries moved quickly, hurrying up the road through the devastated village. Other mercenaries were swiftly falling back as well, firing as they went. “Keep moving soldiers!” the captain yelled. Bullets buzzed by as the San Doradan soldiers rushed forward and returned fire, eager to exploit the hurried retreat.

Then first 81mm high explosive shell smashed into the ground, nearly blowing Dimartino off his feet. He was only 15 metres from the impact, well inside the danger area, but the shrapnel missed him. The leading San Doradans weren't so lucky. Dimartino and Milingo hurried up the slope toward the monastery gates, to rejoin the surviving members of their platoon. As they did the high explosive shells continued to pulverise the remains of the once-quaint village.

Somewhere in Astaria

The Highway was a major interchange, equivalent to Interstate 95 back on Earth. In the trees next to the interstate, the guerillas waited...

"All right. We've waited enough. Trigger the charges," said the leader.

On the interstate, the command detonated charges wrapped around some large trees or tunneled under the unterstate blew; dropping some very large trees in the "front" and blowing up the highway in the "back", trapping several dozen cars in the kill zone.

"Open Fire!"

The guerillas opened fire with everything they had, and the people inside the cars died under the hail of gunfire from medium machine guns. Several inciendary grenades were tossed into the road for good measure to ignite the leaking gas from various gas tanks, and the people inside the cars who were still alive screamed as they burned to death.

But no one was listening.

The Guerillas quickly exfiltrated the area, and reached the coastline near the highway where they swam out to the waiting pickup vehicles.



Within fifteen minutes, they were safe aboard their extraction/infiltration vessel; the RSS Permit, the special ops boat of the Shepistani Navy.

"Sir, the mission is complete." said the leader of the 'guerillas'.

"Excellent. Did you leave behind what we agreed on?"

"Yessir. A mixture of MESS standard weapons, ammunition and equipment."

Results
85 people dead in the worst terrorist attack in Astaria in years; all evidence points to MESS or cutouts acting as intermediaries to arm the terrorists.

Somewhere in Astaria

The BOSS operatives looked at the message which had come in over the internet several minutes ago. So far, all attempts to trace the IP showed that it came from the Shinra Republic.



"We the people of the Astarian Liberation Front, have begun our righteous war of liberation against the brutal slavocrats of Astaria, and we will not rest until the last slaver has been strangled by his own entrails!"

Virginia Pilot

ODA enters Kanahwa Highlands following string of attacks on loyalist tribes.


ODA AFVs enter the small town of Laeger

A string of attacks from hostile tribes in the center of the Kanahwa territorial region has pushed many of the Dominion Tribal Auxilaries into the lowlands at the edge of the zone. In response to requests from federated tribes, the Old Dominion has dispatched the 1st Mechanized Division, "Mount Vernon Dragoons" into the Laeger control zone. Alright fighting has erupted as the ODA is seeking to assert control in the border areas.

"We will not speculate as to what has galvanized the hostile tribes in the highlands of late." A Brickhall spokeswoman said "But the Old Dominion does not recognize the independence of any Kanahwa tribe or tribal entity. Neither does Shepistan. All options are being taken into consideration in dealing with this menace."

Somewhere over Kanehewa

"Roger, we have Al-Byrd's location fixed, swinging laser guidance pod onto mudhut."



"That's it for Al-Byrd. That'll show those mountain-eaters to fuck with Shepistan."

Results
Major Tribal Leader in Kanehewa Revolution, Al-Byrd killed by laser guided rocket from newly arrived Shepistani Su-34MFS.

Kanahwa Tribal Region

"This is Mort Brickchuck with DNN, the premier news source of the Old Dominion. Today, the Shepistani side of Kanahwa has erupted in violent rioting following the revelation that Al-Byrd, one of the leading tribal chiefs in the rebellion by the tribes against both Shepistani and Old Dominion rule, was killed today by a Shepistani aircraft.



"The rioters are sweeping through the villages of Charleston, Charlestown, and other notable mudhuts looking for foreigners, in particular, Shepistanis or Dominionites to kill."

"This is Mort Brickchuck for DNN, signing off."

The "Peace Village", Harper's Ferry.

Special Delegate of the Old Dominion to the Peace Village Sir Andre Dubois leaned back and groaned. The requirements of the Peace Village, laid down in antiquity, demanded that the other must show up if one party demanded talks.

And right now the Shepistani wouldn't shut up about 500.

"Look, Right Honorable Al-Kreeriev, you're just going to have to suck it up. The Charter of Rights enshrines freedom of expression, so there is nothing we can do about it. It's just someone trying make some money and entertain the people. Sorry, but the movie isn't getting pulled."

"The movie is a calculated insult to the great Shepistani people, not a form of entertainment! Why, did you know that the movie portrayed the Shepistani Kingdom of Mediea as filled with pederasts and goat molesters?"

"So it's historically accurate?"

Al-Kreeriev's dark skin got even darker. "Infidel! Did you know that your own Lord Wythe has a brother who owns part of the production that made the movie? We believe he encouraged him to make this movie!"

"Zak Rnyder is a pretty good director, a proud Citizen...I'm sure he doesn't need any encouragement from anyone."

"So you admit that your 'citizenship' process is nothing more than an indoctrination process!"

"Whatever. Look, I need to use the head. I'll be right back." The coffee was churning pretty bad.

"No! We have not formally agreed upon the bathroom breaks!"

"Oh, is that how it's going to be, you rock-chucker? Well, we Citizens of the Dominion are made of sterner stuff than you!"

"Bring it, Domino!"

At Cassino

Currently the ISIA's North West Division chief Sam Davis was watching San Dorado's assault unfold. San Dorado wasn't going for subtlety at all here. The ISIA had a team seconded from the SRG on hand for the operation and they weren't particularly impressed by the assault, which they considered rushed by the political bosses. They would have preferred to have surveiled the place and then taken it with a stealth assault. With an all out infantry assault they thought there was much room for mistakes, especially with bioweapons involved.

That whole part of the operation bothered Davis. San Dorado's investigation just didn't add up. The sorts of groups they were fingering for the manufacture of the agents involved just didn't have the expertise to manufacture such a sophisticated agent. For others it just wasn't in their MO to be pulling stunts like this; the criminals were mostly strictly profit sorts. In a couple of cases the ISIA even had sources inside a few of the organizations implicated. They hadn't ever given up any information on Bio or chemical weapons programs and they were being squeezed hard on that. Despite all that, it was still a pretty good story and should fool those without the sorts of extnsive coverage Indhopal had in the area.

For now though the ISIA was rolling with San Dorado’s story and doing everything they could to keep the "true" reason for the unfolding battle out of the news. They were parroting what San Dorado was saying, along with a few false leaks to the media that were supposedly the true story. In the mean time Davis had put together a small team of men he could trust to ferret out the truth. The boys at central were probably doing likewise. Though barring some miracle, the best approximation of the truth they were ever likely to get was an educated guess.

In the mean time this was a real battle unfolding here. The SRG team offered their services as snipers. They had honed the skills of its snipers to a very fine edge, in the bush wars they normally engaged in, such specialists were in high demand. Meanwhile the ISIA had brought very high level electronic warfare assets to the table. Radio interception and analysis is something they put a high priority on and Davis had some of his best experts and their equipment deciphering the mercenaries’ radio net. The air force even had an AWACS doing over flights as part of the effort.

They needed a quick conclusion here; otherwise the mercenaries might try to deploy their gas. Davis thought he might have an answer to their problem. It all depended on if the political bosses were willing to do with something nasty. At the HQ he approached the commander of San Doroo's forces in private.

“Traditional airstrikes won't work here as that might release their unknown agents in to the area. A long and bloody ground assualt will aslso just draw attention. I've been authorized to offer up an alternative. We have certain chemical agents at our disposal that could prove useful. Basically we use precision airstrikes to deliver incapacitating agents onto the site then follow up with a ground assault. The gas should give your men the edge they need. If we get any bad press about it, we saw some of the mercenaries chemicals escaped in the firefight."

Davis didn't saw that he also had nerve agents available for the job as well, at least not yet.

Info on Alaskan Parliament: 150 seats

Alaskan Election Results -

The Conservative Party lost 6 seats to 61 seats
Labor Party (Center) gained 4 seats to 55
Liberal Party gained one seat to 28
Native Party gained no seats to stay at 4
A second Independent won to bring the total to 2

Alaskan VP Palin Resigned over the bad showing.

President Cizadlo Has selected a New VP Candidate pending Senate Approval:
Secretary of State Rice

Lubyanka Square, PCIA Headquarters, CSR

Baluevsky was humiliated, but angry.
- I would not be risking my men in "Operation BITTER END". This is why we abandoned the first "Hammerfall" scenario and went with what we did. "Hammerfall" would have resulted in essentially a war, and massive losses among our men.

- However, the planned operation did not have the desired result, - Andropovsky said. - We have done our part to scare the crap out of Astarians, sure. But with the missiles on inertial guidance, they would be imprecise. A 500 meter CEP is only acceptable when using weapons of mass destruction. And you did realize it, expending many various missiles in several waves to get wider damage. But even as several vessels were damaged by explosions, their merchant fleet is still operational. That means they still carry slaves around, they still conduct their abominable acts in South Veleria on par with the jap imperialists.

- I do understand this, - Baluevsky admitted that the PCIA chief was right. - But it was our best fast-response at the time.

- Maybe there's a better plan, - the security czar opened a folder. - Look here.

- For the love of Marx! - General Baluevsky gasped. - And they agreed?

- Apparently they have some grudges against those people, - Andropovsky smiled. - Can't grasp the Ways of the Lord, eh? We have already prepared K-378 for action.

Co-written with Norseman

Bleak Castle

"She's not in immediate physical danger. We should wait for the search warrant.", the BOSS captain stood against angry PeZookians in the jam-packed conference room.

"The hell? Didn't you hear what that thug said?", captain Nalecki seemed the most eager to take action, but it was obvious the rest of the PeZookian team supported him completely, "Even if they don't kill her, she's going to get beaten and...", he didn't have to finish.

"I have to side with captan Nalecki here.", a BOSS technician spoke up suddendly, "It sure as hell seemed she was in 'physical danger' from the tape."

"Gentlemen, there are armed guards at the estate! She won't be killed, but BOSS agents might die during a raid! You'll be trading their lives for her's!"

Amanda looked Parkhurst in the eyes, "There are worse things than death, captain.", she said.

Suddendly, Parkhurst felt cold, as long suppressed memories began bubbling to the surface. With great difficulty, she managed to silence them again.

Sebastian sensed something odd happening and put his hand on Amanda's shoulder before she could say anything else.

"We're not talking about saving just her, captain.", he began another argument, "If they overdo it and reduce Kasia to a babbling wreck, she'll be unable to testify."

Parkhurst blinked several times as she composed herself.

"I'll need to bring it up before Lady Margaret."

Bleak Castle, Supreme Commander's office

"Milady, there is an officer here to speak with you.", Lady Margaret's orderly announced in a whisper, intruding upon a high-level government meeting.

"Tell him to wait", she motioned her hand, trying to concentrate on what a ministerial aide was saying.

"It's captain Parkhurst, ma'am, and she says it's urgent."

The Supreme Commander looked at her aide, and then quickly excused herself from the meeting. She met Parkhurst in the corridor, in front of a huge propaganda poster, showing a gigantic CSR soldier sow a blasted field with skulls.

"What is it?"

Without a word, Parkhurst pulled out a small tape recorder and played back the incident which occured at the Gill Estate.

"How long ago?", Lady Margaret asked once the recording was over

"Half an hour, give or take a few minutes."

There was a brief pause in this odd conversation, with the CSR soldier looking on. Lady Margaret considered the time it would take to get a search warrant - about three more days before the courts processed their request. She could order a raid, but this ran the risk of getting BOSS officers killed.

"Have the PeZookians heard this recording?", she finally asked.

"Yes", Parkhurst nodded

"And I suppose they want to go in right now?"

"That's correct. Captain Nalecki even threatened to attack the estate with nobody but his men if we didn't take action, though I don't think he will actually go through with this."

Lady Margaret considered the situation carefully. What if word got out that Astaria did nothing but watch as the captors abused and perhaps even executed this girl? PeZookia was just about the only country on Earth which undertook a semblance of co-operation with Astaria, and it could just be their foot in the door.

Besides, she loathed Gill ever since she got to meet the arrogant bastard.

"I am authorizing a takedown of the Gill Estate. Get it done now.", she finally said.

"Yes, ma'am"

Gill Estate, basement

Her master arrived home only an hour after she was caught, and the guards immediately reported the incident. He visited her in the basement, saying how displeased and disappointed he was with her.

He spoke to Kasia like a parent would to a wayward child, explaining in his soft voice that she would have to be punished for what she tried to do - against the man who did so much for her, indeed for someone who gave her a life she could never dream of otherwise!

Then he gave orders to the guards and left for dinner.

The guards - thugs, more like - stripped her and secured her tightly to a stand-up rack. Then one of them gave her an injection of... something.

She wasn't sure what it was, but soon she felt the familiar warmth washing over her. It was the same drug they'd slipped her earlier, the one that made her, pliable, docile, lustful... Tears ran down her face as to her horror she realised she felt aroused, and more so than she'd been before. They'd given her more, far more, than usual, or a more potent variety, she didn't know which. Her conscious mind couldn't fight the urges that flowed over her, basic, filthy, animalistic.

The guards left. They would return soon, to watch as she squirmed and begged them to satisfy her. Both of them grinned at the perspective.

It was good working for Oliver Gill, they concluded.

Outside

Even BOSS stormtroopers were a bit scared when they saw PeZookians prepare for the assault. They insisted to take part in it, and after some opposition, Whitcomb finally agreed. Now they were checking their gear and studying the floorplans with frightening intensity.

For the BOSS, this was a job, an everyday occurence. But those five PeZookians were here for revenge, and to get back one of their own. BOSS operatives from South Velaria understood that sentiment well, but there were only two of them.

PeZookians brought their own weapons and gear into the country. They had body armor, fatigues, Beryl carbines and top-of-the-line night vision gear. Captain Nalecki made sure they hauled all that just in case. Only their radios were of Astarian manufacture, since PeZookian digital sets wouldn't work with local comms.

The rest of the PeZookian liaisons would remain behind at the perimeter with the National Police, of course - they weren't trained for such things and would only get in the way. Rebecca had already contacted the Abolitionist Society and brought a consultant along to help debrief Kasia.

Once local police established a discrete perimeter, and the entry team finished their briefing, they started to move up the hillside towards the imposing Gill Estate.

Gill Estate, basement

"See what this brought you? You suffer now. You suffer, and it makes me suffer, too.", Oliver Gill leaned over Kasia, who was being driven crazy by the powerful aphrodisiacs. She still resisted the artificially-induced urges, still held on with a small part of her conscious mind, but could feel it slip away with every second.

"But if you beg me for forgiveness, I will accept. I will accept and bring you peace, and satisfaction and joy...all you have to do is beg."

Gill smiled, seeing her fight. All the way back in Sjenska, he requested she was not to be fully broken, and it showed now. But no matter - he loved it; the slow process of stripping away a slave's resistance.

Finally, she screamed. She screamed for him to take her, to do unspeakable things to her, and promised she would give in, submit and be forever his.

And this, Oliver Gill thought to himself, Is what makes it all worth it.

Gill Estate, south wall

Ladders!, the assault leader signalled with his hand, and the assault team propped up six wide alluminium ladders against the wall.

"Entry team is in position", he radioed in to the TOC

"Hold"

The assault leader looked at the PeZookian captain, who led his own small element. They agreed to split up attack zones, so as not to let their slightly different training create conflicts during close quarters combat. He still wasn't sure those people would follow the plan, though.

"Don't worry ; We won't do anything stupid.", Nalecki whispered, as if reading his mind.

The Astarian just nodded in response.

"TOC to entry team. Go when ready."

The assault leader looked at his men and held up his hand.

Go, go, go, he signalled.

Annapolis, Shepistan


Peter Welles was one of the few Cascadians to have entered Shepistan's capital city since Cascadia severed relations almost two years prior over the Shepistani assassination of Old Dominion's foreign minister Evan Mironov. Mr. Welles was with the Cascadian SIA - Security and Intelligence Agency - and ostensibly was present as part of a group of officials that were coordinating issues relating to Cascadia's contribution to the international peacekeeper force in Chesapeake.

But he had a far different purpose today.

Quietly and without fuss, a pair of guards led Mr. Welles to the office of a Mr. Al-Kanar. The Shepistani official shook Mr. Welles' hand and offered him a cigar, which was politely refused. "Mr. Welles, shall we get down to business?"

Welles nodded and began laying out the proposal sent direct from the Capital and the highest levels of the Cascadian government.

The nations of South Veleria allied to Astaria included a number of unstable governments and regions, tinderboxes waiting to be ignited. Opposition groups there bristled under the new Astarian protection of governments dominated by ethnic and political rivals, and the hinterlands of Hadhramara, Aylaniyah, and Zakariyah especially were prime regions for resistance and rebellion.

Hinterlands within easy reach of Cascadia's Welles Island and el-Yasuj airbases in Veleria.

Both nations would contribute unmarked aircraft and aircrew. Both would contribute unmarked materials from a variety of potential sources. Shepistani photographs taken from RB-56s lingering off-shore in the pre-One Week War period would be used to facilitate the operation, aided by more up-to-date photographic intel gathered by air-launched recon drones that Cascadia would purchase from Shepistan and which would be marked as belonging to "Teledyne Ryan, Long Beach, California, United States". Special operators from both nations would be used as necessary to maintain the campaigns.

As the agreement was made, contingent upon final authorization by President Garrett and General Sheppard, the whole thing would be filed in Cascadia under Project Gold Mine. The actual operators, of course, would have a different name for the whole thing, as would the Shepistani participants.

The foundation of the "Special Anti Slavery Force" had been laid.

C1 channel: "HELLO, President!"

- Hello, President! This is rail hub worker Vasya from Kolomenskoe, around Vladimir. I want to ask about your last announcement.

- What about it?

- You said these new weapons... nuclear, right? They can destroy the world.

- Correct. Next question?

- Why are we building them?

- Because so are the imperialists, and they have little reason to care about our lives, - Stanislav murmured. - Do you know that we are suspecting the IRT of testing a similar device, but earlier? Ah, right. Thank you. Next caller?

- Hello, President! This is pioneer Lesha from Grozny city, - the voice was indeed that of a child. - I want to know when we will get hot water supply back in order. Our local council doesn't make the necessary steps.

- Very well, I will send an inspection to Grozny. Next?

- Hello, President! This is Radovan Markovich, nuclear plant engineer. My family was residing in the former Border territories, in Sjenska. I heard that there are special tax breaks made under the program that the CSR government enacted for people who have families in the Borders, to help those regions develop. However, I have been sent away from the local Soviet, and I didn't have time to work through a court hearing on my own... I didn't know where to go.

Stanislav paused and pressed a button.

- This conversation is recorded. Now, please, report your location.

- Kirovograd, district 14.

- Good. Consider the local Soviet relieved of duties until re-election if a document check would confirm what you said. In case your report is a false one, you will be fired and tried under the common administrative law for mis-information. Next?

- Hello, President! This is Kirill Petrov, a youth organizer for the local communist party cell. I must ask you why we still don't have communism?

- Kirill, I sincerely advise you to go to Commune-1. Ask your party cell leader for a travel expense reimbursement paper since you are a party official, he should give it to you as the law demands. The city is being built - but it carries all the hopes of our future, and once we will see how to create a new society, we could proceed to transform our entire nation. But not before. Experience is paramount to success, remember? Next...

- Hello, President! This is Maria Dobrovolskaya, Minsk. In one of the last announcements, the Supreme Soviet and you personally authorized a military operation against Astaria. Little has been reported since on the results of this operation in the media.

Stanislav lowered his eyes.

- You know, Maria... we have not been entirely successful at achieving our goal, even as the operation successfully disrupted Astarian and South Velerian seaports for several days. But the goal to stop slave traffic, especially one where citizens of Slavic nations fall prey to kidnappers, is a noble one and the government is working on new strategies that would yield results in the shortest possible timeframe.

PeZook wrote:"PeZookian Heritage Day? I didn't know Shinra actually had any PeZookian heritage.", the King said and smiled, "Though, I guess, one learns something new every day."

"Well we have had people immigrate over, so there's the heritage there. Or so some government flunky told another slightly higher flunky who told someone else and eventually the whole thing got up to me. I suppose if nothing else I could do a symbolic 'We are all PeZookians today' speech..."

PeZook wrote:"Now, before we're spirited away to the inevitable series of public announcements and photo-ops, I'd like to ask about your opinion of the recent...troubles.", the King changes his tone to something more conductive to state business, "Especially with regards to Astaria, the CSR airstrikes and the situation there. I actually have a very interesting report with me, from our people there, detailing their internal politics."

Rufus scanned over the report before responding. "Interesting. It seems that their Navy contained a good number of abolitionists, and the Navy is what the CSR bombed..."

Rufus leaned back in his seat. "Frankly, given the way he has been operating of late isn't that surprising, given the kind of life he's had." Remembering Agatha's presence, he quickly added, "Growing up in the CSR those years ago, when it was struggling much more, couldn't have been easy. Nonetheless, it may have been unsurprising, but I do not think it was the best possible course of action he could have taken, either."

CSR, Vladimir

The aviation plant was humming with joy. Finally, a new order! The CSR's rather modest fleet of extensively modernized Su-25 designs - the infamous assault plane Su-39, which has killed a multitude of militants in the Border nations with guided munitions - was not going to have a yet another upgrade of the airframe or it's production run extended. The Su-39 production run was coming to it's end, and the CSR still needed new assault planes.

But what was more important - the Sukhois lost the contract and it suddenly fell into the hands of Ilyushin. The Il-102, after almost a decade of neglect and state trials, was chosen as the replacement for the Su-39.

With carried weapon mass higher than the Su-39 - somewhere around the A-10 MESS-designed assault plane - it had top speed same as Su-39, and it's cruise speed greatly exceeded that of the Su-39 and A-10.

The only issue with the Il-102 was it's human cost. Each plane required a crew of two. That killed the Il-102 back in the 1990s. That ressurected it with President Stanislav's new programme of Army and Airforce expansion - the human strength of various service branches was increased with new draftees, and thus two-man machines became viable again.

The Gill Estate

20:43

He kissed her, feeling her body arch away from the rack which held her in place, pressing against him. She's given in now, her instincts taking over, her every move practically screaming she wanted him, and she wanted him now.

20:44

Three stromtroopers scaled their ladders and stayed on the top, scanning the rather large and opulent garden, rifles at the ready. Their comrades quickly ascended the remaining three, jumping over the wall and landing heavily on the lawn. Their buddies followed them as soon as the entire entry team was over the wall.

"Entry team is in. Moving towards the structure.", their leader radioed back.

"Roger, entry team."

Somewhere in the dark, a dog started barking wildly. The entry team split quickly into four elements of five and raced towards the house in formation,cutting across the open lawn.

20:45

"Goddammit, do something about that fucking dog!", John Quincy screamed at one of his subordinates. The man insisted on walking around the perimeter with a huge Rottweiller he named "Killer", in a proud tradition of testorone-poisoned idiots. But now the dog was barking his head off and wouldn't stop.

"Killer, hush! Quiet, boy!", the guard tried to get the dog to stop, to no avail. The animal wouldn't shut up, and kept trying to break off its leash.

"What the hell is going on?", one of the other guards quipped, looking around. They were currently near the hedgerow maze, and couldn't see the house. Quincy sighed and pulled out his hand-held radio.

"Security check. This is perimeter patrol, our dog just went nuts, is everything okay?", he radioed out. The entire patrol team kept walking, and cleared the hedgerows.

"Jesus christ! Chief!", the dog maniac screamed and raised his weapon. Before Quincy knew what was going on, a short burst hit the man directly in the chest.

20:46

The first shots rang out in the night, clearly audible even at the command post half a kilometer away. They were soon joined by another burst, and then the engagement quickly erupted into a regular firefight.

"Contact, contact, Blue has made contact!", came a radio message from a five-man element. Blue was supposed to enter the house trough the ground-floor patio.

BOSS personnel at the TOC remained calm, however. Orders would just make things worse at this point.

The firefight died down quickly, and a radio check confirmed everyone was okay.

"Blue to TOC, two suspects secured."

"Roger that, proceed"

Whitcomb, in charge of the operation, grabbed a radio mouthpiece.

"Armored unit, go, go, go.", he spoke into the microphone. At the base of Gill's hill, two armored cars turned on their engines and started racing up the winding road.

20:47

With a crash the patio door lock bent and broke, sending both wings flying open. The glass shattered, and to add insult to injury, a deafening alarm siren started blaring as soon as it happened.

Through the open door, five heavily armed BOSS stromtroopers charged in, invading the elegant day room. Only one guard was there - alarmed by gunfire, he had his weapon ready and managed to fire off two rounds. He jumped when the siren went off, though, and both went wide.

Blue element returned fire and killed the man right there. A servant ran screaming into the room, and almost immediately turned around and ran out.

Gunfire was barely audible from the servant's quarters, where Red element entered the building. Blue waited for a bit, searching the room, then joined up with Red and stormed the lobby to secure access to higher floors.

Everything happened very rapidly, and the wailing siren made it impossible to hear anyone. Even gunfire, grenade explosion and screams were only slightly audible, making the whole assault look like a deaf man's nightmare.

As Red and Blue made their way upstairs, a third BOSS element was sweeping through guest chambers on the ground floor, while PeZookians blew open a delivery door and charged towards the basement - their night vision gear would help them immensely down there.

20:48

Gill only managed to undo one of Kasia's restraints when the alarm started blaring. He turned around, startled and surprised, only to see his trusted bodyguard, Eli, run into the room.

"It's a raid, boss!"

Gill stared at him for a moment. A raid?

"What the hell are you talking about? What raid?"

"I don't know, boss! They just charged in, I'm not sure what's going on...there's gunfire and..."

Before he could finish the sentence, all the lights went out.

Gill's basement actually had two levels: the first contained a wine cellar, freezers and some tool storage spaces. The second was where disobedient slaves were taken for their punishment: there was Kasia's rack, a tarp-covered space for beatings, a water hose and a pair of ominous chains dangling from the ceiling, with handcuffs still attached.

Right now, the muffled siren was superceded by an explosion and loud footsteps topside, in the wine cellar.

Eli flicked on a flashlight and extended the stock on his Byzantine UZI. He found his principal and grabbed his arm.

"Sir, get into a corner and stay there.", he told him sternly, then turned off the flashlight and waited.

He fully expected the attack team to open the door, throw in a flashbang grenade and then charge in. He was used to flashbangs - Eli used to be a cop before coming to work for Gill, and the attacker's flashlights would make them easy targets in the dark. Cutting the lights was a tactical mistake on their part.

Sure enough...two loud bangs, and the lock flew off, blasted from the door by breaching shotguns...Eli waited for the tell-tale clatter of a flashbang, and then...

Then he heard them storm in and scream at him, as if they could see everything clearly. In a desperate move, he fired off a long burst towards the door, but six rounds caught him in the chest and head.

Kasia screamed in fear from the brief firefight, and wouldn't stop. Gill got up from his hiding place, his ears still ringing, only to be thrown to the floor and held there by a person he couldn't even see.

"Clear!", he heard a report in weirdly-accented English.

"Clear! Confirmed!", another voice called out. Kasia was still screaming.

The attackers moved about in the dark, which made them all the scarier. Topside, Gill could hear the screeching of metal on metal when armored cars rammed through the gate. He couldn't hear any gunfire, though, with the siren drowning it all out.

Who the hell are these people? Mercenaries?

The lights finally came on, and Gill could see his attackers clearly. They wore weird camouflage uniforms and body armor with no agency markings whatsoever.

They stood in place, staring at Kasia in shock. The girl was trying to...touch herself, screaming and babbling incoherently like a crazed animal. She only had one hand partially free, making it impossible to do anything, but it still was a horrifying spectacle.

20:49

The door crashed open, sending wood splinter everywhere, and rapid defensive gunfire followed immediately. Red's leader was hit in the thigh and fell down inside the doorway screaming.

His element retreated, dragging him with them, leaving a trail of blood on the expensive carpet. The radio waves were full of chatter now, with dozens of National Police and BOSS agents flooding into the estate through the rammed gate.

"Medic! We need a medic here!", Red's scout screamed over the radio, trying to be heard despite the blaring sirens, while their rear guard applied pressure to the wound. The element leader was conscious and throwing vicious curses.

"Shit...goddamn, five years to retirement and now this!"

"This is high ground, I have a silhouette inside a window, side three level two. Armed.", his radio squawked.

"TOC to high ground, take him down"

The single shot sounded like thunder, especially since at the exact same moment, the sirens died.

"Target down"

20:50

"FUCK ME! For the love of God, somebody please fuck me!", the girl begged and screamed as the PeZookians looked at her. Nalecki snapped out of it once one of his men squeezed an empty medicine vial into his hand.

"Jesus christ...", he said to himself while reading the label. He's seen the local TV ads trying to sell this thing. He could feel the rage building up in him.

"Get him up", he said to the soldier keeping Gill pinned to the ground. He brutally pulled the slaver to his knees.

Two paratroopers carefully undid Kasia's restraints. She's actually cut her skin on them trying desperately to get at least one hand loose. They held her firmly, but didn't know what else to do.

It seemed one of them was crying.

"You gave this to her?", Nalecki asked Gill in english.

Gill looked at the man, still disoriented.

"Am I under arrest?", he asked, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

"Yes, you son of a bitch, you're under arrest. Now answer the question! Did you give this narcotic to her?!"

"I won't say anything without my lawyer.", Gill said and smiled. So it were the authorities. Good - he could work the authorities.

"What?", Nalecki asked, taken aback by the man's sudden smugness.

"I won't tell you anything without my lawyer. I'm an Astarian citizen, and I have rights. You can't do anything to me without a trial.", he looked at his captors with contempt and smirked.

It was at this moment that something snapped. The captain's eyes glazed over, he took two steps forward, threw the vial to the ground and kicked Gill in the chest, throwing him back to the tarp-covered floor. Gill covered his head and suddendly understood something.

Strange accents., it struck him. Then he remembered something he thought long ago, aboard the Star Of Sweethaven, Somebody shut down the operation in Karic's Pride...gods, no...

"Here's your trial, you filthy animal! GUILTY AS CHARGED!", Nalecki screamed and shot Gill in the head.

Silence fell in the basement. Even Kasia stopped writhing, looking at the dead body and Nalecki, who was literally seething with rage.

After a few minutes, one of the soldiers holding Kasia covered her with a blanket he found. Corporal Kralewski took off his helmet and wiped his brow. He looked once more at Gill's dead body, then at his captain, who just now seemed to be realizing what he's done.

"He tried to pull a gun on us. Didn't he, captain?"

Nalecki nodded.

"Yeah. He tried to pull a gun."

USSR. Former Sjenska territory.

Crimson Star Republic officer, PCIA Major, Special operative Alexei Chadov was not going to spare them. After capturing a machine-gun from a guard at the far side of the khutor, he reversed the platform and aimed right at the houses.

He opened fire on the houses. Several Mi-24s from the Shadow Army Air Forces (SAAF) - arrived being alerted at his call, blasting everything in the place. No one could possibly be left alive after this strike.

This was but one of the many khutors that Karic's henchmen used for gathering. Today Alexei Chadov was laying his vengeance. Kept for years in a zindan, a dark pit in Sjenska, captured, humiliated... he was living only with one word: revenge.

He was one of the best Crimson agents of the last decade. Assassinating the enemies of the CSR, releasing hostages, killing terrorists, extracting witnesses in the Border States... you name it.

After he was re-instated in his rank upon his release by USSR troops which rammed through the borders like a hot knife through butter, he suddenly realized that his rank and the resources he had allowed him to start his quest: destroy evil. Karic was the first evil name in the list. But there were others. And Alexei Chadov was not the one to forgive.

USSR. Former Sjenska territory. Several hours later.


- Hey buddy, I need a smoke.
- What's your name?
- Ivan. Call me Ivan, old man.

Breezy Point, Southern Republic (Vinish Occupied Zone)



Breezy Point was a dilapidated town on the edge of the Central River, dilapidated not due to her prime location, but due to the cutthroat bandits that called the Town Hall home. The bandits had moved into town during the shelling of Flensburg in the Post Mortimer Civil War, and before a recent increase in activity by Vinish forces in the Southern Republic, had held sway over a large swath of land.

This had been a calculated move by the Vinish, as the land owners over the northern area were not agreeing to the provisions for Vinish assistance, such as joining the Southern Republic, and instituting economic reforms meant to redistribute wealth in the region to a more even field. The bandits, whom had owned not an insignificant area in breezy point, were aloud to conquer many of the outlier farms, sending a clear message to the wealthy owners, join with the Vinish, or die.

Only now the bandits use was at an end, so the Deputy Army Minister decided to get one more bit of use out of the unwilling allies of the Vineyards. He looked at the walls of the sparse Southern Republic Army office, searching for a clock. Blazoned on the same wall as the door was a single, utilitarian clock, it read 2:05, just five minutes until the first check in by the Royal Vinish Shock Commandos, following confirmation of the capturing of the Town Hall Fortress.

The radio slightly crackled, prompting a look from Deputy Minister Luzar, to which the radio operator responded, “Nothing, Mr. Deputy Minister, no reports, from the commandos, though I do have some civilian bands matching what the VIIS has been reporting as the common bandit bands.”

”Do you believe the bandits have successfully defended their stronghold?”

“No clue, sir, they’re your soldiers, not mine.”

“So, I want your…”

“Hold on sir, we’ve got something…”

“What is going on?”

“…Hold on, wait, fucking wait. Sir, they are requesting reinforcements, the bandits have run to the hills. Sounds like a rout, Deputy Minister”

They stood in silence for a few moments, “What are you waiting for, comply!”

OOC: Unfortunately I’ve kind of run out of time to further improve and expand the following, as I’m leaving for Barcelona tomorrow where I’ll be spending most of next week, and this really couldn’t wait until I got back (one can only stretch unreal time so far). Hopefully it’ll get the point across though.

The Siege of Cassino, Part II

Cassino Fortress-Monastery, Costa de las Cinco Muertes



November 23, 2009 [Unreal Time]

With the onset of night most of the hostilities had ceased. Although both the mercenaries and their San Doradan enemies possessed night vision equipment, the steep mountainsides were too treacherous to safely scale at night. Mounting a full-scale frontal assault at night was suicide.

By the light of the electric lanterns and glowing monitors General Meyer of the SDA and his troupe of commanders, aides and intelligence liaisons examined the tactical situation. Despite heavy casualties Citidef had taken the forward positions and the village. All that remained now was the monastery itself, but that was going to be a bitch and a half to seize.

"I hate to say it", Colonel Rourke grimaced, the spiralling smoke of his cigar forming strange cuneiforms in mid-air. "But taking the rock itself is going to be a pain in the ass." He wasn't exaggerating. The walls of the monastery were ten feet thick at the base, and ramped straight up from the top of the mountain. The road up from the village to the gate was a bare, three hundred feet long killing zone, anything trying to approach would be wide open to attack from the monastery walls. Even tanks wouldn't be safe. A thousand years of siegecraft experience had paid off for the Byzantines, and now it paid off for the mercenaries and their MIC allies too.

"I told ya", ISIA intelligence chief Sam Davis injected lazily. "A stealth assault would've been infinitely preferable. Now they've got that place locked up tighter than Al-Sheppard's arsehole."

Meyer glared at him. He didn't like Davis. The Indhopali spymaster was a smartass, and too intelligent for his own sake. "If you've got a better idea then let's hear it, Davis. Otherwise, kindly shut your trap."

"Traditional airstrikes are not an option here", Davis shrugged. "And a long and bloody ground assault will just draw attention. I've been authorized to offer up an alternative. We have certain chemical agents at our disposal that could prove useful. We use precision strikes to deliver incapacitating agents onto the site then follow up with a ground assault. The gas should give your men the edge they need. And if we get any bad press about it, we saw some of the mercenaries chemicals escaped in the fire fight."

"Hmm", Meyer harrumphed. He had to admit that the plan had a certain elegance to it. "Rourke, what do you think?"

"It might work." The thoughtful expression on the face of the Citidef colonel was partially obscured by cigar smoke. "If we make it a pin-point assault… Get some snipers up there to suppress the walls… Throw up a smokescreen, get our men up there in gas masks… Yes, it just might work. It's going to be close quarters in there though."

"I'm sure the SRG would be happy to assist", said Davis, glancing at the leader of the Indhopali special ops team standing in the back of the command tent. The commando returned a barely noticeable nod.

Meyer shrugged. "Alright. It's as good a plan as any, and if it works we'll have the place seized by dawn tomorrow. We'll try it. Rourke, get your men ready. We move in two hours."

---

Lieutenant Edmond Price commanded an eight man fighting patrol of the Special Reconnaissance Group, Indhopali special forces. His soldiers were trained in a wide variety of combat techniques, armed to the teeth, kitted out with state-of-the-art whizbang gadgets, and veterans of a number of campaigns in the heart of the Central Frequesuan Republic.

The Citidef troopers to which his patrol had been assigned for the duration of the op were a far cry from his well-organized, well-trained and well-equipped hardcases. That said they immediately impressed him. Fresh from the battlefield, muddied, still camouflaged, clad in stinking combats but with their rifle-green berets at a rakish angle, they exuded self-confidence. They chattered and laughed quietly as they stripped and cleaned their weapons, not giving a damn who the new foreign guys were or what they wanted. They couldn't have had more than a few hours sleep, but all they cared about was getting up there, get stuck in, and get it over with.

Price was familiar with men like them. A famous Shroomanian general in the mid-19th century had famously thought them the 'scum of the earth'. He couldn't have disagreed more.

"Lieutenant Price", a voice addressed him. Price turned around. A man in worn and torn Citidef khaki had entered the tent. Two days worth of stubble accentuated a pair of black, deep set eyes. Ragged sergeant's stripes donned his shoulders. Haphazardly patched-up burn marks ran across his left hand. The dirty Velcro nametag on his chest read 'A. Ross'. "Pleased to meet you."

---

Sergeant Alex Ross tried to take the measure of the Indhopali special forces. They wore high-end body armour instead of the Kevlar kit the San Doradans had to make do with, and brought fancy kit like laser sights Citidef had to go without, but the lieutenant who shook his hand was tall and weather-worn, with a skin like leather, closely cropped blonde hair and the grooved face of a seasoned veteran. He looked like a hard-ass. Ross liked him almost instantly.

"Sergeant," the man confidently returned his greeting. "Your troops look like they're about ready to go."

"We sure are." For the duration of the mission the Citidef squaddies would be under operational command of the Indhopali lieutenant. He was, in turn, under the command of General Meyer, but Ross rarely thought that far up the ranks. The lieutenant looked reliable, and that was all that mattered right now. If these SRG guys were as good as they were supposed to be, Ross would be more than glad to have them along for the ride.

"What do you think of the plan?" The lieutenant asked.

Ross shrugged. "Sounds good to me. If we can get up that slope and into the monastery in one piece, the rest ought to be a walk in the park."

Price smiled. "That's the spirit." He produced a series of syringes. "Distribute these among your men. The mortar barrage will deliver weaponized fentanyl into the monastery. We'll go in with masks and respirators, but if anyone is exposed, inject them with this. Those are shots of naloxone, it'll counteract the gas."

Ross smiled grimly. "Bring on the pain."

---

One moment the night had been quiet for the men holed up in the fortress-monastery. The next, all hell broke loose. A time-on-target barrage of fragmenting shells tore gaping holes through the roof of the ancient building. Seconds later another volley followed, but this time gas grenades punctured the wide holes torn by the first salvo. The shells hit the ground hissing, spewing forth incapacitating gas. Another group of mortars fired on the front entrance, laying a smoke screen that obscured the road leading up to the monastery gates. Simultaneously, Tiger attack helicopters made a pass, anti-personnel rockets pelting the curtain wall and drizzling it with explosions, then pummelling the front gate with a salvo of heavy missiles. The ancient, iron-reinforced oaken doors didn’t so much explode as they ceased to exist, transforming into a fireballing wave of splinters and shrapnel together with their hinges and several square meters of masonry.

More and more gas grenades dropped onto the roof of the building and onto the courtyard in the centre. Gas wafted up in billowing clouds, drifting in through shattered windows and open doors. The first mercenaries exposed almost immediately began to feel its effects. Others were inside though, and were not nearly as badly affected. Soon, sirens began to wail through the cold night sky.

The charging wave of commandos and Citidef troopers swept through the ruined gate entrance and into the first hall. There were mercenaries there, bust most of them had been killed or badly wounded by the missile strike, and the soldiers mowed down anyone still moving as they surged into the building.

“Go, go go!” Ross heard the lieutenant shout from behind his gasmask. “Move on quick, we have to hit them with as much concentrated violence as possible!”

“I hear that!” he heard Rohrer yell back just as the team emerged into the first hallway. Here the gas had barely reached, and the soldiers came immediately under fire from mercenary troops. Two Citidef troopers went down instantly, the rest were forced to scramble for cover.

“Grenades!” barked Ross. In ten seconds eight grenades went down range, thundering through the narrow stone corridors and blasting the resistance to bits. “Let’s move!” the sergeant yelled. He didn’t wait for a reaction but charged into the smoke that obscured the corridor screaming, his finger stabbing the trigger of his assault rifle, indiscriminately putting dozens of rounds into mercenary troopers he hadn’t even consciously registered yet. He was an unstoppable whirlwind of death filled with the intention of murdering the monastery’s occupiers. More mercenaries charged into the corridor, these ones carrying gas masks, and then Ross’ magazine ran out. Not stopping for a moment he charged on, clubbing the lead soldier with the butt of his rifle and punching another through the plexiglass mask of his respirator with his fist. Someone screamed. Shots ring out as his comrades catch up with him, scything down the remaining mercenaries. It took the sergeant seconds to figure out that he was the one screaming.

---

Lieutenant Price couldn’t believe it – that nutbag of a sergeant charged straight into a fucking crossfire and came out not just alive, but without a scratch on him. The Indhopali special operator shook his head. “Sergeant”, he muttered quickly as the team formed up in the blood-spattered hallway, “as much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, don’t fucking do that again. We’re in the middle of an god-damn warzone down here, not on the set of some fucking Shroomanian B-movie”.

Sergeant Ross glances at him. “Lieutenant, this is my third combat op in 36 hours. I haven’t slept more than six hours in two days. I’ve been shot at more times than most men are in a life of armed service. If you expect me to behave entirely rational right now, I’m afraid that’s going to be a problem.”

Something in Ross’ eyes worried the lieutenant. The sarge was dangerously close to breaking. Or maybe he already had. “Just… Try to curb your gusto for now, will you? Or you’re going to get us all killed. Alright? Let’s move!”

---

“What the fuck is going on!” Captain Milingo cursed as he rushed out of his quarters, only to bump into Dimartino. The staccato echoes of gunfire and explosion haunted the halls of the monastery.

“We’re under attack. The enemy is inside the building” injected Dimartino icily, and shoved a gas mask into the hands of the captain. “Put this on, you’re going to need it.”

The two Klavostani mercenaries rushed through the corridors until they emerged into the central court. A withering fire fight was going on between their comrades on one end of the short yard and San Doradan intruders on the other. The blizzard of fire was so fierce it turned the night into day. Grenades tore through masonry and stone sculptures, sending shrapnel and debris tearing through the ancient square. Milingo and Dimartino narrowly managed to crouch for cover as bullets tore through the air where they had stood no moments before.

“Fuck!” screamed the captain. “We’re fucking fucked!”

“Then we’ll make our stand here”, shrugged Dimartino. “Here is as good as any place.”

“No! Wait!” Milingo sounded feverish. “I know why they are here. I know why they haven’t simply bombed us from the air. It’s the gas! They want the gas!”

“What gas?” Dimartino sounded confused.

“I’m not sure, but commander Gotti has been treating it as the holy fucking grail. This whole mess started the minute we got our hands on the stuff. Don’t you get it? If we get our hands on it, we can negotiate our way out of here!”

“So where is it?”

“Follow me!”

---

On the fifth floor of the monastery, far away from the bulk of the gunfire, the squad made up of Ross’ Citidef troopers and Price’s Indhopali special operators stole through the empty corridors. According to Indhopali and SDA SIGINT this part of the massive building contained the Klavostani control center, so it was their best bet for finding the commanding officer as well. The silent troopers occasionally passed incapacitated Klavostani mercenaries. Some of them looked like they were choking on their own vomit, but the troopers had no time to tend to their enemies.

They communicated solely with hand signals as they approached the stateroom door. Price lead the way. Ross followed immediately behind him.

Can I trust you? signalled Price.

Sure. Trust me. Ross signed back. He grinned.

Ready? signalled Price. On my command!

He gave the sign. Hammond swivelled and brought his shotgun to bear, blasting away the hinges. Then Ross moved in and kicked the door down, rushing in. There were six troopers and a seventh, unarmed men inside. Ross opened fire. Three of the enemy troopers went down like skittles. Then Price was in the room, dispatching another two with short, controlled bursts from his submachinegun. The last went down to a blast from Hammond’s shotgun just as he was about to blow Ross away.

The last man in the room cowered before the sudden intruders. According to his rank and nametag he was Jonathan Gotti, the commander of the Klavostani mercs. Lieutenant Price hit him hard with the back of his hand, sending the mercenary leader sprawling to the ground. “Where is it?! Where did you stash the goddamn gas!” He pulled his sidearm and draw a bead on the man’s forehead. “Tell me or you’re a dead man!”

“Please, don’t shoot! It’s- it’s in the main chapel!”

“You sure?” The Indhopali lieutenant scowled at the quivering commander. “You sure you’re not fucking with us?”

“No! I swear!”

“Thanks”, Price threw one more glance at the Klavostani, then shot him in the face. His body hit the floor with a dull thud.

“We’ve got company!” yelled Rohrer, his voice strangely muffled beneath the gasmask. A second later he opened up, the Minimi barking the staccato rhythm of death as 5.56mm fire tore down the corridor and chopped down the onrushing mercenaries. “Time to go!”

---

Rounds buzzed down the richly furnished oratory, clipping precious icons and irreparably damaging the elaborate friezes and carpets that decorated the walls of the monastery’s principal chapel. Wooden benches splintered or were overturned as grenades popped. Machine guns shattered golden relics. The holy place was irrevocably desecrated by the horrors of war as Klavostani mercenaries and San Doradan troops fought a running gun battle through the chapel, shunning no means to destroy each other.

“Hammond! Get down!” yelled Ross, but it was too late: a burst from a Klavostani mercenary took the young soldier in the chest. The sergeant blew his attacker away. There were bodies everywhere, enemies and allies. Blood caked the golden ceiling, ran in thick pools across the marble floor, spattered the statues of the saints. Pockets of mercenaries were putting up dogged resistance, making the San Doradans fight for every meter of sacred ground they gained.

A grenade detonated near him, taking apart three wooden benches, sending splinters into Ross’ arm. He ducked for cover just in time to avoid a salvo of fire from two mercenaries hiding behind the statue of Yaroslav himself. Just behind him, Rohrer braced himself and fired his Minimi from the hip, bullets puncturing the statue of the monastery’s founder and blasting the two mercs apart.

The gun battle continued. One of the Indhopali special operators was taken down by a shot through the neck, but not before he managed to toss a grenade that blew apart his killers. Smoke drifted underneath the vaulted ceiling. A commando riddled two Klavostanis with bullets as they emerged from hiding in the clerestory.

Then, still suddenly, silence.

“Was that all of them?” Rohrer wondered aloud.

“No” an unfamiliar voice answered in accented English from one of the side chapels. “And no-one moves, or unpleasant things are going to happen.”

“Like what?” growled Ross.

“Like we release what’s in these cylinders we have here”, the voice answered. “I’m sure you don’t want that to happen, do you?”

“We don’t”. replied Price before Ross could give an answer. “What do you want?”

“I want one negotiator” the voice returned. “Just one. And unarmed.”

Briefly, silence. Then: “Alright”, Price answered. “I’m coming in.”

“Are you nuts?” whispered Ross. “They’ll take you apart the moment you step in that room!”

Rice looked Ross in the eye. ‘Trust me.’

The lieutenant placed his rifle on the ground, and slowly but steadily walked into the side chapel. Compared to the carnage in the nave of the sanctum the place was pristine. From their stained glass window, St. Peter and the Virgin Mary looked down onto the people below.

There were two mercenaries left. They stood around the altar, perilously close to the gas cylinders lined up before it. The cylinders were squat and gray, slightly rusting unsightly things that looked like they did not belong in this place of worship – much like the two men and their guns. The two remaining mercenaries eyed the lieutenant suspiciously.

'Are you the negotiator?'

The talking man was a mercenary captain. He did all the talking. The second man was a Klavostani private. Both wore Kevlar armor and wielded Ralson Arms assault rifles. The guns looked battered as hell, but two dead and three badly bleeding Citidef troopers on the floor said it worked just fine. The troopers might make it, if the surgeon was good and got here in time.

Price nodded, trying to look harmless. He stood silently, assessing the situation.

The only way out of the room was the arch through which he had entered. The cylinders were bunched up before the high altar. Rice couldn’t see how many there were but it looked to him like they had to be pretty much all the gas they were looking for. That of course meant he couldn’t risk indiscriminate gun fire. Both opponents were wearing gas masks, so incapacitating them with gas wasn’t going to work.

‘We want a helicopter out of here,’ the talking captain said, 'or we start shooting these here cylinders, and I guess you don’t want that…”

Rice frowned as one of the wounded soldiers on the ground drew a rasping breath. He wouldn’t last more than half an hour if he didn’t get help stat. He balled her fists, then shoved his hands behind his back as though to stop herself from lashing out.

‘What are you looking at?’ the silent private demanded, speaking for the first time.

‘A dead man,’ Edmond Price whispered as her Gizmonic Arms Bulldog cleared the holster at the small of his back.

Dimartino jerked as two .45 armour piercing rounds blew his chest open, passing through his vest like it wasn’t there and turning the man into precisely what Price had labelled him. The captain started back in horror, his assault rifle blasting out towards the spot where Price had stood, but he was already tumbling away. Two bullets hit him, their impact stopped by his ceramic armour, but their momentum knocked his aim a fraction off. The lieutenant’s third shot ricocheted off the cylinder nearest to the mercenary. Price winced, but the round glanced off the fragile steel canister and impacted the frieze depicting one of the stages of the cross behind him.

Price’s fourth and fifth shots made up for the miss, punching Captain Milingo under the bottom of his tactical vest, the steel-tipped rounds clipping the captain’s spine, partially paralyzing him. The rifle fell from his hands as he bounced back from the wall, the high altar partially disappearing in a wash of blood.

Price kicked the gun away from the captain’s hand and moved to stand over his body as the rest of the soldiers stormed into the chapel. The Klavostani captain stared up at him, still alive somehow. The lieutenant raised the Bulldog.

'You're no negotiator,' Captain Milingo protested, an instant before the AP round blew his forehead open.

'No, you moron,' Price told the corpse, 'I’m SRG.'


Result: Citidef soldiers with the aid of some funky ISIA gas and SRG commandoes storm and take the monastery. [OOC: I know fuck-all about how you’d undertake a storming like that, so the above is probably a highly silly way to do it… Still, I hope people were at least entertained.] The gas cylinders were confiscated and will be destroyed. So, all ends well…. Or does it?


Epilogue

Muffled explosions rocked the night. Smoke wafted from the mountain top monastery, visible only because it blacked out the starry night sky. The real commander Jonathan Gotti glanced at his partner-in-crime as they pushed the small but silent motor boat into the water of the Chogo River. “We barely got out in time, it seems.”

Rogue agent Ferris Hoffman, formerly of San Dorado’s Military Intelligence Corps, grinned. “Barely is good enough for me, Gotti.” He jumped onto the boat and helped the Klavostani mercenary up into it.

Yaroslav of Jerusalem might have been convinced that the defenders of Cassino were blessed by the Almighty; his successors had nonetheless been prudent enough to dig a narrow escape tunnel from the monastery to the small river a dozen miles from the mountain. The duo had used it to escape the siege, barely in time to witness the demise of the fortress at the hands of Citidef and their Indhopali allies. Helicopters with bright search lights surged over the mountain top as Hoffman started the quieted engine of the boat and piloted it up the river, yet making sure he stayed under the trees that hung over the river. They’d be practically invisible from the air.

Hoffman grinned. “In two hours we’ll reach the edge of Chauki Lake. Sam Ralson has made sure that an unmarked vessel will be waiting there, which will take us across the lake and into Tanstaafl. Relax, Gotti. We’re home free.”

The mercenary scowled. “That may be so, but I lost my entire company, and my reputation, and if everything goes to plan I’ll be considered dead. I need compensation, Hoffman. I need the money you promised me.”

“Quite so. But you know…” Hoffman patted the two squat, gray cylinders that rested in front of the boat. “Ralson needs only one of these babies.” Hoffman’s smirk widened. “And I already have a buyer for the other. He pays real good money. You may know him. His name is Srdjan Karic.”


Result: At this point, I’m leaving it up to you guys to use this plot thread as you see fit. The gas cylinders are unmarked and cannot be traced back to San Dorado, particularly not when they show up on the other side of the world. So if anyone needs a lethal chemical weapon that turns people into uncontrollable psychopaths getting loose, knock yourselves out! I’m sure you can think of lots of interesting things Karic could do with the stuff…

//ENCRYPTED//

Baernish Intelligence Service
After-Action Report
OPERATION: Siege of Cassino
FROM: Special Agent Mandez, BIS Field Operative
TO: Their Excellencies Countesses Truman and Domizia, Ministers for War and Foreign Affairs

Your Excellencies,
It is my great pleasure to report the seizure of the remaining gas agent cylinders by San Doradan and Indhopali special forces, as well as the alleged execution of the mercenary commander, one Commander Gotti, a Klavostani national. Questions on this point remain, as dental records for the relevant corpse do not match those on file in Klavostan. The Director has authorized an investigation on this point.

Two gas cylinders were retrieved, and have been returned to San Dorado for destruction. We have every reason to believe that these two, combined with the cylinders located at the sites of the other incidents in the Costa and aboard HGS Green, constitute the entire stockpile.

Needless to say, the Director has also authorized an investigation as to where exactly the gas came from, and it's exact properties. Trace elements from HGS Green indicate that it is some sort of homicidal rage-inducing pathogen, but little else is know about the method by which it induced it's victims to murder each other.

Baerne Invictus,
Special Agent Mandez

RESULTS: It's much more difficult to make one's death nowadays, and we're investigating what exactly is going on here.

OOC: Have a good time in Barcelona, Siege.

Prime Ministerial Briefing Room, New Sheoth Castle
January 26, 2010


Sheoth, with New Sheoth Castle in the Centre

Deep within the confines of New Sheoth Castle, a major briefing was taking place, the most important people from across the Kingdom were in one room, talking. The first of these men stood in front of the body, and spoke, “Mr. Luzar, you have the floor. Please tell us what happened at,” a pause, “Breezy Point, The Southern Republic.”


Location of the Battle of Breezy Point

“The Royal Shock Commandos stormed into the complex at 24:45, at 1:05 the first shots were fired, at 1:11 the first casualty was suffered by the commandos, at 1:30 they had secured the Mayor’s Office; at 2:00 they had secured the main stair well, at 2:07 they checked in to report the finding of a vault, not in the original design. After reinforcement, including biological and chemical protection, the forces in the area blew open the door to find,” Luzar took a moment to check his notes, he hated this new policy the Prime Minister had implemented, a step by step explanation of military operations, even top secret ones such as the Royal Shock Project, “Ah, 50 tons of cocaine, in the vault.”

For dramatic effect, Deputy Minister Luzar held up a vial of the cocaine. This flair seemed to not have any effect on the assembled party. “Mr. Luzar, you did not immediately call for a quarantine of the area for a, rather large, pile of drugs, did you?” the Prime Minister asked.


Prime Minster Martin Black

“Not at all, Mr. Black,” Luzar countered, emphasizing Mr., “Staff Sergeant Markus Bynum also found a sealed canister of an unknown substance located inside the vault, proving the caution with the biological/chemical gear was necessary. But, more importantly, the agent was found surrounded by bodies of people who literally tore each other to shreds.” Luzar hefted a vial of what may have been the agent, it wasn’t, but this one had more of an effect than the cocaine.


Deputy Army Minster and Head of The Royal Vinish Shock Commandos Alexander Luzar

“Well, Mr. Luzar, this is an interesting development, do we have forces analyzing this agent? Never mind, of course we do, now the other question, how much was originally in this ‘canister?”

"Less than a millilitre, as a liquid."

“So, we have an unknown agent, of which you find a small amount of, that you believe cause two people to kill each other?”

“Yes, Mr. Black.”

“Sit down, You have nothing else to say.”


Commander of Vinish Operations in The Southern Republic and The Independent Republic of the Saviours Hide Wallace Breen

”Sirs,” the commander of Vinish Forces muttered, he now had to deal with the bombshell released by Luzar, and Breen was reeling, “I will start out my briefing with the Saviour’s Hide Zone.” He switched the image being projected.


The Independent Republic of the Saviours Hide

Breen continued, “The guerrilla forces of the Monks of the Saviour have intensified both their attacks, and their campaigns against Mr. Humphrey in the election. I believe we could give the Monks some say in the government to ease their pressure.”

“Wouldn’t this set a bad precedent?” ask the Prime Minister.

“It would, if we didn’t require they agree to the Protection Pact in exchange for the power. I mean, we’re just after governments that will be fair to the people, and agree to the Pacts. All we need are the Monks to have a little check on their power, through an elected agent of the masses.”

“You are basically offering up the people’s freedom for…”

“For a chance at being as close to citizens of a civilized nation as possible? Really, these Pacts do more good than harm, they assure the people freedoms completely foreign to them, and they protect them from localized warlords. Hell, a loss of sovereignty is a small price to pay for the economic benefits they will receive,” interjected Senator Alexander Mason, back from signing the Neutrality Agreement, “If we retain their localized governments, but have them loyal to the King, everyone benefits.”

The Prime Minister sighed, this was going to be difficult, “Agreed, start making overtures to the Monks when you return, Commander Breen.


The Southern Republic

Breen stuttered, “Ye-Yes Prime Minister, now I continue to the Southern Republic where, I’m happy to report, the officials in Shroomston are agreeing to the terms of the Protection Pact as we speak.”

“Good,” the Prime Minister responded, “Now, Mr. Wonderly, from the Earlsi Protectorate, what news do you bring?"


The Kingdom of Vineyards: Earlesi Lordship, The Kingdom of Earles, The Earlesi Protectorate

Jeremy Wonderly Stood and looked at the assembled group, changed the display to that of his and Joshua Earles’ autonomous nation, called internally as the Kingdom of Earles, and spoke, “Gentlemen, the Earlesi Protectorate reports very good happenings, new immigrants are spilling in from places such as Sabika, Omago, and even the Northern CFR. Earlesville has opened three new factories for processing goods, and Socialtown now has a Militia Posting.”


Supreme Commander of Earlesi Forces, Leader of Joshua Earles Secret Police, Earlesi Chief of Staff Jeremy Wonderly

The General Commander of Earlsi forces changed his tone, “We are beginning to worry about the Shinra deal, the mineral wealth is ours to exploit, not the mess’.”

“Calm yourself, Mr. Wonderly, I assure you, we took into consideration your own claims to the land of the Earlsi Protectorate. These resources talked about in the Frigate Deal are simply theoretical, causes for the stock exchanges to start huffing paint and snorting cocaine,” responded the calm voice of the elder Jon Oliver, Trade Minister.

“So, you will support Earlsi claims to resources inside the areas assigned to Shinra.”

“Of Course,” Oliver Sr. lied.

The Prime Minster interrupted, “I believe your time is up, Mr. Wonderly, please be seated. Now, onto the VEIL assets in the non Vinish Mandates in the CFR…"

25 Nautical Miles off shore of the main Astarian Port; Midnight Local Time

The RSS Permit hung silently in the ocean, and the two huge clamshell doors in the bow hump opened. From within emerged two Swimmer Delivery Vehicles, all-electric vehicles with a speed of seven knots and a range of about 70 nautical miles. Their target was the main harbor in Astaria, and at their best speed, it would take about three and a half hours, being guided by their on board inertial navigational systems.

8 nautical miles astern of RSS Permit

The CSR submarine K-378 sat in the ocean, it's reactor crumping over on natural circulation, with extreme quietness protocols being observed.

"Comrade," came the voice from the sonar shack. "The Shepistanis have finished unlocking their spetsnaz."

"Good. Good." replied Captain 1st Rank Marko Ramius. "Any indication that the slavers have noticed us?"

"No, Comrade; they're running their usual patrols of the harbor mouth."

"Good. But ready the weapons - our Shepistani comrades might need some help once they achieve their objective."

Three Hours and 30 minutes later

The SDVs came to a halt and slowly sank into the muck of the harbor floor. They'd evaded detection by skimming through the main shipping channel several feet off the channel - it had been a tense moment when a ship had loomed out of the darkness and thump thump thumped it's way right over them; the screws passing over the SDVs with only a few feet of clearance.

The sliding doors on the SDV's sides opened and from within came frogmen with bubble-less rebreathers and burdened down with limpet mines. Their target was a specific set of docks which had been identified days ago by the CSR's lone T-4 flying a high altitude reconnaisance mission well outside of any "claimed" Astarian airspace at 24,000 meters (66,000~ ft). They'd identified the location within the harbor of a specific ship they'd been tracking ever since it left port bound for Astaria.

Their target? The M/V Happy Time.

On board the Happy Time was about 35,000 tons of ammonium nitrate fertilizer, which fed Astaria's booming agricultural sector, ensuing self sufficiency for the isolationist slave state.

Slowly, the Shepistani Special Forces (SSF) operators swam under the 39 foot draft of the Happy Time and began attaching the huge shaped charge limpet mines to the keel of the Happy Time. The timers were set for four hours on each one, and slowly the divers made their way back to the SDVs.

Three Hours and 40 minutes later, CSR SSN K-378

"Comrade Captain, the Spetsnaz are back on board the Shepistani submarine, and we just received a signal via the "dolphin call" system that their mission was successful, and detonation is in approximately 20 minutes from now."

Twenty Minutes Later

The men manning the dockyards saw a brief glow in the water around the Happy Time as the shaped charges fired. One didn't fire, and some were a few minutes late, but there were enough that the mission was accomplished. Minutes later, yellowish smoke spurted out of the ventilators for the cargo holds, indicating that a fire was underway. The shaped charges had burned their way deep into the cargo holds, and had provided enough residual heat to begin the process of ignition for the Happy Time's deadly cargo.

Just as the Astarian Dockyard Fire Service People were pulling up with their fire trucks, the Ammonium Nitrate in the holds reached detonation temperature; and the Happy Time dissolved in a globe of fire.

Due to the vagaries random events, not all of the 35,000 tons of ammonium nitrate on-board contributed to the blast, but the 11,500 tons that did go off was sufficient to cause massive devastation in the harbor.

Results
Massive freaking damage to harbor.