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At a Post Station on the Space Union Border and No-man's Land:
Derald looked at the distant woodlands with a eye of despair. He spit a lugi as he snickered. It was one of those days that he wished he had enlisted in the Space Union Army but of course his parents had said, "No! You'll be safer as a border security guard!" -explicitive removed- that, there was no action. He sighed as he leaned against the wall with his partner looking at a magazine. Teran flipped through the pages of Playboy as he looked at a picture of some hot naked girls. He chuckled when he saw a very revealing pic and laughed. D
Derald stared at him in disgust, he being a very upheld person with high morales.
"Don't you ever take a break from those magazines?"
"Hell no! I've got something to do and it doesn't seem like there is going to be any action here."
"Well, what if there is?"
"Ha, and my grandma will grow a mustache. Face it, were in dull world here with ponies and faries and other peaceful -explicitive removed-."
Derald just turned his head, though, he knew Teran was right. He was bored, almost everyday. He wanted action not boredom. He slid his hand to his gun as he picked it up. It was an semi-automatic standard-issued rifle. He called it "Mobby -explicitive removed-er" since it pretty much -explicitive removed-ed anything that it shot at. He picked it up as he got up and moved silently out the door without saying anything to Teran. As he made his way around the fort, he thought about his life. He was only 24 years old and had a long life ahead of him. With 2 years left of his active duty he would be able to do what he really wanted to: become a neurosurgeon. But that was far away.
As he strolled farther away from the fort, suddenly he heard a loud bang. He jolted as his senses went into hyper mode. His gun flashed as he turned in every direction. He tried to see if there was a trace of the sound but he couldn't suddenly it dawned on him. He suddenly started sprinting to his fort as he burst into the fort. Tears ran down his eyes as he looked at the scene before him. His partner, friend, blood brotherin, and everything had a huge gapping hole in his chest. His Playboy magazine was still in his hands. He went to him to check his beat, there wasn't anything. He shook his head as he saw the wound was extremely fresh. He scanned the fort and noticed nothing astray. He jolted to his radio as he punched in the transmission button and shouted, "We have a code red! I repeat code red! All troops are to deployed man down!" Suddenly another gunshot was heard as bullets streamed into the fort, puncturing the wall or bouncing off them.
Derald jumped to the floor to avoid the bullets as they sprayed above him. He cursed as how ironic the day was. He was finally getting his action. He started doing a military crawl as he moved along the floor to the secret entrance. He opened the latch covering it and slid into it, avoiding a bullet that slammed right into the hatch. He safetly closed it before moving down the dark tunnel as he made his way to the main quarters. He had little time but suddenly the floor shook. "Oh, crud!" He looked back as light started streaming into the end of the tunnel that he had entered in. He began to sprint as bullets whizzed by him. It was a miracle that he wasn't hit yet. God was liking him today. He turned the corner as he climbed up a ladder and opened a latch before entering the quarters. But before closing the ladder, he saw a couple of guys climbing the ladder up. He immediately sprayed them with a mouth full of bullets in their mouth as they both fell dead to the gruond. He could hear voices so he closed the latch and ran out of the room. He could hear sirens all over the base and finally came over to some troops. They stared at awe at him as he looked at them confused. Suddenly he felt a jolt of pain and looked at his arm and legs. He had five bullets in his arm and 2 in his leg. He just opened his mouth and collapsed into darkness.
| CODE | | OOC: This RP is basically an expansion RP for me into the rest of number 7 with some awesome fun! I'm RPing that the natives that live in that land have started a war by attacking border forts all over the Space Union border in an attempt to invade the country. This will show how the Space Union Military brings that plan to a hault as they begin counterattacking and taking land from the natives. It will be a full blown RP and once the war starts, I will need someone to RP the rogue people that live in that area. If anyone is interested just TG, PM, or contact me in some way. Also more details will be revealed as the story continues. Hope you guys read it. Thank You. :) |
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OOC: Oh crud, I accidently posted this in the Sports RPing section.  Can someone move this to the regional section of the forum? Thanks  |
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Satpul stared into oblivion as his commanders talked to one another. All their faces were stern and battle hardened yet none of them knew what the Federate was thinking. He just contiplated on the matter as he sat there silently among the murmurs at the conference table. He had only been in office for a month and already so much had happened. His administration had whethered a recession/depression and brought the economy out of the ashes and now it was war?! God obviously was either not liking him or he was helping him. Satpul didn't know.
Finally his Secretary of Defense, Sukhtan Brare, spoke out:
"Sir, if I may break the ice, what are we suppose to do about this crisis? All along our borders our border security has come under fire from those blasted savages in the unchartered land. We must stop them or face mounting casualties and dissent."
The Federate just stared at him before a small smile curled on his face as he nodded,
"Ah, yes, we will do something. I think this is the perfect oppurtunity to also expand our nation. These rebels have long been pacifist but it seems with influence from outside factions, possibly the Dragoons, they have turned hostile."
"Do you really think the former Harsimran supporters would really rally the rebels to attack their own fellow citizens?"
"I believe so. They only want power, they care little about the health of the nation or its people. That is why I suggest we outline our battle plan here and see where it goes."
"Yes. I've talked to the other commanders here and we have come to the conclusion that an offensive into their land would be the best option. We can at the same time also expand the Space Union borders in the context that we are defending ourselves, which is true. We can expand further into the unclaimed area."
Satpul looked down at the table as he thought about that option. He knew it was risky but the end result would be a Space Union victory in every direction. Silently, he nodded in acceptance.
"Very well, I give you premission to start on offensive."
"Thank You, sir. I will have the 2nd Armored Theater attack from the north while the 3rd Armored Theater will attack from the south. They will intersect at the middle."
Sukhtan just pointed at the map on the wall. It was a good idea, and would subdue any resistance the most effectively.
"Once we do that, we can easily just spread our forces and dispense of any pockets of resistance. But I would ask that we first start an aerial bombardment of the entire region. Our intelligence has picked up camps all over the region where they are training their soldiers. There are over 200 hundred of these. An all out bombing campaign would destroy these along with their base of soldiers. Once that happens our Armies will march through the territory claiming it."
"That sounds fine, but what of the leader of the Dragoons, Amerald Sheern. He will likely be in hiding once the war starts, the citizens would probably want to see him captured and in Space Union custody."
"I already took him into the equation. Our intelligence has strong sources that he will be in this area about now. If we were to launch a surprise attack on that entire area and annhaliate it, we would essentially knock out the command."
"But what if it doesn't?"
"Well, that won't really be that much of a problem. Its mostly for public relations and support from the home that we need him death. Strategically, he is of little importance."
Federate reclined in his chair as he thought about what his Secretary had said. He was right that they most likely would win this easily with little casualties as the rebels were known not to have many advanced weaponry and the Space Union military was one of the most advanced in the world. With a deep sigh, he stared at the document. He pulled a pen out of his cup holder as he clicked it and revealed a ballpoint. In a swift move, he signed the Executive Order. The war had begun.... |
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Unified Capitalizt States Headquarters, Commerce Heights, Capital Territory
Σαπάνης Διαμαντής (Sapánes Diamantés) (CEO, Unified Capitalizt States of Commerce Heights): I understand there’s an…uh…“situation” near Lukeonia?
Bobby Reilly (Capitalizt Defense Alliance Advisor to the Unified Capitalizt States): Yes, sir.
Διαμαντής: Well, what the slani hell does that mean?
Reilly: Apparently, it’s the Syringians (OOC: Syringia is the ex-nation that used to control area 5 on the map). There’s been a number of factions holding on to power in various regions of the country since the government fell decades ago, but they’ve been too disorganized to do anything important until now.
Διαμαντής: Well, what are they doing? Are they going to attack Lukeonia?
Reilly: I strongly doubt that that’s their intention. It seems a number of soldiers under the command of a former Lontorican citizen, Till Julius Kuther, have been operating bases in Syringia, Penguinata (OOC: Isla de Penguinata is the ex-nation that used to control area 4 on the map), and Izistan, apparently with the purpose of attacking Space Union.
Διαμαντής: While this is a very interesting story, and I’d love to hear how it ends, perhaps you should explain how this affects us?
Reilly: Well, our intelligence suggests that Space Union intends to use this opportunity to expand its borders into Penguinata and Syringia, in which case there will be a threat to Lukeonian security. And, if they happen to have a boat, Jativan security as well.
Διαμαντής: There’s been a “threat to our security” for the past fifty years! I don’t suppose you’ve looked around east of Lexington? Or north of Geleling? Or east of Natestadt? Or west of Aeropag? Or south of Πόρτο-Χε (Pórto-Khe)? Or—
Reilly: I think you’ve made your point, Mr. CEO.
Διαμαντής: I don’t think I have. As long as we have people like you seeing “threats” everywhere, we’ll never be safe from our own policies!
Reilly: So, what do you think we should do?
Διαμαντής: Nothing.
Reilly: But if we don’t get involved, we’ll have a war on our doorstep, and there’s nothing saying the winner will stop at the Lukeonian border!
Διαμαντής: Well, has anyone asked for help?
Reilly: Uh…no.
Διαμαντής: So if they do, and if they have something useful to give you, then you might want to get involved. The Laconia militia has enough to worry about trying to hire Noterelenda translators, they don’t need to go into battle.
Reilly: So, you’re saying this incident does not involve the Unified Capitalizt States in any way, and this meeting was a waste of time?
Διαμαντής: Yep, that’s pretty much it.
Reilly: Then I’ll stop keeping you from your crucial duties, like deciding whether we should retain the label “Commerce Heights” or drop it and become the “Unified Capitalizt States.”
Διαμαντής: An issue sure to feature prominently in the 84 CE shareholders’ meeting.
Reilly: I don’t doubt it. |
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The bombers banked as they neared their target. The SuB-1Cs flew straight at Mach 1.6 as they neared their target. The commanding SuB-1C was piloted by Captain Curry and his co-pilot Captain Yreshin. As they neared their target ever faster, Curry turned on his computer. He faced his copilot as his eye's wandered elsewhere
"Well, were here. From intelligence reports it seems that the hideout for the damn rebel leader is right here," said Curry as he pointed at the map location where he was talking about.
"Good, then lets hit it and go back to base so I DON'T MISS SUNDAY ICE CREAM!" yelled Yreshin who had a slight temper when it came to Sundays and Ice cream, but Curry just ignored him.
Finally, they passed the border of where they could fire their missiles. Yreshin radioed in to the others, "Fire at will men!" and with that he hit the big, red button on the consule starting the chaos.
Outside, the bomb bay doors slammed open as cruise missiles fell out at went shooting toward their target. It was decided that a strategical targetting would be the best. Most of the cruise missiles would go and hit the neighboring area, resulting with the enemy thinking that they were launching an attack on the wrong place, but 5 well-target, sea-skimming cruise missiles would hit the base where intelligence said would be the enemy's location.
As the final cruise missiles fell out and went flying to their targets, the last five sprang out from the lead bomber and fell farther down before igniting. They had a task to complete.
| CODE | OOC: Sorry for the crummy post, but I wanted to keep this moving. Two
things, 1) This attack is being launched at #5 unclaimed land 2) Pacitalia will be RPing the rebels so this should be interesting. :) |
This post has been edited by Space Union on Jan 29 2006, 11:24 AM |
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| CODE | | OOC: Pac, sorry but I forgot to put those missiles that aren't going for the rebel leader are targetting SAM batteries and AAA locations that satellites picked up. Sorry about not putting it in the IC post, but could you just imagine that I put it there. Thanks. :) |
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Rebel base: Kantas, South Lidor, Time: 2238
Phirun "The Exterminator" Brar was the deputy commander of the rebel factions holding what they called the South Lidor region, in the former Syringia. Ever since the collapse of Syringia, the self-styled Dragoon rebels had considered this their rightful land, building up their defences against attacks they thought would be coming from neighbouring Commerce Heights, or even Lontorika, Tingitana or Imminent Implosion. They basically surrounded the Syringian land. Supplied by the warmaster Dragoon, they were stacked with highly-advanced weaponry and trained by highly specialised mercenaries. Slowly but surely the 32,500 Dragoon rebels gained the confidence and the skill necessary to defend Syringia, a tiny spit of land in an enormous region like Atlantian Oceania.
Phirun entered the corrugated metal box on stilts that was the radar station. From the south-facing window, there were great views of the shore, whitecapped waves smashing ashore lit by enormous spotlights. Phirun smiled as he gazed out. A beach attack would be foolish, he mused. But he would soon find out what wasn't.
He looked down at the radar screen manned by a loyal officer, Temat Veasna, and smiled again. Clear skies means a lazy night.
"Any activity in the air so far?" Phirun asked.
"None yet, sir," Temat responded quickly. "We heard an unconfirmed report that there was going to be a paramilitary attempt on South Lidor around 2100, but if it's still on, they're late."
Phirun walked to the other side of the room, and gazed up at the topographic map. His brow was furrowed as he scanned all the nooks and crannies this map of South Lidor showed. Then, finally, he picked up his radio.
"Section 11, reply immediately. This is Deputy Commander at radar box 3."
A loud crackle ensued for 2 seconds, and then electronic fumbling, before a gravelly electronically converted voice responded. "Yes, sir. Section 11 guard post here."
"Keep an eye on that gully," Phirun said into the radio. "There may be an attack on the area tonight by a paramilitary force, so be vigilant. Report back ASAP if you catch anything funny."
"You got it, sir." The radio clicked off and Phirun moved the dial to switch to a secondary channel.
"Section 5B, reply immediately. This is Deputy Commander at radar box 3."
"Section 5B here."
"You have any men on that northeastern trail?"
"Two Level-5 mercenaries, sir. Why?"
"There may be an attack tonight," Phirun replied. "By a paramilitary force. Keep a look out and report back if you see something that concerns you."
"Of course, sir. Over and out."
Phirun stood there thinking about how quickly he had ascended to his position as second-in-command of South Lidor. He'd only been part of the rebel faction for 3 years, when he defected from the Space Union military corps because of a disagreement over, of all things, the Wednesday menu in the mess hall. Phirun had loudly complained over the lack of chicken fingers and fries and asked why the cafeteria staff was subjecting them to mashed peas and black bread every Wednesday evening. Phirun and a few other officers brought their complaints to the Deputy Commanding Officer for the base, citing that they wouldn't be able to fight a war properly with this kind of food, but they were kicked out for being "pussies".
Phirun decided, in a rage of glorified pride, that his talents deserved a new home. So he went AWOL from his base, catching a ferry across to Syringia. By the time he had become an officer of the Dragoon rebels, Syringia had fallen into anarchy, its citizens long gone, either dead or moved to the neighbouring lands. He had become a killing machine in that time, personally responsible for the deaths of almost 4,000 government-backed Syringian soldiers, earning himself his disturbing nickname.
He was awaken from his nostalgic daydream by an ear-shattering screeching coming from the radar station. He wheeled around and slid over to the screen, immediately put off by Veasna's startled and panicked look. Veasna jammed on headphones, plugged them into the comm-box and began shouting orders.
"Anti-aircraft defences, online now! We have six bogeys on inbound contact, all on the same line coordinates! Entering station north at red 5, green 2, alt 750 feet. Let's go, boys!"
Phirun Brar stood watching the screen as six red blips screamed in. They passed the third ring from the centre, meaning they were just 100km out now. His facial expression turned to one of horror as he realised these things weren't turning away. At least one of them was heading straight for this radar station.
The red blips passed the second ring, putting them just 60km away. Seconds later, two blips headed left and two headed right. They vanished from the screen and, not a moment after, Veasna and Brar heard deafening explosions. The towers shook slightly. Brar ran out to the deck of the radar station and looked northwest. Far off in the distance, radar station 1 was falling to the ground, engulfed in fierce flame. He screamed around to the other side, looking northeast. Radar station 2 was suffering the same fate. And in that instant, he knew what was next. He swore he could even see the faint trail of fire from a missile heading straight for them.
Phirun sprinted back into the radar box. He had a lot of respect for Veasna and did not necessarily want to see the man turned to cinders at the mercy of a SAM roaring towards their radar tower at almost Mach-2.
"Veasna! Leave the stuff now. This radar station's the next target! I'm the next target!"
Veasna looked at him, sceptical. But, then he looked down at the radar screen. The two remaining red blips were about to cross dangerous territory - the first ring on the screen. 20km out. "All right, let's go, sir!"
They began to run out, heading for the stairs to the bottom of the sixty-metre tower, but Veasna turned back. "Hold on!" He ran back to the keyboard and began typing furiously. Brar was incredulous with disbelief at this kid's cajones. "What the hell are you doing, Veasna! We need to go!"
"Yes, sir. I'm just typing in a sequence - this way, we can hijack the sending coordinates of the remaining missiles, whip that info over to the main base and hopefully find out where the missiles came from."
Brar grinned at the kid's genius. But he stole a quick glance at the radar screen. 10km and closing. "Come on, Veasna! Hurry!"
"Done!" Veasna said. He slammed down the headphones and ran back over to Brar. They ran to the staircase and began jumping down two at a time. But then Veasna stopped. "No, I forgot my picture of my wife and little girl! Hold on!"
"VEASNA, ARE YOU INSANE?!," Brar raged, nearly at the bottom. He looked up at Veasna, who was only about a third of the way down. "LEAVE THE -explicitive removed-ING PICTURE AND GET DOWN HERE NOW! WE HAVE TO GO!"
"I know exactly where it is, I--"
The first missile slammed almost perfectly into the core of the metal radar box, an enormous shockwave knocking Brar off his feet and down to the landing below. He felt a rib crack on the steel hand railing and groaned. Veasna was screaming high above and Brar opened his eyes. Veasna was on fire, his flesh burning away under his searingly hot cloth fatigues. Veasna was still alive, though, for he began climbing the stairs. "I... must... get... the picture... back!"
Brar was delirious with the idiocy of this officer. "You fool," he muttered to himself. Brar knew he had to run from here, now, whether with Veasna or without him. He struggled to get to his feet and began to run, limping. He was just barely into the forest when the second missile struck the base of the tower, at the exact point where he had been sprawled not thirty seconds before. Fireballs raged out in every direction as the heavy wooden frame of the tower base collapsed on itself, beams of burning, black material falling down as the metal box came down over it.
Brar managed to stay on his feet but he forgot about the gas heater in the radar box. He assumed it went up after the first missile, except it was the next thing to go. The explosion and shockwave were tremendous, the deafening sound and domineering G-force knocking Brar headfirst into a marshy wetland. He splashed down, sliding rapidly down the long, narrow marsh until he sank below, unconscious. His body turned right-side-up and he floated there, wanting nothing more than sweet death to take him away. But that was not God's plan, at least not today.
Phirun Brar awoke four hours later, nauseous and disorientated. He stood up but immediately fell to his knees as a surge of vomit escaped his weary body. He retched until he was empty, then rolled over on his back. The smell was enough to make him retch again, so he began to walk, as fast as his exhausted leg muscles would take him. He stumbled over tree roots, the heavy, smoky air tiring him out too fast.
He heard shouts in an acute style of Conabi from back where the radar station had stood, and was confused. He thought it was a Commerce Heights attack, but it seemed that Space Union was perhaps responsible. The acute, military-style Conabi gave it away. No, it couldn't be. Did they know he was here? Or were they here for a general purpose? They knew he went AWOL. But why would they take three years to find and try to kill him? And with six missiles, when one in the right target would have done the trick? It had to have been a coincidence.
Adrenaline coursed through his body, and Brar ran north at top speed towards the main building complex, hidden within a limestone mound and apparently unnoticed by the invaders. He opened the doors and, as expected, the place was deserted. He sprinted to the kitchen, his silenced Glock 9mm drawn and ready to fell any potential enemies. He reached the kitchen door and planted an ear swiftly against the door listening for any voices or footsteps inside. Brar looked back to watch his rear, and saw angelic-looking light filtering in from the other three ends of the cross-shaped complex, forming an odd circle of brightness right in the centre.
He pulled open the door and pulled his Glock back into position, scanning the kitchen, strafing around the rectangular room. He peeked in the closet. Nothing. The windows were all shut but the blinds were up. No one had been in here since this morning. He locked the only way in or out and walked back to the pantry, pulling out a box of energy bars. Brar then walked over to the cooler and retrieved two bottles of water. He stood at the kitchen island, hungrily and ravenously downing the rations.
He waited for the nutrition to kick into his system before cleaning up his mess. He didn't want anyone thinking he, or anyone else, had been here recently. His instincts were now kicking in. He had to be careful. He had to be vigilant. He walked back into the cooler to make things look normal when something odd caught his eye. A large, reddish-pink object was hanging, suspended by a rope tied around a track system. There was blood pooled at the bottom of the opaque plastic that was wrapped around the entire thing.
That's odd, he thought. I didn't think they stored whole animals in here before they cooked them. He took out his retractable knife and tore a strip right down the plastic. It fell away, and so did his face. He stared in abject disbelief and horror. His superior, the Commander of South Lidor, Kingman Sinroli, was suspended upside down, his face contorted in horror, his innards flopped out like some sick science fair display. Dead. For at least two hours, too, as Brar noticed the jaw was set tight, a side effect of rigor mortis.
Brar turned, unable to believe what was happening. He stumbled back out, wanting again to throw up, but he simply couldn't. That's when the bullets started coming in waves, creasing the windows and shattering them. He dived to the ground, paralysed. So this is how I'm going down, Brar thought. -explicitive removed-. He checked his Glock. Fully loaded. He crab-walked over to the door and listened outside for noise. Nothing. He lowered his head to check under the space between the door and the concrete floor. No shoes, not a soul. Who the hell was shooting? He quickly raised his hand, unlocked the door, and turned the door handle, swinging the door open and diving outside, his Glock strafing side to side, waiting.
No one came. Nothing happened. He stood up, brushed himself off and began snaking down the long hallway. He thought of the Jeeps parked a few metres away and wondered whether they had been found by these mysterious invaders yet. He crawled on his stomach out the side door, his Glock once again watchful as he waited for someone to spring out and ambush him. No one came. He was getting a little suspicious until he saw a glint off to his right. He turned his head and squinted his eyes, trying to see what it was. A sniper rifle. The scope was glinting in the moonlight. Brar froze, wondering if the sniper had seen him, and waited for a few breathless seconds. The sniper hadn't even been looking through the scope, apparently, for he started swivelling the powerful rifle from left to right. Brar exhaled in relief. He had the advantage.
Brar looked over at the vehicle compound 50 metres away, shaded in by large banyan trees. There was no way he could get over there without disarming the sniper; otherwise, he was an easy target. He stood up, suddenly, covering his own number by firing indiscriminately at the sniper. The rounds pelted the rocks to the left and right of the sniper, one nearly grazing the enemy along the side of the head. Brar began sprinting, firing over his shoulder and watched in surprise as the final round of the magazine creased the unsuspected sniper's neck, felling him like a large tree. The sniper groaned, clutching futilely as the blood poured. Brar was ten metres from the compound now, running at top speed.
He dived into the open space and remembered he needed a new 16-round magazine for his empty Glock. He pressed the holding lock and the unlatched cartridge fell to the mulch-covered ground, thumping as it bounced once and then lay still. He jogged, crouching, over to the supply cache, and began rummaging through it. He placed aside grenades, SMG magazines until he found the box labelled "Glock/Pferz/Pomentane, 9mm, 7-20RDS@1". He tore it open and took four magazines. Then, running over to the car key panel, he took the fifth set of keys (his lucky number) and pointed the remote keyless entry device at the corresponding Jeep. Its horn honked and lights flashed and Brar cursed as he ducked down, forgetting about the requisite "alert" the cars made when the car was unlocked or locked.
He sprinted over to the driver's side, yanked the shiny ebony door open, fell in and slammed the door. These Jeeps were bulletproof and could stand up to any surprises along the roadway, if the invaders had thought that far ahead. He started the Jeep up, its 4.9L V8 engine roaring to life, the headlights blazing ahead. The Jeep rumbled as he put it in reverse, screaming out of the spot. He started down the narrow dirt road, the sturdy SUV twisting and turning with the road's curves. At the fork in the road, he turned left, slowed to a stop and pressed the red button on the device attached to the visor. The gate ahead, concealed by fake trees, leaves and other vegetation, swung open, creaking slightly from disuse. He turned the headlights' high beams on and floored the gas pedal, screeching away into the dark night. Pressing the red button, he watched as the gate closed, separating him from the hell he just had experienced. Brar shook his head of the cobwebs and focused on the road ahead as the speedometer crawled past 100 kph.
This post has been edited by Pacitalia on Jan 29 2006, 04:12 PM |
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Pacitalia |
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The best place on earth. |
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