2014 STGOD Story Thread I

[Skywalker_T-65]

Port Glacia, Kingdom of Arcadia
January 2, 2014

It was a cold day in Glacia, the northernmost Arcadian island. So cold in fact, that very few people wandered the streets of its largest city, most sleeping off the New Years celebrations of the previous night. As snow fell down on the docked warships in the harbor, one young woman walked along the deck of the old IGS John VII. The old battleship sat at dock, taking on supplies for what would be one of its last patrols, before it was retired and replaced by one of the new carriers under construction.

Pulling her naval coat tighter around her body, the woman turned brilliant blue eyes up at the sky.

I like the snow...but this is way too cold.

Shivering slightly, the woman entered the bridge of the old battleship, saluting the crew as they stood to attention.

"Captain on deck!" the ship's XO barked out, standing at attention.

"At ease," the woman replied, removing her coat and revealing the uniform of an Arcadian Captain, "anything to report?"

The XO, a taller man by the name of Carl Jones, walked over to the Captain. He handed her a communique from Glacian command, as she sat down in her chair. Scanning the dispatch, the woman turned her eyes up at the XO, who had a slight upturn of his lips. Were any of the crew watching, they probably would have wondered why their second-in-command was smiling.

The Captain, of course, knew why he was.

"Champa?" the woman asked.

"Yes ma'am. Command is dispatching our Task Force on a 'routine patrol'. If they want our help we'll be in the area," Jones replied.

The Captain shook her head, "I rather doubt they will need us. Everyone is going to be stumbling over themselves offering to help."

"Your father still offered, ma'am."

With a sigh, Princess Irene of Glacia nodded her head. Her father always did try and 'one-up' the other monarchs. Of course he would offer Glacian support, though he probably called it Arcadian. And of course, it would be her Task Force, centered around the Lana VI, one of the three Arcadian carriers.

Now, if they would actually do anything was the question. And that, well...that was up to Champa.

**********************

Actions:
The IGS Lana VI task force sets sail for Champa, though they will stay in international waters unless direct aid is requested.

[Simon_Jester]

Dylhut Airbase, Champa
Near the Thor-P3 Reactor
Early Afternoon, Jan. 2, 2014

Needle-nosed, high-winged Umerian transport planes taxied across the tarmac. The lead plane finally came to a stop, its turboprops spinning to a halt as the cargo ramp dropped.


Faceless and sexless in CBR gear, engineers walked out the back of the planes. Some carried cases with unknown types of equipment.

Captain Rokeya's eye flicked to the short, squat figure at the front of a wedge of other engineers. That one seemed to be in charge.

One of the Umerian engineers listened to the clicking of a Geiger counter, their head turned away for a few moments, hand twitching as if counting something. They shouted in a loud, nasal squawk. "Clear!"

The engineer at the point of the wedge snapped out, sounding rather clearer: "Get the gear off the plane, then off suits!" Must be a senior officer... He walked briskly toward Rokeya, trailed by what she suspected were aides or part of his staff. She heard the rumbling of a diesel engine from inside the plane, some sort of vehicle.

"Hello. Colonel Persevering Stone, 83rd Guards Engineering Regiment. And you would be?"

"Captain Rokeya, Air Corps. Welcome to Dylhut, sir."

"Good to be here. Especially with the low radiation count. Two questions, first."

Rokeya was under instructions to be polite, and had been warned that the Umerian engineers would probably be... presumptuous. "Yes?"

"One, do you have transport available for my troops? Trucks, for choice; we left most of our vehicles in Copperville. Two, I need to set up a command post somewhere, even if I'll be heading to the site soon myself. Somewhere we can get to quickly from here, to save time-" he turned, still dressed in his CBR suit, apparently scanning the area. "Would that building do?"

---

Notes:

Since this world has never known the atomic bomb, the priorities that go into naming military hazmat suits are a bit different. I'm using the acronym "Chemical, Biological, Radioactive" to replace "Nuclear, Biological, Chemical"

On a side note, this means we probably know quite a bit less about fallout; "don't drink the black rain" and such are not lessons we learned in 1945. And certainly no one can say "Bah, that accident only released 1/5000 as much radiation into the atmosphere as nuclear tests did in the '50s!" or some such...

[RogueIce]

Midgar, Shinra Republic
01 January 2014

The man stood before his closet, regarding the dark blue uniform jackets hanging inside. He picked up the bare sleeve to one and smiled. This just won't do anymore, will it? Wonder if I should bother getting them tailored... His thoughts drifted off from that minor concern to more important matters, such as his plans for the evening. This was his last night in Midgar, and he didn't know when he'd be coming back. His responsibilities were greater now, much greater than when he had been just a sergeant in the Rangers.

He turned away from the closet and his musings, picking up the new jacket and taking it out of the plastic wrapping and put it on. Regarding himself in the mirror, he raised his arm to his chest; yep, the gold bands around his wrist, still so new to him, looked perfect. He strolled over to the desk and put on the red diamond with the red, blue and white shield that all Shinra Republic military personnel wore on their collar, but paused before picking up the second device before him. The single gold bar of a Second Lieutenant. He rated it, he supposed, though it still felt weird to put it on. Finally shrugging his shoulders, he pinned on the bar and went back to examine himself in the mirror.

Perfect.

*******

"7th Heaven Bar" - Corner of 7th Street and H Avenue, Midgar
01 January, 2014

It was a busy night in the 7th Heaven, but this was not a surprise to the young Shinra Republic Army officer. They were always busy nights in the 7th Heaven, and the fact it was New Years Night certainly didn't hurt any. As the young Second Lieutenant made his way to the bar, he quickly saw the main reason the 7th Heaven was always so busy, its proprietor:



Tifa Lockhart, owner and primary bartender of the 7th Heaven. The young officer smiled as he saw her, and she smiled back. Settling himself in against the bar counter, he waited until she had a free moment and came over. "How's it going, pretty lady?"

"Cloud! So good to see you! It's been awhile," she said, glancing at his collar. "And I see why. Congratulations! The Army can still recognize talent when they see it."

Second Lieutenant Cloud Strife laughed. "Give or take a decade, I suppose. So how've things been with you?"

"Busy...as usual," she said with a smile that would have melted the hearts of greater men than he. "But that's one of those good problems, I suppose. So, still with the Five Oh First?"

Cloud shook his head. "No. They didn't have any PL billets open, I guess. So they're sending me over to the 53rd Infantry."

"Oh," replied Tifa, a hint of doubt in her voice. "Is that still at Fort Condor?" she asked, referring to the large military base an hour and a half from Midgar, sounding hopeful.

"Junon," answered Cloud with a frown. Seeing the saddening expression on her face, Cloud wished he had better news. "Yeah, I know. A bit longer of a drive. I wish it were different. But the needs of the Army..."

"Outweigh the needs of its soldiers," Tifa said, finishing the ages old joke. Forcing a cheerful expression back on her face, she continued. "Well, Junon's a nice place, I hear. When do you report in?"

"The fourth," said Cloud. "Which means I have to leave tomorrow. They didn't give me much leave, unfortunately. Still, I could never have left Midgar without seeing you."

Smiling at that, Tifa resumed her role as a bartender. "So what'll it be, soldier? The usual?"

"Of course, my dear. What else would it be?"

*******

"7th Heaven Bar" - Corner of 7th Street and H Avenue, Midgar
Later that night

Glancing at his watch, Cloud knew it was getting to be time to go. He had an early enough day as it was, and knew he'd be hitting the ground running when he got to Junon. Still, he could hardly leave without saying goodbye. Nodding his head slightly to the song that had begun playing, he held up his hand to gain Tifa's attention. Seeing him, she came over quickly.

"Another drink, Lieutenant Strife?" she inquired.

Cloud smiled back. "Not for me, ma'am. I have to get going. Early day, lots to do, and the Army waits for no man." Digging into his pocket, he came out with a small golden coin. "Still, thought I'd leave my favorite bartender a tip."

Tifa took the coin, looking at the small gold and black representation of the 501st Ranger Regiment's insignia upon it. "Cloud, I..."

Cloud held his hand up. "I want you to. They gave it to me, before I headed off to OCS. And now I want you to have it."

Pocketing the coin, she took Cloud's hand in hers. "Before you go...make me a promise, Cloud. If you get really famous, and I'm ever in a bind...you come save me, alright?"

Slightly surprised, Cloud found himself saying, almost without thinking, "If I ever get really famous...?"

Blushing slightly, Tifa continued, her voice slightly hurried. "Whenever I'm in trouble, my hero will come and rescue me." She brushed her fingers across the gold officer bands on his wrist. "I want to at least experience that once..." she finished, almost too quiet to hear over the noise of the bar.

Stunned into silence for a second, Cloud found himself, almost without conscious thought, lifting his hand to Tifa's chin, elevating her head slightly and looking her in her soft, brown eyes. "I promise you, Tifa, that if you ever need me...I'll be there." For a handful of heartbeats more, they stayed like that, connected as if by some invisible force.

Pulling back ever so slowly, Tifa flashed a warm, friendly smile; the kind she gave only to her friends, never her customers. "Thank you, Cloud. Good luck in Junon." She flipped her hair back playfully. "And don't forget to write, soldier-boy."

"I won't forget, my dear." Cloud said with a smile. Leaving his money on the counter as Tifa returned to her other customers, he got up to leave. He had almost made it to the door when he bumped into an obviously intoxicated man. "Whoops, sorry sir. Guess I wasn't paying attention."

"No problem, sholdierr," slurred the man slightly. Gaining a suddenly intent and serious look on his face, the drunk man stared at Cloud. "Say...you look just like that new Vice President the TV was talking about awhile back. Yeah..."

Shaking his head and flashing the man a large smile, Cloud responded, "No, no...I think the Vice President looks like me."

The man considered that for a moment, and then started laughing. Keeping a smile firmly affixed to his face, the soldier reached into his wallet and handed the man a few bills. "Next one's on me, friend."

"Hey, thanks." The man saluted sloppily. "Thank you very much...Mister Vice President," he said, laughing again and turning away, the encounter already forgotten for the allure of free alcohol.

Shaking his head as he watched the man depart, Rufus Shinra turned and walked out into the warm night air of Midgar.

[Beowulf]

Previously

Hong Kong
Tianguo

He awoke with a start. His alarm blared at him. Bleary eyed, he stared at the time on his handy: 0545. He hit snooze, sinking back into his bed, before jerking back up. Oh no, not again. If it were understood why that thought went through his mind, we'd know more about the universe as it stands. Unfortunately, he'd never be able to explain it without ending up in a mental institution. With no better idea, he decided his morning ablutions were the thing to do, and paddled off to the bathroom. He wondered how he knew where it was, but then decided the answer to that was obvious.

Morning ablutions completed, he returned to his bedroom. On the inside of his wardrobe a uniform hung: short-sleeved blue shirt with dark blue shorts-tropical service dress uniform for the Navy-dark blue name tag over the right pocket, shiny silver wings over the left. On the shoulders, shiny silver rank insignia perched: a single filled circle. He quickly dressed, completing the ensemble with shiny black boots, and a dark blue peaked cap. He filled his pockets with his normal everyday carry, and then stepped out into the street to take the train towards the naval air station.

---

Now

Hexagon
Tianjing
Tianguo

"What? Champa has a reactor on fire?"

"Yeah. We've got some ideas on what response to send. Chengdu Security reports they have a contract request from Acheron Amalgamated for cleanup personnel. Looks to be 300 personnel, plus guards. They need permission for transfer of them out of country though."

"Denied. Escapes would be bad enough from here. In a foreign country? Disastrous. Especially with the types of personnel we would be sending into a radioactive death pit."

"Option 2 is to send a phib group."

"We don't have one down there. It'd take days to get there."

"We can rent one. The Heijiake won't cost too much, especially if we don't include ground troops. They could make it in half a day. Then we can send our own to replace them on station. It'd give them additional hospital space, and a temporary holding facility for refugees."

"Sold. Get the offer sent through the Foreign Ministry."

A man in a gray uniform spoke up: "We should probably airlift some CBR troops there as well."

"Granted."

[Gill]

“Belkan is very well a poor land, but her people are rich with appreciation for what little they receive from the world around them.”
-Narek Ossian, Belkan poet (1701-1763)

The Belkan Mutafian Mu-50 Light Attack Craft
From Warplanes of the World, 2010 by Leighton Slade

The Mu-50 presents modern aviation enthusiasts with a curiosity: It is a single-seater turboprop plane lacking any sort of fly-by-wire components, but all are less than ten years old at the publishing of this book. While unimpressive by most standards, the craft is important if only for the reason that it is the first fighter plane built for by the Belkan nation. With a maximum payload of 1,500 kilograms, a maximum ferry range of 3,000 kilometers and a maximum speed just under 600 kilometers per hour, it is totally insufficient for anything but light air support and light counter-insurgency. However, that’s all Belkan requires of it and the craft acquitted itself well during the Three Month War.

Then again, the suffragist insurgents of the war also lacked any sort of anti-air capabilities to speak of, and even the worst aircraft can be decisive if there is not ability to shoot them down.

Nevertheless, the Mu-50’s avionics bay has plenty of space for upgrades if Belkan wishes to transition to the digital era. Furthermore, there is also the expectation that more advanced incarnations may become a popular item for sale to customers requiring its abilities as a COIN asset. Such may never come to pass as unmanned aerial vehicles proliferate, though one cannot argue with the low cost of the Mu-50 just 200 aircraft into production. While Belkan may lack serious manufacturing abilities in general, its nearly century old light aviation industry has successfully fulfilled a niche in civilian aviation and has since used this expertise to produce what is essentially a civilian plane with a couple of machine guns and a few payload hardpoints.

The following chapter will take into detail some of the Mu-50’s failings (many) and its strengths (few), with particular attention to the Three Month war and its accident prone early history . . .

Somewhere over Belkan Highlands . . .

Lieutenant Aida Eghian enjoyed the afternoon patrol flights of the Belkan Summer, as her air conditioned cockpit let her escape the unpleasant breeze which plagued the country for much of the year. Wind was supposed to cool people off, but Belkan’s wind decided it didn’t want to be like the winds of other, more sensible nations.

Regardless of what the poor suckers on the ground had to endure, her lone plane maintained a level course over the spectacular broken scenery of Belkan’s rocky highlands. Few people ever got to see them as she did, and fewer still did so on a regular basis. Aida arguably had the best patrol root in the country, and it was one that was becoming increasingly more exciting.

Since the end of the Three Months War, Northern Belkan became a hot spot for the black market in small arms going into Umeria or (more frequently) into freighters and out into the world. While Belkan had always produced a ridiculous amount of guns (Aida had no less than four rifles to herself for target shooting), there had never been any real gun smuggling until quite recently. Belkan’s few ports were well patrolled by the Army and customs officers, and shipping crates of guns out of the country was hindered by the lack of transportation into Umeria and Belkan’s famously difficult rocky shores.

Speak of the devil!

Aida’s Highland patrol had finally saw the wide ocean crest over the horizon, and she could make out what appeared to be a couple of heavy pickup trucks and a small group of personnel attempting to unload them. Aida kept low to the ground to get a better visual, and it was clear that the people on the ground had heard her approach over the rocky hills as they began an animated dash to enter their vehicles and high-tail it out of her sight.

Not today they don’t!

The turboprop fighter coasted just past the trucks and over the ocean cliffs where Aida began to do a sharp turn, calling out her call-sign on the radio and reporting her superiors in Galm of the situation. As she began her turn, she swore saw something in the water for but a brief moment of time. Something like a shadow underneath the waves, not unlike a whale about to break to the surface, but the object disappeared beneath the dark seas as a watery phantom. Curious sight aside, she redoubled her focus on the objective hand as the orders came through: “Engage and destroy the smugglers.”

Aida undid the safety for her plane’s rocket pods and the lieutenant broke out a toothy grin as she saw the two trucks were running to ground one behind the other. Just a gentle step on the rudder was all she needed to line both up for a single strafing run, and the wail of her ordinance became the last thing the would-be smugglers ever heard.

Later that day

Inspector Abet Farajian had been able to secure the use of a helicopter so quickly as to arrive at the scene while the two trucks were still smoldering from the fires of cooked ammunition. He briefly felt sorry for the poor bastards whom had been in back with the goods, their charred bodies having made good distance between them and the trucks before expiring, but such was the fate of smugglers.

As he signaled for the pilots to shut the helicopter down and stepped out with his staff from the Republic’s federal police agency (which amounted to two officers from the General Staff HQ in Belka, his veteran partner, Ohanna and a few soldiers to stand guard), he couldn’t help but walk up to the skeletons of the trucks with interest. Unlike most Belkan cops, he liked doing his job and saw the wreckage before him as a puzzle that needed solved. Abet realized that, for every smuggler they shot up, several more probably got away without notice.

He passed by the two bodies that made it out, and they were burned beyond immediate recognition. Identification would probably be an insurmountable problem given the state of Belkan law enforcement, but he remained hopeful they would pick up at least a few clues as to who the unfortunate bastards were. He didn’t miss a beat though, and walked up to the nearest truck with purpose. It would have been a beat up piece of garbage even before it had caught on fire (which probably meant it was made in Belkan), and the skeletal remains of a canvas roof that had covered its illicit goods were all that remained. The debris was still quite warm, and such was the sensation of it and the Belkan summer breeze that he almost felt compelled to take off his inspector's cap. The truck bed was in surprisingly good condition for having experienced ammunition cook off from its payload after the interdicting pilot’s rockets had hit them.

Inspector Farajian then realized the truth and slowly nodded disapprovingly: The smugglers had already unloaded their goods before the Army pilot had dusted them.

No matter, he thought. That still leaves the question of where they were delivering their goods.

[madd0ct0r]

CHAMPA.



Cascadia offers NERT personal

Archeron - offered (expensive) assistance.
Tianguo phib force hired by them in turn.

Spirit of Orion task force turning up

83rd Guards Umeria landed and greeted

CBRN troops sent from Underwood

Battillion of Liquidators from UOCSR

Apelia offers resettlement help and funding

Belkan sends 3000 troops in old boat

Nest-3 Team offered by Shinra

Rheinland sends naval taskforce armed with weapons grade smugness.

Arcadia sending a small naval task force

At the bottom, pencilled in, was a note 'Shinra arrest of AVALANCHE group, connection??'


Corps General Biswajit sighed. A nucelar reactor was bad enough, but now the situation was political. He tossed the sheaf of helpful, and less helpful papers back onto the desk and started re-reading the site bulletin.

The situation was far from resolved, but at least the headless chicken factor had been reduced.
ThorP1 and 2 were still running, despite the chaos on the site. This was good as the sun rose and people turned on their tv's. Wide ranging blackouts would exacerbate public panic. - note, issue request for energy saving measures.

ThorQ and ThorR sites had each sent down the experts they could spare. At the same time though, they were exercising extreme caution with their own reactors, and would continue to do so until they had a better idea what happened. He'd already asked the army to post some men as additional guards to each of the country's reactors, although whether his fear was angry mobs or something worse, at this moment, didn't really matter.

He returned to the papers, pencilling his way down the list.

---

Thuoy had been ThorP3's shift manager for 3 years. It felt like he hadn't slept for nearly that length of time. The fire in the main building was out. The 'fire' in the reactor core was not. The pressurised water cooling system had burst, and had taken a large chunk of the shell with it. It wasn't clear what exactly was happening in the core, but the control rods were damaged, the fuel blocks had started to rupture in the heat and they were running out of options.

Hell, they were running out of people. He'd insisted people stick to the radiation limits, but that meant cycling through them rapidly. The blowout had contaminated the buildings around it, and having to hose them down to put those fires out had washed the particles further. Smoke was still streaming from the damaged shell.
Things were a mess.

A coffee landed on his desk. Thuoy looked up at the half dozen colleauges and friends around him.
"We can't cut off the air," he started, ticking back over points they'd disscussed every hour since the explosion.
"We've tried blowing our stock of liquid nitrogen in, but that only bought us some time. Water is out, the risk of acidic reactions and further explosions is too high."
"We can try and smother it by burying the reactor in earth. But it won't help the heat and might mean unpleasent surprises in the groundwater.
Concrete will disintegrate under these temps. Leaving it to burn will take months and poison half the country."

He sipped at the coffee.

"The fallout cloud is spreading, there's an unknown amount of solids entering the water table and people are starting to make mistakes becuase they're tired. On the other hand, the General sends word we have reinforcements incoming, there dosen't appear to be a risk of the core actually melting through the base of it's casing, and we've got the building fire under control."

"Gentlemen, I appreciate your efforts. You've all hit your limits, so I want you to go home, get some sleep and and tomorrow I'll assign each of you to the incoming troops."

[Eternal_Freedom]

Royal Palace, Paradise City, Kingdom of Orion
January 3rd, 2014

In the Royal conference room, King Alexander was meeting with his senior officials for their regular meeting. Whilst the situation in Champ was top the agenda, there was much more to discuss. After a brief sip of his hot, strong tea, the King called the meeting to order.

“Good morning gentlemen, ladies. Admiral McKenna, your briefing please.” The Admiral nodded and stood, moving to the lectern by the display screen.

“Your Majesty, the first point at issue is the situation in Champa. The Spirit of Orion and her task force have arrived at their holding point just outside Champan waters, they’re waiting on instructions about where to send their personnel. The technical team from the project in Fortuna are en route and should arrive in three hours.” Pressing a button, overhead images appeared on the screen.

“Now, satellite imagery shows that the fire in the main plant is out, but thermal readings show that the core itself is still “burning.” Judging from the images, reactor number 3 has taken heavy damage, this rubble here” and a section of the plant was highlighted on the display “suggests that the core shell has been breached. This is a potentially very serious situation. Personnel are evidently attempting to get things under control, but if they are sticking to doseage limits, and they would have to be insane not to, their men can only work for brief periods. Fortunately the influx of international aid, our teams included, should help alleviate the problems of fatigue and exhaustion amongst the plant workers.”

“As noted, various other nations are responding. Umeria is sending forces across the border, our Task Force is in place, the Rheinland force that was shadowing our ships is also en route, as is a Cascadian squadron. Underwood are getting their carrier to sea ASAP, although she’ll be two weeks away at least. Apparently even Belkan has sent assistance.” That last remark drew a series of chuckles around the table. With that, Admiral McKenna took his seat again and the King resumed control.

“Thank you Admiral. Since that matter is out of our immediate control, we shall move on. Foreign Minister Abrams, could you report on our ongoing diplomatic efforts please?”

The fiery red-headed woman nodded, glanced briefly at her notes and then spoke. “Of course your Majesty. I am pleased to report that our negotiations with Underwood regarding military exports, specifically the new Dauntless class destroyers, are progressing well. I am confident that we have a formal agreement signed in time to announce at the Liberation celebrations at the end of the month.” The King smiled at that; the annual celebrations were always an enjoyable time, especially when hosted in Underwood rather than Orion. The locals really knew how to be grateful.

“Furthermore Sire, I believe that we have reached an informal understanding with Rheinland about a possible closer relationship, perhaps even an alliance. Their foreign minister was surprisingly unambiguous about their interest in closer ties with the Kingdom.”

That remark resulted in surprised muttering from some and a smile from the King. Orion and Rheinland had long been amicable friends but nothing more than occasional port visits by ships had occurred; no doubt a result of Orion’s continuing territorial claims against Rheinland for occupying former Britonian land. Alexander, however, had quietly been working for the last five years of his reign to bring the two nations closer together. He leaned forward to speak, instantly quietening the room.

“I am very pleased to hear that Minister. I think, however, that such delicate and important matters should be discussed face-to-face. Did their minister give any indication they would be amenable to that?”

“They did Sire.”

“Then we shall issue a formal invitation to the Rhennish Chancellor to visit the Kingdom for discussions of great importance. Can we get that arranged for two weeks’ time?” This last question directed at the Interior Minister, Ralph Emmerson.

“It will be a stretch Sire but it can be done. Since we are going to Underwood for the Liberation rather than them coming here it will ease things considerably.”

“Very well. Minister Abrams, you will issue the formal invitation immediately, for two weeks hence. Admiral McKenna, I believe the good Chancellor would be interested in seeing the Mt. Erebus Complex, and I myself have not seen it since the last refits. Please arrange a tour for the pair of use as a part of the visit.”

“Of course Sire, your will be done.”

“It will indeed Admiral. Any other business?” Admiral McKenna once again leaned forward.

“Yes Sire. I am pleased to say that construction of the new carrier Lucifer is ahead of schedule, we aim to have her commissioning ceremony in five months. Additionally, we have completed final design work on the new Guardian class battleships, We’ll be able to cut first metal on both the Guardian and the Illustrious in three months’ time. We also have three new destroyers scheduled to be commissioned this year, in March, July and September and three new submarines as well, in April, August and October.”

“Thank you Admiral, I look forward to those ceremonies immensely. Anything else?”

The small, quiet figure of James Greer leaned forward. “Your Majesty, The OSA has new information which may shed light on both the situation in Champa and a possible future situation here in Orion. Now, as you are all aware late last year the AVALANCHE movement bombed a Shinran power plant in protest of our continued technological society. We also know, both from our intelligence sources and what the Shinran government have admitted is that the Shinran 501st, operating off the SRS Chimaera, later attacked the AVALANCHE camp and either killed or captured the group. What isn't publically admitted, but we believe to be true, is that this was accomplshed by means of a rather large bribe to a certain official. We've made a careful note of who this person is and the estimated amount in case it comes in useful later.”

The people around the table smirked, Orion had a deep hatred for terrorists, especially eco-terrorists (or “no good bastard hippies” as the King had been heard to refer to them as), stemming from a series of terrorist attacks in the mid-70’s. Knowing details of other nation's corrupt officials was icing on the cake, as it was only logical to use every advantage possible.

“However, it is considered highly probable by the OSA that this was not the only AVALANCHE encampment. We received intel three years ago saying that a splinter faction had broken away and headed to the Kingdom, as apparently we are the most evil technological society that must be destroyed. We lost track of this splinter group, but two weeks ago one suspected member was spotted in the foothills of Mt. Erebus, leading us to believe that the splinter faction is at least partially emplaced here, and may be planning an attack. We have of course passed on all relevant information to the police forces and they currently top our most-wanted lists.”

“Director, you said this may shed light on the situation in Champa.”

“Yes Sire. It is rated as possible that another group, either a sub-group of AVALANCHE or a similar group may have been responsible for this fire. Now I should emphasize that this is only rated as possible, not even probable. However, our technical teams consider it unlikely that this situation could arise by accident.” Concerned muttering erupted around the table. The King thought for a moment before speaking.

“It is a possibility we must consider, especially if this splinter group is indeed here. Interior Minister Emmerson, you will augment security around all nuclear facilities with teams from 6th Commando Division. However, you will keep this security invisible, it does us no good to make a show of force and make them change their plans. Much better that they try and die pointlessly in the attempt. Coordinate your efforts with Admiral McKenna and Major-General Lethbridge-Stewart of 6th Commando. Very well, dismissed everyone.”

As his advisors, ministers and officers rose, nodded (or saluted) respectfully and left, King Alexander finished his tea while staring at the photographs of the suspected splinter group.

“You bastards will be lucky if you die attempting your plan” he whispered.

-------

Actions:

Formal invitation to Rheinland for state visit issued
Orion steps up intelligence efforts to locate possible AVALANCHE splinter cells.

[Eternal_Freedom]

RONS Spirit of Orion, Off the Champan coast,
January 2nd 2014

The mighty carrier was steaming in slow circles, her clutch of escorts keeping close formation around her. Whilst the waters were not yet overly crowded, soon many other nation’s forces would arrive, filling the horizon with slate-gray steel.

Rear Admiral Marcus Scott stood gazing out the windows of his flag bridge. On the landward horizon could just be seen a plume of smoke from the reactor fire. At present the ships were upwind, but that could change dangerously quickly. He turned away from the view to his Chief of Staff.

“Commander, issue the following standing order: all ships to remain upwind of fallout plume. Course corrections to comply with this order may be issued without clearance from the flag or vessel CO’s. This order has absolute priority. Furthermore, all crew to remain below decks unless necessary. All ships to observe full CBR precautions at all times. All aircraft, CAP included, to remain upwind and will not cross the Champan coast unless expressly ordered to.” The orders finished, Commander Walters looked up at his Admiral with a worried expression.

“Do you really think it’s that serious Admiral?”

“No, but with a reactor fire involved we can’t take any chances. If nothing else it will be good for the crews to brush up on CBR precautions.”

“Aye aye sir. What about the subs?”

“Tell them to continue their standard patrol of the formation. Tell them that Special Order 13 is in effect.” Commander Walters nodded and left for the comms suite to transmit the messages. Moments later, klaxons sounded and Scott could see crew on deck racing for the shelters apart from those engaged in launching a pair of F-18’s to relieve the CAP. They moved hastily, clearly unwilling to remain above deck for any longer than necessary.

Scott resumed staring at the smoke plume. It’s a good thing the crews are afraid of the fallout, it will keep them safe if the worst happens.

[That_Guy]

Captain Fergus Smith surveyed the scene before him, it was pure chaos, Smoke and ash clouded the air making the distance hazy and adding an acrid tang to the air. In amongst the smoke she could see a great number of huge ships flying many different flags representing the majority of the blue water fleets of the world. Sirens howled and helicopters roared overhead creating an unprecedented racket and making it hard to think. the shore itself was alive with flashing lights moving vehicles and a seething mass of people moving here and there, unloading heavy machinery and shouting at one another. All this in turn was set against an ominous orange glow on the horizon.

"Number one, all hands must remain below decks for as much time as possible, any crew moving above deck are to wear a respirator and Radiological dosimeters. I want no radiation sickness in my ship"

"yes Sir, shall we radio port authorities and request permission to dock?"

"That too, thank you"

RUSS Timberjack had by now come to a stop, moving amongst so many ships alone would have been dangerous bordering on stupid and so they waited for tugs to bring her in. Fergus and his ship had been diverted from a patrol to get to Champa as soon as possible, this was both to assess the situation and (working with a CBR team already in place) offer as much assistance as possible. RUSS Timberjack, although old, was in a good position to render assistance, its airlift capacity along with its cargo of fuel and food would be very useful in such conditions and it had a large medical bay which would also come it handy.

From his viewpoint however, there was only one problem, the port was much, much to crowded any more ships arriving would have to stand off the coast or risk loss of life through navigational errors. Even as he watched a pilot boat narrowly avoided being crushed between two large freighters.

"What a mess" Smith mused to himself "What a mess..."

****
Advanced party of fleet Replenishment vessel and CBR operatives arrive

[Siege]

Cypress Lounge | 156 Duke Street
Dumont Park, East Ward, San Dorado

The Cypress Lounge was the kind of bar that mothers warned their sons never to go into. It was a squat, flat-roofed two-story wedged between dilapidated storehouses, ill-maintained and all the way out on the disreputable end of the Dumont Park boardwalk. Its windows were blacked out. The obnoxious neon sign above the door showed a voluptuous pink-haired girl perpetually lifting and lowering one leg. A jukebox played loud rock ‘n’ roll music that drowned out the sound of waves crashing on the beach. The Cypress Lounge catered to rough customers, the kind that drank a lot and didn’t talk much. The kind that wore Par-Sec tattoos or drove motorcycles marked with the death-head crest of the Prophets of Armageddon. The kind that by the end of the night was spoiling for a dirty fight.

Most of the more upstanding citizens of Dumont Park understood it was a bad idea to go to the Cypress Lounge after four. So when a black SUV with darkened windows rumbled down the boardwalk and up to the bar at ten ‘o clock in the evening you could almost hear the city draw a collective breath. The heavy car came to a demonstrative halt in front of the bar. Thick doors swung open and five men decked out in tactical body armor, patchless black fatigues and the latest and greatest Helix assault weapons filed out and took up positions around the two-car convoy with the smoothness of highly trained mercenaries.

One more man stepped out of the SUV. He was young, and unlike the mercenaries his curly brown hair was cut in a fashionable and expensive style. He wore a sharp seersucker suit that looked like it would set you back the price of a small apartment. He held a cooled beverage in one hand and sucked on the straw, looking for all the world like the height of immaturity. “Man this is some good stuff.” He looked around. Rough looking men and women were starting to filter out the Cypress Lounge, dressed in ripped denim or khaki jackets that bulged suspiciously in places you’d expect quick-draw holsters. They fanned out in a rough half-circle around the small convoy, and they didn't look very friendly at all. “Oh, I’m sorry, I was having a little private moment. Am I interrupting something?”

“Depends on what you’re looking for rich boy,” answered the man leaning against one of the motorcycles parked in front of the bar. He wore a handlebar mustache and a faded beige jacket with red epaulettes the Granadian colonial army had abandoned over a decade ago. His folded arms were tanned and muscular. “If you’re spoiling to take daddy’s bodyguards out for a test drive you might want to think again, before you hurt yourself.”

The suit threw up his hands in mock hurt. “Aw, man, don’t be like that. I hear you guys make a killer frappucino. I mean, I came all this way.”

A slow nod. “Yeah. Downtown is a thousand miles away. And the traffic is murder, if you know what I mean.”

The suit broke into a dazzling smile, the kind you saw on movie stars and tooth paste billboards. “I know exactly what you mean!” He smacked one of the mercenaries on the shoulder, causing the man to reflexively jerk his gun upward. Startled by the sudden movement a dozen or more bar patrons instantly produced an eclectic variety of revolvers, shortened shotguns and machine pistols, and pointed them at the half dozen men surrounding the SUV. Inside the Cypress Lounge the jukebox hiccuped and got stuck in a looping minor key guitar riff. But the man in the suit just laughed. “Wow fella’s, a little tense there don’t you think? Ease up on the caffeine before you hurt someone!”

The man on the bike didn’t look amused. He slowly sat upright and his army jacket slid open, revealing a big silver revolver stuck in a holster strapped to his chest. “Kid, I’ve seen your type down here before. Drunk on daddy’s money, got your goon squad rolling, think you’re invincible. You don’t know what you’re getting into. Reckon I don’t much care to talk much more either. So I’m giving you the option to walk away right now, before you find out the hard way your odds may be less favourable than you think.”

“Ya think so? Hmmm, let me see,” The man in the suit seemed to be listening to something. As he did, something in his expression changed. It was a subtle thing, a hardening of a few lines in his face, but suddenly he didn’t look much like a fratboy anymore. When he spoke again, the tone of his voice had shifted from jovial and blithesome to firm and purposeful. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his confidence. “Okay grandpa, you have one guy with a precision rifle out on the old lighthouse and another up on the roof of that warehouse three hundred meters that-a-way,” he pointed at a dilapidated wooden building down the boardwalk. “Me, I have counter-snipers looking at both of them, and a dozen guys in the water ready to come up this sweet looking beach here at the first sign of trouble.” He scratched his chin and gave the man on the bike a hard look. “So, you know, I think I’m doing pretty well here odds-wise.”

The biker creased his eyebrows and nodded slowly. “I see. What do you want?”

The suit casually pushed down the rifle of the mercenary next to him. Inside the bar someone kicked the jukebox. The machine squealed, briefly segued into the opening chords of friend of the devil, and then fell silent. The man in the suit shot the biker one of his dazzling smiles. “Relax. I just wanna talk to her.”

The inside of the Cypress Lounge was dark as a hole in the ground. The jukebox was a faint glow in the back, and the only other light came from a handful of spots that cast a series of different hues and intensities onto an eclectic collection of worn wooden tables and metal stools. There was a pool table in the back, and bottles of booze stood on racks behind the bar. With everyone outside the bar was almost deserted. Almost, except for a single person sitting on a barstool. Blond hair was braided close to her skull. She wore camouflage pants and military boots, and when she raised the bottle of beer to her lips you could see muscles move underneath a tight-fitting black t-shirt. A lion rampant was tattooed on the inside of her right forearm. The man in the suit moved over to the bar, but made sure to keep a few meters distance. “Aurora Drax?” he asked.

“That would depend,” the woman turned her head toward him. She had a lean face with high cheekbones and pale blue eyes, “on who’s asking?” Even though she couldn’t be more than 35 years old she spoke with an old-fashioned upper class Britonian accent. “You don’t look Rhenish.”

“Haven’t been for ten generations, I’m happy to say. Born and raised a city boy, so I sure don’t give a damn about your family history.” The suit reached in his pocket and slowly with two fingers drew out a business card. He put it on the bar and gave it a little push to send it sliding toward her. “Rainer Kovacs. I have a job I would like you to do.”

Drax gave him a look-over, then took a sip from the bottle. “Looks to me you have plenty muscle to do your dirty work.”

“Very trace-backable muscle,” Kovacs smiled. “No-one of whom have your reputation.”

Drax snorted. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

Kovacs picked up an abandoned whiskey glass, sniffed its contents, sipped them, and made an ugly face. “Ugh, that’s terrible.” He unbuttoned his jacket and sat down on one of the empty barstools. “It’s not flattery though. You come highly recommended by people whose opinions I value. ‘The Delta Dukes’, they say ‘will get the job done’.”

“Yeah? Do those people have names?”

“They do, but they’d pay one million dollars plus expenses for you not to know them.”

At the mention of that much money the mercenary sat up a little. “Okay. Suppose you have my attention. What’s the job?”

“Shan Assam. Extraction of a single individual from Argatala Prison, in the capital.” Kovacs reached into his jacket again and this time produced a small flash drive. He put it on the bar. “The details are on there. It’s imperative however that you get it done before the weekend’s through. So if you have any plans for this Saturday, let me know and I’ll find someone else.”

Drax picked up the drive and looked at it. “No plans. Not anymore, anyway. Payment?”

“The usual. Half up front, half after. In Sankaran Rand, unless you prefer an account in your name?”

“Gold is fine. Tell me, who’s this person that you’re so desperate to get him out?”

“Her,” Kovacs corrected before he took another sip from his glass. “Samantha Savage was doing a very important job for my employers. Unfortunately she’s run afoul of local authorities. We're not quite sure how, we have no time to work the Sultan, and frankly we have little reason to trust the locals anyway. It’s imperative we liberate her before certain third parties become aware of her predicament. We want this done quickly and efficiently, and we don’t want it to get back on us. That’s why we’re asking you, and not a big outfit. I’m told you are the person for the job. Are you?”

“Of course I am. But you already knew that.” Drax slid off her barstool and worked a few muscles in her neck. “Shan Assam you said?”

“Indeed.”

“The Dukes can be there in twelve hours. If you’ve got the gold, that is.”

“It’s on the truck.” Kovacs got up too. “Anything else?”

“Sure. One more thing. Next time you want to procure my services, Kovacs... Don’t come down here. Don't make a scene. This place has a phone. Just call.”

Kovacs gave her a wicked smile. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

[The Romulan Republic]

Diana Chang of the Equality Party stood in the Senate, facing President Andrew Joseph Henderson of the Democracy Party. They were surrounded by a dozen members of the Guard and a cheering and booing crowd. She placed her hand over her heart and said the oath.

"I swear to serve and defend the people of Corona, to uphold the laws of this nation, and to conduct myself in a manner fitting the Presidency."

The crowd started cheering and booing once more as she finished the oath. Then Corona's first atheist president returned to her car, pausing to shake hands on the way while her guards watched the crowd anxiously.

[Shinn Langley Soryu]

- FLASH - FLASH - FLASH -

ATTN: RFS Kaga Battle Group

Radiological accident in Champa. Wait outside Champan territorial waters to monitor situation. Render assistance as needed.

- FLASH - FLASH - FLASH -

---

Republic of Fuso Navy carrier RFS Kaga
International waters between Umeria and Shinra
2 January 2014

"HQ's given us permission to proceed with relief efforts. Looks like we won't be alone, however. Word has it that everyone, their cousin, and their dog are all falling over themselves to rush aid to Champa ASAP."

"Interesting. Who should we be looking out for?"

"Shinra, Umeria, Rheinland, Cascadia... Orion, Arcadia..."

"Umeria's right next door, and I know Shinra also has a carrier battle group in this general area. Everyone else will take at least a week, maybe even two weeks if they're sending naval assets. If they want to get there quickly, they'll have to airlift their personnel and supplies."

"At least we'll get there before most of them do. We could probably hold a massive joint naval exercise there once the radiation issue's resolved, though."

"Very well. Set course for Champa."

[Steve]

Portland Federal District


After two days, with the crisis in Champa still "hot", Alex sat down with some of his senior advisors. Alejandro Perez, the Secretary of Defense, was an old Army veteran from Sonora who fit the relatively limited roles of SecDef perfectly. Quiet and competent.

SecState Rachel MacKenzie, in her blue suit, was competent but not so quiet. "There will already be several carriers off of Champa's coast as it is. Sending another just increases the chance of something going wrong," she insisted.

Former Navy man Robert Dale, SecNav, nodded. "Coordination will be hard wth other navies, save maybe Fuso."

"The question is, can we afford to not send a carrier group for support?"

"It could be used against us by various parties, certainly," MacKenzie agreed. "But the risks of an incident between our forces are too high."

"The Comfort is already on her way as it is. She was engaged in a medical relief visit to Gujura so she'll be on sight shortly with her escorting frigates."

"Well, a medical ship has its uses," Alex conceded. "And airlift, Chappy?"

SecAir - the Secretary of the Air Services - nodded, reflecting the ceiling light off of the dark skin on his bald scalp. Charles Sinclair, a former Air Force fighter pilot, was seated beside his fellow service secretary (Vincente Carazza of the Army Department was in a nearby chair). "We're on standby. Refugee relief packages are being packed for loading. I have the 42nd standing by for refueling operations. It'll cost us in man-hours and maintenance, but we could have a 24/7 air bridge to Champas set up in a day or so."

"Not for long, I imagine?"

"That depends, Mister President, on how many resources you devote to the effort. If we can rotate in pilots and aircraft to keep crews from tiring out, we can sustain it for weeks. But it could get expensive in parts replacement, and we'll need downtime to work each aircraft over."

Alex nodded and thought on that. "It would allow us to funnel relief supplies in quickly. Get it ready. Secretary MacKenzie can speak with the Champan ambassador to relay the idea."

"I'll talk to General Blackfoot as soon as we leave."

"Good. As for the carrier... we'll only send the group in if the Champans ask for it. If not, I'm not going to press the situation."

The meeting continued on regarding the uproar and the public pressure to double-check the many reactors in Cascadia for similar problems. Only near the end, as everyone filed out, did Sinclair askk, "Mister President, I've been asked to see about your intentions over the Sheppard Birthday Gala."

"I should be able to attend, yes."

"Thank you, sir."



Air Force Headquarters


Allen Young was an irritated young man. His eyesight had disqualified him from being an Air Force pilot, and his low scores meant the URCAF didn't accept him as a recruit. To work his way into the service he admired he decided to remain civilian and go in as a civilian intern. Playing gopher for generals and colonels and secretaries wasn't fun, but it meant he got to talk, occasionally, with the great Air Force leaders, and that took the sting off of the rejection letters.

Today his job was to make sure a batch of invitations were sent out to dignitaries for an upcoming party. His boss, Mrs. Black Horse, had left the invitations on her desk with a piece of paper on top. He skimmed over the list. Congressmen, Senators, Executive officials and judiciary clerks and judges, captains of industry and society, everyone, including the foreign ambassadors.

And so he dutifully put them all up in the mail room to be sent out, checking the addresses on the list and hand-writing the ones that hadn't been pre-printed on he envelopes. It took him a while, almost two hours to be true, and it was getting late. He felt tired; he'd been up with his girlfriend over New Year's and his internal clock hadn't reset in the few days since.

He found himself with an extra invitation and double-checked the list. Everyone had gotten one. So where had the extra come from? He looked over the list again and realized they must have left someone out. Look at all of those important ambassadors, maybe one country's ambassador hadn't been invited?

He triple-checked the list. A-ha! The Ambassador from Rheinland had been left out. Clearly an oversight on Mrs. Black Horse's part. She did seem a bit scatter-brained at times. Young Allen Young, in a moment of imaginative thinking, imagined the horror of Rheinland getting snubbed for some important social event. A diplomatic incident was at hand, but here he could stop it! Yes!

So he quickly checked and found the address for the Rhenish Embassy. He hand-wrote it on the envelope carefully and precisely and put it in the outgoing mail slot.

And since it was late, he got going, eager to get home and satisfied he'd done the job well.


Earlier that day...

Matilda Black Horse finished counting the invitations out and sighed. The number, just as ordered. She put them in a stack for that eager-beaver Allen to deal with and noted the time. She had to get to Colonel Redmon's office before leaving.

Colonel Redmon was with Air Force Civil Affairs, and among other things that meant his office - and thus her's - involved invitations to events like the one she'd just finished. When she got there he was getting off the phone. "Are those invitations printed out?", he asked.

"Yes Colonel," she answered. "I appended the foreign ambassadors as requested."

Redmon stood up. "Did you make sure to leave Rheinland off the list?"

"I did, sir."

"Good. The last thing I need is a diplomatic incident for inviting Rheinland's delegation to celebrate someone like General Sheppard. They actually made his Britonian counterpart drown in the Rhine River, did you know that? They can't stand strategic bomber forces over there."

"I didn't know that, sir..."

As the conversation continued, Mrs. Black Horse suddenly had a thought at the back of her head. Had she seen the note about not inviting the Rhenish Ambassador before she'd printed the invitations from the standard list? Or after?

Oh well. Young wasn't too bright, if there was an extra one he'd probably just leave it on her desk with an elaborate note explaining it. There would be no trouble.

[Eternal_Freedom]

January 3rd, 2014

***BREAKING NEWS***
Orion Broadcasting Company Special Report, Live from Hephaestus

“Several large explosions have occurred in downtown Hephaestus. Whilst the exact number is unconfirmed at least four separate explosions have been sighted. All appeared to be large truck-bombs and damage is believed to be considerable. No word yet on casualties or on who is responsible.
From the OBC office roof we can clearly see four large plumes of smoke from the downtown region of the city. One appears to be at the University whilst a second is, we think, outside a prestigious shopping precinct and….Dave, zoom in on that! Another blast! “

The live feed clearly showed a huge fireball rising over the city-scape.

“That was by the Serenade Tower, there must be a thousand people in there! I can see it burning!

****

Situation Room, Royal Palace, Paradise City

King Alexander raced into the secured room beneath his palace dressed in casual jeans and a t shirt; he’d been enjoying a family BBQ when his security team practically dragged him and his family indoors.

“What the hell is going on?”

James Greer stood. “Your Majesty, five large truck bombs have been detonated in Hephaestus. It seems that the splinter group is acting.” The King looked suitably unimpressed with the answer.

“You said they would try for a power station or something James! Not randomly blow up our people!”

“Indeed I did Sire, and as hideous as this act is we believe it is only a diversion for they attempt on the power station. Fortunately our security forces, bolstered by 6th Commando are alert and ready to ambush the terrorists.”

“Right. What about the situation in Hephaestus?” This question was directed at the Interior Minister.

“The city is in lockdown. The civilians have been ordered to get inside the nearest building and stay there until further notice. The fire brigades are attempting to contain the damage and evacuate the wounded, and we have engineer units from the Army moving to assist them as soon as possible. The University, two shopping centres, the large cinema on Liberation Boulevard and the Serenade Tower were the targets. Serenade Tower is heavily damaged and burning from the ground upwards, we have helicopters attempting to evacuate those inside from the roof. Initial reports indicate the truck drove right into the base of the tower before exploding, it must have had fifty odd tonnes of explosive in it.”

The King looked at the pictures on the screen, the same OBC reporter continued his impromptu coverage, endlessly repeating shots of the smoke plumes at the explosion at Serenade Tower accompanied by repeated statements that they had no new information as yet.

“Gentlemen, the gloves have come off. Find the bastards who did this, I don’t care what it takes. If they are anywhere in Orion or the Protectorates, they are dead men. If they are hiding abroad, then they’re still dead; it’ll just take longer. Anyone you take alive I’ll shoot them myself. Go catch the fuckers.”

The assembled staff nodded solemnly, knowing that this angry reaction from their King would be mirrored by the population at large. These attacks made the problems of the 70’s look like a schoolyard fight in comparison. As various Ministers started to move, someone shouted to look back at the news.

****

OBC Live Coverage

“The Serenade Tower looks like it’s going to collapse. It’s leaning a few degrees off vertical and the helicopters that were rescuing people are pulling back. There are probably still a thousand people in there and….”

The reporter was silenced. In the distance, there was a terrible shriek of tearing metal and the Serenade Tower collapsed. A huge cloud of dust was launched into the air as the wreckage hit the ground. It was a sight with a terrible majesty; easily a thousand people had just died in that pile of rubble and yet all who saw it could not help but be awed. The reporter attempted to continue.

“It’s just….gone. Hundreds of lives gone. Who could have done this?”

*******

Results:
Major terrorist attack in Hephaestus. AVALANCHE splinter group suspected.
Orion Security Agency directed to hunt down the terrorists without mercy.

[Simon_Jester]

Dylhut Airbase, Champa
Makeshift Command Post
Mid-Afternoon, Jan. 2, 2014

"Thanks for the trucks. I'm glad we met someone prepared."

Rokeya blinked, confused at the implication. "Of course. We couldn't very well leave you waiting at the airstrip; what would you have done then?"

"Commandeered civilian transport, naturally."

The Air Corps captain thought for a moment about the trouble that could have caused- effectively, dispersing hundreds of armed car thieves into the middle of Champan territory. Car thieves who might be willing to pay for the vehicles afterwards, but still...

"I'm glad it didn't come to that. How are you set for fuel?"

"Also not well. We were depending on finding fuel here; the rest of the regiment has fuel reserves on the train, but we don't."

"Hm. Your own vehicles, the ones you brought- diesel-fired, yes?"

"Yes; I'm not sure I follow-"

Rokeya smiled. "Colonel, we haven't got any meaningful amount of automotive diesel on base, but we do have plenty of jet fuel. And another load coming in tomorrow."

"Which- oh. Well, it won't fry the engines until after we have to write them off for radioactivity anyhow. Thank you, captain." Stone stood a millimeter straighter, as though one of many weights had slid off his back.

"Speaking of which, if you don't mind my asking, what will you do when you get there?"

Stone frowned. "There's a fire so you've lost coolant, there's been at least one explosion. I have to assume there's radioactive smoke leaking out. This thing needs to be ended, captain, and if I were in your defense minister's shoes I'd have every helicopter the Champan Air Force's got working on it. That's how we finally put out the core fire at Orange Terrace. Sand, clay, sacks of lead birdshot, boron-mineral gravels, anything that'll smother the fire, soak up neutrons, and make sure that when the molten core cools off, it doesn't start up again." Stone spread his hands. "Captain, trust me, if there's a hole in the reactor roof, you need, in the worst way, to smother that fire. With helicopter airdrops. I imagine I'll be reporting as much to your superiors when I reach the site."

Dylhut had no cargo helicopter wing; Rokeya decided on an impassive nod rather than suggest her superiors had made an error. "I... see, sir."

"Sorry, captain, and never mind that. For now, I need to make sure my men are ready to roll out... and I need you to help make sure B Company and Captain Snow are ready when the next wave of planes land with more supplies."

---

Thor-P3 Nuclear Reactor
Main Facility Gates
Twilight

The guard on duty fidgeted inside his building, wondering if his mask and clothes would really protect him from radiation well enough to make his allotted time safe. Aid supplies were coming in all the time, and he guessed someone had to monitor traffic into the power plant.

There'd been a call, he was supposed to expect the Umerian engineers, so what surprised him was how funny their convoy looked, a mix of shapes black against the dusk's dark blue. Most of the dozens of vehicles were Land Corps trucks, and the handful of larger ones stood out like sore thumbs: heavy 6x6 trucks, and stranger still the eight-wheeled vehicles that looked like big, balloon-tired tanks. The convoy pulled to a halt as the front trucks neared the entry.

The lead truck was one of the foreign vehicles. The guard heard the passenger side door slam, and a broad, short figure swathed in a yellow hazmat suit strode clear, waving at him.



"Colonel Stone, 83rd Guards Engineering Regiment. These-" he nodded at the convoy- "are my men. The first of them. Tell your superiors I've got five and a half tonnes of liquid nitrogen in the back of the truck; where do we put it?"

[Thanas]

Oberwesel
Middle Rheinland
Train station

Oberwesel was just one of the many small towns lining the river Rhein and like most of them, it was dominated by (in this case the ruins of) a castle lording over the town, with copious vineyards on huge, lush hills. The city itself was a testament to the medieval style, with most of the towns having survived the war relatively unscathed - unlike the ruined south. Oberwesel - despite being a very modern town - still remained the epitome of the sleepy, romantic city on the banks on the river Rhein. The Rhein itself narrowed to a small riverbed, necessitating the digging of the huge Middle Rhine channel which allowed for the ocean shipping to bypass Oberwesel entirely save for a few river barges and sailing vessels. And in this part of Rheinland, the river prevented Oberwesel of ever getting cold enough to be snowed in. Instead, it remained at a comfortable climate all year long. In short, it was the epitome what the Rhenans called Flussromantik - a word losely translated into the common tongue as "romantic scenes along the river", though Major Hoshi Saito had never been in favor of translating it since she had learned to speak Rhenan at an early age.

If she - being born in Ostrheinland - had learned Rhenan as her second language, her own daughter had had no such challenges. In a case of mirror reversal, she was learning Nipponese as a second language (though Rhenish schools started language training in the third year). And the most private boarding school in Rheinland was located just a few kilometers away, proving that - as in the case of Oberwesel itself - appearances could be deceiving.

As they moved out of the hall of the train station towards the platform itself, she briefly scanned the people at the train station, her left hand ready to reach into her bag and pull out the silenced pistol if necessary. Though heaven's knows how I am ever going to explain that to a cop, she mused. There were no threats here. A few youths were hanging out at the opposite platform, giving her approving looks that bordered on leering. She ignored them. A few pensioners were sitting outside of the station cafeteria, eating strawberry cake with copious amounts of whipped cream. Watching the trains go by was a popular pasttime in Rheinland, with whole Internet communities being founded alongside the idea of recording the serial numbers of passing locomotives, discussing the merits of the 103 series compared to the newer 120 and 121 series and general grumbling about how real citizens would travel by train to lessen the environmental impact of travel.

No, there was no threat from the pensioneers either. On the other hand, at least three of the older women regarded her as one as she passed them, as evidenced by two clutching their purses and the last one nearly choking on her strawberry cake. Saito was accustomed to these reactions among those old enough to remember the Nipponese and Britonian occupation of Rheinland - an occupation that accounted at least for a small percentage of those citizens of Rheinland proper with slanted eyes.

Hoshi herself was not one of those descendants of the occupation troops and their (usually unwilling) concubines. Instead, she had moved to Rheinland at the age of twenty after her training as an electrical engineer. This was the usual path chosen by most university graduates from former Nippon - tens of thousands were moving to Rheinland proper each year in search of higher-paying work, or work at all. However, her path had taken some rather unusual turns, as her daughter, her pilot license issued by the Schwarze Garde qualifying her to fly whatever craft she chose and the silenced pistol in her bag showed. Though only the first two were things to be proud of, and her eight-year old daughter, having been born one year after she arrived from Ostrheinland, was the thing she was most proud of at all.

The station loudspeaker blared to life. "Attention. Train arriving." This caused a bit of consternation, as no train was scheduled to depart for another hour.
Saito quickly grabbed her daughter for she knew what would be happening next.

As if on cue, a large number of what were obviously security guards in civilian attire appeared as if out of nowhere, starting to check ID cards of the people. The youths, apparently deciding not to get into trouble for whatever they had already consumed this day, quickly made their exit. Saito stayed calm, produced her ID and was soon flanked by two officers. They did not check her bag nor her person - her ID was specifically coded that when they put it in their card readers it had signalled that searching her was forbidden. Thus, the security personnel had no other choice but to remain near her to neutralize her as a potential threat. This they did, flanking her and her daughter in a diamond formation. She was well aware that the hand of the officer behind her rested on his pistol holster.

The first train arrived, a dark, black monster of an armored locomotive with several armored - and no doubt armed with all sorts of hidden guns and missiles - cars behind it. Without stopping, it thundered past. A similar train soon followed. Contrary to the first one, it slowed and stopped. Upon arrival, the doors opened to disgorge a large number of people in black uniforms. Now, the tension and excitement was visible. For everybody recognized the black uniforms, with red stripes running down the sides of the pantlegs, while the caps were adorned with a silver sword and hallbard crossing each other. Some of them had slender red stripes adorning their black cuffs - each stripe symbolizing one enemy killed in combat or duels. Even the security personnel stayed well clear of a few men who had stripes running down their entire arms. Within seconds, the black guard had taken over security and the civilian officers - some of them surely black guards themselves - were disappearing as fast as they had arrived on the scene.

The whole operation had scarcely taken ten minutes. Then, Rheingold arrived. Slowly, as if to draw all sorts of attention to itself, the elegant, streamlined 103 engine came to a stop. Immediately, the black guards came to attention. The door opened, disgorging about a twenty or so black guards and then a man followed by a leopard he kept on a leash (though the leash was more for decoration purposes). Even if the face of the men had not been known to everyone from his TV appearances, the train and the Leopard would have given away his identity in a second.

Amused, Saito noted that some of the pensioners had bended their knee in the old greeting reserved for the head of state. Then she watched Fischer doing what he did best, wooing the crowd, generously posing for photographs, allowing children to pet Shadow, answering impromptu questions about his policies and thanking the veterans for their service. With all attention centered on him, nobody even notice the black guards quickly and efficiently hustling Saito and her daughter into the last car of the Rheingold train.

After being informed that the package was on board via the flesh-coloured transmitter hidden in his ear, Fischer wrapped up the show and boarded his train again. Then, Rheingold departed and picked up speed. After it had been gone for two minutes, another armored train thundered past, after which another one, identical to the other two, stopped to pick up the Schwarzgardisten left on the platform. Everybody would be talking about how the Reichskanzler had deigned to stop at their small town and nobody would eve care to question where exactly that one Ostrheinländerin with her child had gone off too.

The whole affair had scarcely lasted 20 minutes.

Unlike what he had wanted, Fischer was unable to meet the newest two passengers immediately. Instead he was waylaid by Admiral Kaneda, who had informed him that Champa had accepted the offer of help. Fischer then signed the deployment orders for the engineer bataillon, which had been placed on ready alert before.

Fischer almost sprinted through the empty salon car, but stopped himself by the old adage that nobody should ever see a head of state running. The salon car had been cleared out to give him a bit more privacy. Not even the Black Guard was anywhere near the last car. Shadow of course had no such inhibitions and had practically bolted for the last car, which contained the train compartments reserved for sleeping.

In the most spacious one reserved for the Reichskanzler, his daughter was already playing with shadow, who clearly was delighted about the reunion. Showoff, Fischer thought. It has only been half a month. Such thoughts of course were very much beyond his daughter and the leopard, who seemed quite content to let her tail be used as some sort of plaything as the two rolled around, in general making a mess about things. Thankfully, the Imperial leopards were trained not to use their claws on family members. And though he was no comfortable with it, Shadow's bloodline of over 600 years without incident deserved the benefit of the doubt. He quickly wondered whether he should step into the compartment, but first he wanted to meet someone else.

But where was his wife? The answer was provided when two slender arms reached around his neck and Hoshi snuggled up to him from behind. "Hi." Fischer turned until they were face-to-face. "Hi yourself. I missed you." "Really?" "Well, of course there was a contingency plan in place." An amused snort, as if she was trying to stifle her own laughter was the answer. "Do tell." "Well, I had a whole roster of concubines laid out. Sadly, things didn't work out as planned because one overgrown housecat didn't like the idea of letting them near the bed." "See, my contingency plan involved bribing said overgrown housecat with the finest beef in all of Ostrhein-mmmmpf."

The familiar, relaxed banter was one of the things they enjoyed the most. Among other things of course, which they promptly proceeded to enjoy.


****************************
Confluentia airbase
The huge bellies of the Tragvogel transports were filling rapidly with men and equipment. The grey machines then lined up and headed off into the direction to Champa. Soon, 36 large transport aircraft were heading to Champa, escorted by 12 fighter jets and numerous tankers. An AWACS craft was detached as well to provide air traffic assistance. The fighters and most of the tankers would turn around after reaching Champan airspace, the AWACS would stay on with the transport to prevent local air control from being overworked. The carrier Grönlandwal would send some Electronic warfare jets to meet up and keep an eye on the radiation levels.

Alongside the men and equipment of the bataillon (minus the tanks and APCs, for nobody expected any trouble), several hundred tons of aid and relief shipments had been loaded into the transports. These were not expected to be carried back but were supposed to be given to Champa. Inside the AWACS, the controllers were frantically trying to establish contact with Champa's crisis team, to find out where they would be going.

The atmosphere among the men was tense, though not unbearably so. After all, the engineers prided themselves on a 2500 year old tradition of building things under dangerous circumstances.

Operation "Merciful Whale" was a go.

****************************

Rheingold
Middle Rheinland
Speed: 250 km/h
Location: On the way to Rhenania (nova)

Several hours later, after everyone had slept, showered and eaten breakfast, the train was starting to cross into the Rhein Valley and the windows outside were becoming more and more dominated with the huge industrial and post-industrial landscapes that characterized the Rhein Valley. From here, it would be another few hours to Rhenania (nova), the capital of the Empire since the 80 years war. Fischer and Saito settled in for a comfortable game of chess while watching the landscape fly by. Arisa however was sleeping again, curled up into Shadow's flank. She had totally exhausted her energy reserves when she had told her father all about the winter festivities at her school and then played with the leopard again, the latter which had ended with her curling up against the large animal and falling asleep. For her part, Shadow remained even more still than usual, taking great care not to disturb the slumber of her youngest charge.

"So what will be my new name this year?" Fischer had hoped to avoid business for at least the next hour, but she had always been very much to the point. "Your new name will be Keiko Watanabe, senior lieutenant in the Black Guard." Saito looked at him before sighing. "I don't like this secrecy anymore." Fischer nodded. "It was your idea, Keiko." Hoshi Keiko leaned back and pretended to study the positioning of the Chancellor's queen, which was currently threatening her left flank. Of course it had been her idea. After all, it would do no good to weaken her family's political position, what with her aunt leading the Ostrheinländische Partei in Parliament. And to paint herself a target for every britonian, nipponese and racist nutjob from here to the frozen north. No, unless she wanted to lose her independence, especially her Kolibri project, there was no other way. She moved forward a pawn, allowing her to reinforce her flank while also setting up for an attempt to cage his center. "I'm sorry, Julius." "For what?" "Trying to blame you for what I engineered in the first place." The chancellor's eyes remained focused on her face while he moved the queen out of danger. "As far as I see it, you are doing what you want to do. I wouldn't have it any other way." Keiko nodded. She briefly considered proposing that they use real names at least in Rheingold, but decided against it. That would only increase the risk of an accidental slip-up. So her real name would stay buried, hidden behind layers and layers.

After the match had concluded, they went over the details for the next weeks. With school out, both were looking forward to spend some time together. The chancellor would give the traditional speech on the fourth of January and then - provided there were no other crisis or events - they would finally take their first vacation in two years together, where they would also celebrate Keiko's 28th birthday.

****************************

Cascadia
Imperial Rhenanian Embassy
04.01.2014


The Imperial Ambassador to Cascadia, Dr. jur. Dr. jur. h.c. Shigeta Atsu, was tired. He was an old man - too old for this post, he thought. Yet he had gone to this country at the request of the Reichskanzler, who wished to have an Ostrheinländer in the position of ambassador to Cascadia. Both to highlight the years of peace and the possibility of reconciliation with the people who had so savagely treated his. At the age of 78, he was by far the oldest ambassador in the diplomatic corps and he felt like it. His joints ached and he yearned for the hot springs of his homeland. Had it not been for the need to show the advancement of the Ostrheinländer under the administration and the immense pride his own family had felt in becoming the first ostrheinländische family to have an Imperial ambassador among their ranks, he would have declined the post.

Yet here he was, soldiering along, talking about things he barely understood. Things like the internet, data protection and data sharing agreements and a host of economic initiatives so cloaked in legalese that even he, with his two law degrees felt lost in them. Yet finally, the day was over. It had been a long one. He had visited the expat school in the morning, then went on to discuss business with his counterparts in the Cascadian foreign ministry. This had culminated in a rather large dinner at the Cascadia-Rheinland friendship society, where he had given a speech warning against the dangers posed by New Britonia's monarchists. He had remembered the hushed silence that had followed when he had delivered the warning that any attempt to crown a member of the ignoble house of butchers and war criminals would be taken as a declaration of war by Rheinland as long as that member of the aforementioned house had not renounced any claim to what had to be considered legitimate territory of Rheinland and/or had not denounced the actions of her house as barbaric and war crimes.

He had hated the last part. There was no point to it despite reiterating the official position of Rheinland. He thought it almost paranoid, wailing away against shadows which might or might not come true. What was worse is that he knew that Fisher thought it useless, but could not change official policy at the moment. New Britonia was insignificant. Why does the frog dare scream at the Leopard?

In any case, there was nothing to be done about it now except go to sleep. He drained the last of his sake and started to leave when his secretary called him with the news that an invitation to attend an Air-Force Gala had been received to honour some General, with more details being inside the sealed envelope that had been sent to him personally. Shigeta Atsu promised to do so and made to scoop the invitation from his desk as soon as she had left. Yet his old muscles betrayed him and he inadvertently dropped the - unopened - envelope to the floor. The ache in his shoulder joints made him think twice about the proposition of bending down and calling back the secretary would be too demeaning.

He decided he would look at the invitation again tomorrow. For now, it was time to go to sleep and then watch the speech of the Reichskanzler. Due to the time difference, it would not be until a few hours when it would be broadcasted.


Results:
- 15th Engineer Bataillon is headed to Champa, taking lots of supplies and equipment with it. Includes large supplies of anti-radiation meds which will be donated to Champa upon arrival.
- Introducing two other significant characters, namely Fischer's secret wife and daughter.
- a bit more about the rather paranoid Black Guard
- Introducing the ambassador to Cascadia, who is old and a bit forgetful.

[The Romulan Republic]

Ambassador Archer's face was grim as she watched the reports on the nuclear disaster. Fortunately, she wasn't in the vicinity of the catastrophe, but as Corona's ambassador to Champa, it obviously concerned her. In truth, it horrified her. She had had nightmares about the effects of a meltdown.

She had contacted the former Minister of Foreign Affairs, James Wilson, and had been told to express Corona's condolences and make a non-committal offer of assistance. Anything more would have to wait until she had approval from the new government. Unfortunately, the new government was rather divided on the subject of aid to other nations. They'd probably give token aid if Champa asked for it, but Champa already had half the world flocking to help it. Their might not be much her country could offer. And so she sat watching TV with her secretary and feeling entirely useless.

[Gill]

“Allies are a fickle liability at best, but enemies are predictably hostile.”
-Attributed to First Vizier Kalash Vratzian (1588-1644)

Belkan Humanitarian Task Force, off the coast of Champa, January 7th, dawn.

Minister of the Interior Leonid Libarian could hardly believe it: The Belkan regiment hadn’t actually been the last ones to arrive! The several million Shekels he spent on contracting the ocean liner had been well worth it, though the Kestrel was on the verge of a breakdown both crew and equipment wise. She would be limping back to Belkan before all was said and done, but the ship was nonetheless flying the Belkan flag as intended. The liner had also been decked with the appropriate bunting (which amounted to very old Belkan flags fished out of some store house at the last minute), but it was far from being a true warship despite being one of the largest vessels to respond to the crisis. Leonid could make out the silhouettes what he thought were foreign warships, but the seas were remarkably clear.

He could have also said the same for the three thousand soldiers’ stomachs. Though the ship did not have to worry about storms, going at such high speeds took its toll and many were eager to get back on land. Leonid considered that they had no idea what potential dangers awaited them, and they were probably hoping to shoot looters, rebels or other assorted scum taking advantage of the situation. He felt they would probably be very disappointed to hear they would be using entrenchment tools instead of bayonets and pouring concrete and what not.

Leonid was also a very practical man when it came to expecting what the situation would bring: He was not among those many people whom routinely exaggerated the health hazards of nuclear energy, as experience with nuclear powered vessels elsewhere hardened him against such nonsense. While Belkan probably did have sufficient stocks of thorium for its own reactors to last eons, the coal industry was deeply rooted in its national economy and there was little in the way of capital to support building what Belkan’s many dangerous mines and accident prone power plants already provided for. Even mining thorium for export was out of the question, as the thought of introducing non-prison labor miners was abhorrent to the families in control of the existing mines.

Regardless of what dangers really awaited, Leonid was determined to go ahead flank on the course and damn whatever obstacles were in the way of Belkan’s future and his own future. The captain of the frigate had already requested permission to dock at a suitable terminal so the regiment could egress, though in situ transportation would have to be acquired at the Champan government’s expense. Leonid thought it unlikely they would really turn down 3,000 largely expendable bodies, especially when their, “knowledge” of radiation dangers were effectively nonexistent!

Whatever the task that lie before him and his unwitting soldiers, Leonid remained confident the regiment would do Belkan proud in front the entire world. He had affixed a rather modest red hat to symbolize his own Libarian family without appearing too gaudy (it always seemed foreigners knew nothing about tasteful head-ware) and he made a point to wear his old , white Navy uniform instead of the traditional green and black robes of his office. He barely fit in the getup, and his straight sword looked positively antiquated, but it was enough for cameras and dignitaries. It also made it very clear that he was in command of the regiment despite having been a long since retired Navy officer, though colonel Ainian was luckily a subservient sort of fellow (which would explain why he was still just a colonel despite being of fairly advanced age) and was quick to follow orders.


Actions
1. Belkan Minister of the Interior, Leonid Libarian, requests to disembark his regiment on to Champan soil and assist in the disaster mitigation effots.

[The Romulan Republic]

Caroline Archer, Corona's ambassador to Champa, grimaced as she put down the phone and turned to her secretary, Miss Davis. At least something was being done to help Champa, but in her opinion it was too little too late. Still, it was hard to blame the government given the situation in Corona and the much greater assistance other countries had already offered to Champa.

"Clare, I just talked to Minister Clark. I've been authorized to offer up to 1 million dollars in medical aid to the government of Champa and request permission for an aircraft to deliver it to the affected area."

"Only a million", Clare asked disdainfully.

Caroline shrugged.

"Better than nothing."

[Simon_Jester]

Recommended Listening: from the soundtrack of Das Boot

USS Stiletto
Modified U-209-class Submarine
Well North of the Champan Coast
January 4, 2014

It was petty officer King Family-Plot's shift to watch the ballast valve controls. Stiletto had gone underwater over thirty hours ago, drifting with the current like a steel-wrapped hole in the sea. He'd been wondering when that would change, and if it would change on his watch.

It did. The captain checked his watch, then grunted. "Take us to periscope depth and fire up the diesels. I want twenty-five kilometers per hour, heading 260."

The navigator, a new ensign fresh from the Academy, computed briefly, turned to King, and gave the orders. He worked on his own controls for a time, then reported back "Ballast pumps on, forward planes set."

"Thank you, ensign."

"Sir... if I might ask a question about our orders?"

"You may ask.

"Can the Rheinlanders hear us at this range?"

"We're under orders." The captain scowled, his tone a bit curt. "They're supposed to know we're here. So yes, they will hear us. So, the Admiral staff apparently hopes, will the numerous other carrier groups converging on these waters, all of whom need to know that we take an interest in this part of the Equatorial Ocean, and will not tolerate any games that infringe upon our sovereignty."

"Sorry, sir..."

The captain took a breath. "No, ensign, it's quite all right. This is to tell them that we are watching, and that they cannot operate carrier groups freely this close to our shores without our keeping an eye on them one way or another. If, and I do not think it likely, the Rheinlanders decide they want a fight, then we are the picket line, or the screen to harass them if they try to back up for more sea room. "Murderer's Row" is, I assume, some hundreds of kilometers further towards land, on the far side of them."

Submarine service favored quiet, restrained sailors, who tended to murmur softly to each other on duty even when the boat wasn't running silent. Family-Plot was no exception.

Family-Plot muttered quietly, relaxed in his seat and reviewing the plotting data on the Rhenish carrier for form's sake, "If only the Unterseebootswaffe knew exactly what we've done with their sister-ships..."

RNS Walbeschützer
Escorting Rhenish Carrier RNS Grönlandwal
Approaching the Champan Coast
10-15 Minutes Later

"Uh, I've got a contact, bearing zero-six-four, range... either they're closer than the computer thinks, or that's one of the loudest submarines I've ever heard. Profile looks funny..."

The senior enlisted sonarman, a petty officer and twenty-year Navy veteran, glanced at the plot and chuckled. "That's a Umerian boat running her diesels."

"I'd heard they were loud, but I hadn't quite believed it until now. What, is that a design from the Great War or something?"

Schultz chuckled yet again. "That's one of their Type 209 boats. Made am Rhein in the '70s. The Techis bought the things in the eighties, they weren't happy with their own diesel-electrics. And then the pigheads went and ran them through a round of refits in their own yard, as if that would help! They came out rattling like a broken dishwasher, I tell you... And they did it again back around '05, and if anything it's worse now. I tell you, what a Umerian engineer can do to a submarine is enough to make strong men weep."

"Easy to plot, then?"

"They don't all sound the same, either they have trouble with maintenance or they couldn't refit to a uniform standard in the last round. But all the Umerian diesel boats- not just the 209s, but the others have three things in common: They're loud, and nothing else in the ocean sounds quite like them- with good reason."

"That doesn't make sense. If there's ever a serious war we'd be able to hear them coming so far away, they'd never get into firing position on anything important."

"Well, don't underestimate them too far. They did something right with their atomic submarines, one class of them at least. Probably shot the old chief designer, they do things like that once in a while."

"Still... they have to know, why haven't they just imported a foreign design and, you know... not screwed with it?"

"Probably too proud. You know how the Techis can get sometimes. Maybe they think the difference isn't important, or they underestimate just how good first-line hydrophones are in the modern nations. Too bad for them. National arrogance, underestimating the enemy, it is death."

[Eternal_Freedom]

RONS Spectre, Off the Champan Coast
January 4th, 2014.

“Conn, Sonar, contact Sierra-4 just fired up her diesels.” Chief Petty Officer Davis reported. Commander Williams looked up from the message form he was reading and wandered back to the sonar suite.

“What’s the range now Chief?”

“We’re close in sir, 7,000 metres off the bow, bearing 350. She’s speeding up some too…god that thing is loud.” The Chief leaned forwards and turned down the volume on his headphones. “Speed now 25 km/h sir. You think something startled them?”

“Possibly. What else is around?”

“We have the Rhennish carrier group about thirty kilometres away Sir.”

“Then I’d wager they’re being noisy to let the Rheinlanders know that Umeria is interested in what’s going on. Any sign we’ve been detected?”

“No sir, with all the noise they’re making they could run over my daughter’s stereo and not hear it. They haven’t turned towards us either.”

The Commander nodded and headed back to the control room, where the fire-control party had just finished updating their plots.

“We have a firing solution sir, not that it’s very hard since it isn’t maneuvering.” The First Lieutenant said, quietly proud of how quickly the crew had worked, even if it was an easy task. “Can we rattle their cage some?” The Commander grinned at that.

“Oh believe me it is tempting Jerry. On the other hand, they want to be heard, maybe we should let them know.” The Commander kept his evil grin and moved back to Sonar.

“Chief, go active, give him one ping to let him know we spotted him.” The Chief too was smiling now, as he powered up his powerful but rarely used active systems.

“Aye aye sir.”

-------

Actions:

The Orion sub that is following the Umerian boat gives them one ping to wake them up.

[Gill]

“Belkan is to Umeria as a house cat is to an elephant.”
-Belkan Diplomat to Umeria, Umrshat Madastian (1901-1982)

The Belkan/Umeria Relationship or Lack Thereof
From Little Fish, Big Pond: Belkan International Relations by Ambrose Stephens, 2002

While most in the international community recognize Umeria as being the rising power of the modern world, such realization has escaped the Belkan people almost entirely. Indeed: While Belkan finds itself discussing matters of arms procurement as far away as Orion, seldom does it spare time for its very powerful neighbor. Beyond token imports of weapons, the two have little in the way of things to discuss. Such a silent treatment, however, is possibly the greatest mistake made by the Belkan government of the last fifty years or so. As Umeria develops, the fortunes of neighboring Belkan could stand to prosper in turn if it found a way to harness the growing potential of its clear regional power.

That Belkan has little in the way of formal relationships is a matter of custom between the two that began as one of geography: The Belkan highlands have an abrupt line of particularly impassable crags which form the border between the two nations. More recently, Umeria took great pains to fortify the border after the Vratzian led conquests of the early 17th Century. The latter incident established a long lasting split in relations that redoubled in the early 20th Century, and there is considerable suspicion by Umerians over their Belkan neighbors as a result.

Still, it is clear that Belkan poses absolutely no threat to Umeria in modernity, and it would hardly be impossible or even terribly difficult to build new relations that dispose with the baggage of centuries old and hilariously antiquated rivalries. While the Umerians would probably be receptive to such movements by the Belkan government, the latter continues to remain aloof despite its stagnate economy and the need for foreign investment that is unlikely to come from faraway nations like Orion or Rheinland, whom have little reason to support such a small nation half way across the world.

Galm

It was the luck of the gods that delayed Vachik Adomian’s flight to Umeria seven days ago. Having been ordered to represent Belkan as a potential buyer of modern armor by the increasingly inept First Vizier, the Minister of Finance used the delay (which was rather modest by Belkan standards) as a pretext to spend another week in Belkan to prepare for his mission.

Of course, Minister Adomian actually had a more sensible plan in store and he planned to navigate around Abgar XXIII’s machinations as best as possible. Given that the First Vizier’s gout was keep him in his private quarters more and more often, the process was easy enough.

It was on a particularly warm day that he instead had a meeting with the more sensible crown prince Aghasar, whom was sincerely interested in actually helping Belkan instead of pretending to do so by purchasing tanks that would simply lie outside and rust away in want of an enemy to fight. Aghasar was nominally a busy man whom was one of the few people sincerely involved in the day to day running of the Belkan government, so Vachik used much of his week simply waiting for the crown prince to read his proposals and consider them in today’s meeting. To avoid the sight of Abgar, they had decided on meeting in Aghasar’s own study in his remarkably modest apartment beyond the stare of the palace. Vachik was particularly fond of the arrangement, since the study had a window looking out beyond Galm’s 19th Century walls and over the golden sea of grass that lay beyond the city. It was another cloudless day, but the wind made land look alive nonetheless.

Aghasar was well shaven (an unusual thing for a Belkan, whom wore moustaches and groomed beards as one would wear hats: All the time) and dispensed with the wearing of his father’s wearing of oversized hats. Rather, the man did with a modest fez that would have made him look like a humble monk if it weren’t for the fact that Vachik new Aghasar’s suit cost a considerable fortune. He was still skimming over some of the proposals Vachik had brought, perhaps thinking that reading for the hundredth time would produce an epiphany, and then spoke for the first time since their, “meeting” began five minutes ago.

“Anyway I look at this, it is madness” he asserted with remarkable restraint. “We don’t even have enough funds to secure spare parts for our existing stock of armor, and modern tanks have only risen in costs.”

Vachik attempted to speak but first had to clear his throat, having not spoken since entering the apartment. “I agree, but he still expects me to leave to Umeria and secure some sort of deal” Vachik thoughtfully scratched the top of his head without having to remove his hat (a skill all Belkan men acquire within short order). “I believe it would be in the best interests of Belkan to forge a deal which would produce returns in the long run.”

Aghasar nodded in agreement. “I agree, Minister, which is why the state needs you to secure some investment from the Umerians.”

Vachik sat puzzled for a moment. “What did you have in mind? A new look at mineral prospecting and recovery?” he inquired, bringing up a longstanding interest in what might lie beneath Belkan’s usually unproductive soil.

“That’s always on the plate, but I was thinking along the lines of something industrious”. The manner in which the crown prince said industrious almost had Vachik hair stand on end in excitement and disappointment at the same time: Belkan lacked the infrastructure to support much in the way of anything, but perhaps it was worth a shot? “We should start big and work down, and I want you to sell something truly enormous if at all possible.”

The crown prince stood up and, instead of leading his way to the door, produced what looked like part of a clock from atop one of his study’s many bookshelves. “Do you know what this is, Minister?”

Vachik nodded.

“This is a sextant, one of the oldest types built in history, fabricated more than two and a half centuries ago by Belkan astronomers.” He handed the curious looking brass device to Vachik, whom investigated it as a young child might with any highly reflective object and took note of the fine markings on its brass end and noted what appeared to be a tiny little telescope. “Belkan was not and should be remembered for simply producing wars, Mister Adomian. Our people used to be able to produce truly amazing works of art like the one you hold, but it took patience and objectivity that my father is sorely lacking in his advanced age. Optics, astronomy, clock making. All hints of what Belkan was able to do given further patience.”

Aghasar took the extant back and placed it on its shelf before sitting back down. “There are a handful of people whom can build lenses like the one used in that sextant left in Belkan, and it will not be impossible to produce more. We simply need a bit of money that is not going to be thrown away on weapons we could not use even if we wanted to.”

Vachik waited for a pause. “How big a suggestion are you wanting me to take up to the Umerian leadership?”

The crown prince cracked a cheeky smile. “Something so ridiculous that it will press home the reason of subsequent demands. A high speed train linking the two nations through the highlands or . . . “ The prince paused “ . . . Or a spot on their space program? No: A joint space program! The Umerians are big on discussing that, and that would at least be ridiculous enough to get them to listen.”

Vachik chuckled at the suggestion, “Or they might very well entertain the whole thing before I have the chance to tell them I was really there for a industrial park sponsorship!”

Aghasar shared his enthusiasm. “Yes, well, that would be one way of assuring Belkan’s survival when the seas boil away” he responded, referencing the traditional Belkan understanding of how the planet would die as revealed by its folk religion eons ago. Aghasar was yet finished and stood up, motioning Bachik to the door.

“I’m sorry our meeting could not have lasted longer, but it appears we’ve been having smuggling issues and the Army requests my assistance in the matter.”

Vachik got up in turn and the two embraced. Right before he could exit the doorway, however, Aghasar put a hand on his shoulder.

“Remember, Belkan is counting on you. We need something that will give our children something to work with.”

Vachik nodded affirmatively in response with all the seriousness as a man prepared to go to war and expecting to perish.


Actions
1. Belkan Minister of Finance, Vachik Adomian, leaves to Umeria’s capital on an international flight with an initial proposal to participate in a joint space program. Fully expects sufficient interest in the matter to attract an appointment before enduring several minutes of nonstop laughter.

[Thanas]

Rhenania (nova)
Middle Rheinland
04.01.2014

Rhenania (nova) had once been a very small and unimportant city called Colonia Rhenania before the war. It had been a rich trading post for sure in medieval times - as the many medieval buildings, including the giant cathedral witnessed - but it had been utterly unimportant and had paled in comparison to the great cities of the south, especially to her namesake Rhenania. In some ways, it still did, for even the ruins of Rhenania antiqua exuded a greatness Rhenania nova could never hope to match. Something had been lost in the transfer of Government during the war - something playful, relaxed and old. Poets would call it the soul of a nation.

Of course, the ingredients to Rhenan society were still there. Here, as in any Rhenan city, the plurality of religions meshed well together. Though unlike the south it was dominated by the new trinity imported from outside Rhenania in the middle ages, the old faiths still had a lot of attendants. New syncretic cults, like the Church of the Great Rescuer (dedicated to one outstanding dolphin who had saved over 200 people, including the Emperor Johannes XIV) had become popular during the last century. And some ways of life were all the same all over Rheinland. Here, as in most cities, the river fishers were bringing home their daily morning catch while a few dolphins were swimming by, hoping for a piece of the catch. Although both the river fishers and the dolphins were much smaller in number compared to the south, where in most places a cooperation had been ongoing for millennia between dolphins driving catches to beaches and fishers waiting with nets to catch their share (and also to help out any dolphin who got too close to the shore). Like most things, the fishing in Rhenania nova seemed to be a shadow of the past.

And yet, Rheinland went on, preserving as much tradition as possible. And one of the greatest traditions was the Chancellor's speech, held in the Rheinland parliament. Traditionally given on the fourth of June, it would outline the general goals of the Chancellor's Government for the following year. Though calling it a speech would be a misnomer - in truth, it was more of a speech followed by a general Q&A session on the topic of the speech. And it was not a speech, instead it was a series of speeches on one topic, after which the speaker would rest and allow Q&A on that topic alone. No Teleprompter or anything except for a few handwritten notes were allowed as aid to the Chancellor. It was not unusual for this session of parliament to last for a few days.

Oberleutnant (SG) Keiko Watanabe had not accompanied the Chancellor to his appearance before the senate. Instead, she had decided to minimize her exposure by watching the speech like all good Rhenans did - on TV. In this, she was kept company by her daughter and Fischer's leopard, who had not been allowed to follow him into Parliament (the frequent clapping and shouts apparently irritating the animal and nobody wanted a repeat of what had happened a few decades ago when one Leopard had growled at the whole house, causing a minor panic among the members of the Senate).

Having read the speech several times in advance, she noticed via scrolling through headlines on her smartphone that a few details had already appeared in advance. This of course was a strategy - editors had been allowed to ask for segments of the speech in advance. The response had been overwhelmingly positive among the press. But only those few editors who had refrained from making a judgement before they had heard the whole speech were likely to be invited over to the Chancellery for a private chat later on. It was part of what Fischer thought necessary to keep up proper standards among the media.

Under great applause, the Chancellor stepped into the middle of the Senate and started speaking. Having heard the speech already in private, ,she soon found herself drifting in and out, only listening to important parts of it. The segment on foreign policy was the first, with Keiko monitoring the reaction of the polticians to key phrases.


"....while it is imperative for Rheinland to remain steadfast and strong, the lessons learned from the worst war in history must not be forgotten. Rheinland needs friends to thrive and to prosper. First and foremost, the United States of Cascadia remains an important partner in the Pacific. There are those among us - just as there are those in Cascadian politics - that would have us adopt a more weary stance towards them. These people regard Cascadia and her Grand Navy as a threat. Yet we must not forget that Cascadia stood with us against ignoble Britonia, forever cursed be her name."

There was a short pause for applause and the usual boos and hisses that were uttered whenever the name Britonia was used in the senate.

"I can assure the members of this august body that while any Grand Navy poses a threat to our security, Cascadia has never given any indication of desiring our territory or to harm us. Any notions of such designs on the part of Cascadia are as unfounded and ridiculous as the notion of Rheinland desiring Cascadian soil. We will not allow decades of goodwill to be destroyed by careless actions - no matter where they originate from. In the same spirit, I hereby extend an invitation towards President Alexander Penton to celebrate the 68th anniversary of the victory over Britonia in November 1946. I am confident that we can rekindle the spirit of friendship that helped us defeat the greatest monsters that ever walked Tellus."

"I am also proposing new Student exchange programs so that the spirit of friendship between the Rheinland and the Cascadian peoples will endure. It is my goal that every child in Rheinland gets the opportunity to spend one year in Cascadian schools or universities and vice versa. It is my hope that the friendships that will be forged during such programs last a lifetime and that any problems will be solved with compromises and dialogue."

"I know some esteemed members of the Rheinland press corps have recently given light to the possibility of Crown Loyalists in New Britonia intending to offer the throne to the woman Isabella. To this I say two things - first, Rheinland has no vote in the internal elections of a sovereign state. If New Britonia wants to be ruled by a monarch, that is their prerogative. Rheinland will neither interfere with nor judge their choice. Second, the woman Isabella is welcome to the throne of New Britonia, should such a situation arise. Though some members of this august body and the press wildly speculated that women intends to lay claim to Westrheinland, I have heard no such indication on her part. Needless to say, I highly doubt that such an intelligent and formidable person like the woman Isabella will be claiming a territory that has no desire to be ruled by her."

Keiko noted that the members of the Britonian National Party (BNP) were doing their best not to cringe at the last sentences. Undoubtedly many of them would want nothing more than independence and a return to the house of war criminals that had governed them before - maybe not even in that order. She also noted that Fischer had carefully tried to avoid addressing her by any noble title. The conservatives however, who had already called for sanctions against New Britonia for even considering such action, were dismayed.

"However, there were more friends than the nation of Cascadia which helped us in the war against the great evil. The city of San Dorado and her companies, most notably SANDEX and Helix were instrumental in helping us defeat the bombers. Therefore, I am formally extending an invitation to the Mayor and the heads of corporations to attend the upcoming 70th anniversary of the Luftbrücke on July 6th and to discuss closer economic ties between our nations as well as other matters of state."

Applause, though the BNP refrained from applauding once more, their faces set in permanent frowns and sullen anger.

"Though while speaking of old friends one must not forget to think of the possibilities of new ones. The Kingdom of Orion has long been a customer of Rheinland industries and vice versa. In the past decades, they have been among the most reliable and steadfast partners for Rheinland Flugzeugwerke and JHD. Yesterday, they invited the Reichskanzler to a formal summit to discuss closer ties and to solve the open question of their claims on Westrheinland. I have decided to accept that invitation and will visit them at the earliest opportunity, probably in February."

More applause, maybe even more than expected. Orion had always been a curious case, Keiko thought. From what she knew of the history of Rheinland and Orion, the latter had been an enthusiastic weapons importer - weapons which Rheinland was more than willing to sell, needing the currency. Yet, there had been sporadic calls on Rheinland by Orion to turn former Britonia over to them, calls that elicited more humour than serious concern in Rheinland (except on part of the conservatives, of course). The public opinion was split - some regarded them as a militaristic state in the making and thought that nothing good would come from being dragged into their quest for regional hegemony, others regarded them as possible valuable allies. She wondered what Cascadia would think of this development.

And it would also mean that the plans for the family vacation would have to be scrapped.

"Though when looking at nations far away we must not forget our neighbours. We have enjoyed good economic relations with the UOCSR , the Granadian State and Kagaria. Economic ties however are not enough to secure peace and lasting good will. The burden of military expenditure is a heavy one for all our nations. Therefore, I have instructed our ambassadors to start negotiations on a preliminary treaty with the objective of mutually limiting our armed forces. Nothing is to be gained by paying for huge armies that can serve no other purpose but to bring ruin to each other."

This time the conservative and military factions of the Senate remained somewhat reserved. Keiko thought that this was one of the ideas that would either work splendidly - or turn into a political fiasco. She wondered how the UOCSR and Granadia would react. Kagaria was - as usual - notoriously quiet on all matters, but she thought that they would sign on if everybody else did. The biggest challenge would be to get the UOCSR to agree to any such treaty.

After speaking at length about other nations - basically wishing for good relations and economic exchange - the Chancellor talked about general foreign policy proposals.

"It has long been established that a general dialogue between nations is the best way to solve problems. Therefore, I am calling for the permanent establishment of an international body of dialogue. Such an institution would serve as an important conduit for multi-lateral negotiations and be able to allow nations to express their point of views in a general debate. In proposing this, I recognize that there are nations who would be reluctant to engage in such an endeavour. They would fear to be beholden to a majority. To allay those fears, I propose that any resolution by such a body would be considered non-binding. I further propose that the seat of the body be relocated every two years, with member states serving as seat in alphabetical order. I pray that this will be a first step towards global peace and understanding. The great evils of war and conflict must be avoided, for the future of our children."

The Reichskanzler went on to talk about the proposed body in more detail. Keiko thought it a pipedream - too many nations would be too wary, too cowardly and too distrustful to even consider membership. Fischer had thought as much as well, but wanted to give it a try. If it succeeded, then it would be a major achievement. If it failed, then at least Fischer had demonstrated good intentions. Ironically, it had not even been a Rheinland idea. The ambassador of Orion had suggested it during drinks but had also mentioned that nobody would follow Orion in that matter had the proposal come from them.

The following idea, however, was entirely Rhenish in origin.

"Another issue dear to every Rheinländer is the issue of whaling. There are currently only two nations where whaling is legal, the City of San Dorado and Champa. Of these, only Champa engages in impactful whaling. The goal of this government is to formulate an agreement with the nation of Champa and the companies of San Dorado to come to an equitable solution in this matter. I am confident that we will succeed in that purpose."

To this announcement, the chamber reacted with unprecedented applause, long and loud enough that the Chancellor was unable to continue for several minutes. On this matter, there seemed to be national unity (disregarding the BNP, which never applauded anything except their own speeches arguing for the immediate dissolution of the state). Even the Ostrheinländer were applauding this announcement, showing how far reaching the re-education policies of Rheinland had been in the east. For they had been the worst offenders against whales and dolphins in the past, killing tens of thousands each year before the conquest. She herself remembered her grandfather talking about how he had eaten whale meat as a child though he could not recall that he had liked the taste.

"However, in this we must not become arrogant. The Nation of Champa deserves to be treated as a partner, not as a colony. We must take care to not step on cultural sensibilities or appear as imperialistic bullies. Therefore, we will not push, we will ask. We will offer, not demand. As a first step of building goodwill, this government has dispatched an engineer bataillon and a carrier group to help Champa with the effects of the recent reactor accident. I am further asking for a Rheinland-Champan summit to discuss a generous aid package and closer economic relations with the Nation of Champa. In this, I am sure that we will come to an agreement that will not only be beneficial for both our nations, but also to the great creatures that roam our oceans and rivers."

"There is another nation which population is economically disadvantaged compared to the world average. Like our good citizens in Ost - and Westrheinland these people, through no fault of their own, face themselves at an economic disadvantage. We thereby extend an offer of cooperation on matters of economical development to the Technocracy of Umeria. Our shared experiences shall benefit us both."

Keiko believed this to be another futile offer. The technocracy would most likely refuse. She knew it, Fischer knew it, everybody knew it and understood this was a long shot, for the technocracy was very likely to reject any such offer. They believed they knew best and would most likely not even consider sharing information on what went wrong and what actually worked. Still, if nothing else it showed goodwill and as Fischer had said, appearing conciliatory and non-aggressive was the objective of this speech.

Fischer soon came to the last part of the section on foreign affairs, introducing it with another general proposal to all nations.

"Our planet is finite. To guarantee the survival of our species, Space is the only answer. Therefore I am calling on all interested nations to join Rheinland in building an international space station so that we may all work together on a future for all of us."

This time, the applause was of medium quality. While everybody liked Space, nobody liked paying for it. Fischer had hoped this proposal would both ensure that a station like that would be built in the first place as help shore up popular support for further ideas. He waited until the applause had subsided and then finished with the last two topics, who had traditionally always come last in the foreign policy speeches of every chancellor.

"Ever since the industrial age, we share close ties with the Democratic Republic of Freemurka and the Principality of Cabelon. Many Rheinländer emigrated to these nations and ever since they gained independence from us we felt responsible for their continued well-being and safety."

Keiko nodded. In an amusing twist of fate, the Democratic Republic of Freemurka was neither democratic, a republic or free. Instead, it was a dictatorship which paid for the high living standard of its people with selling valuable natural resources to Rheinland. Cabelon on the other hand was - despite its name - a fledgling (if bitterly poor) democracy whose people largely depended on food imports and aid shipments from Rheinland.

"We therefore have decided to continue the economic ties with both nations. We remain concerned about as of yet unsubstantiated rumours of difficulties in the north of Freemurka. We shall monitor the situation closely and provide assistance if needed, while reminding the authorities of Freemurka that a free and democratic process is necessary and shall be applied. At the same time we recognize the desire for order."
Keiko was amazed that Fischer had not choked on the last words, for she knew them to be false. After all, they had both seen the pictures of massacres, of people being disappeared in the name of state security and the labour camps in the north. Fischer had privately said that something would need to be done about this but no real solution had been found at the moment.

"We applaud the people of Cabelon for their continued commitment to democracy. Our Aid corps, protected by our Landsknechte, continues to do great work in Cabelon. Last year, child mortality rates dropped to a third of the previous levels. There are some in this chamber who think such an investment is not worth it. To those I say, get out of your palaces and visit an aid shelter. Cabelon is worth every pfennig and more."
Having visited it, Keiko agreed wholeheartedly.

"Esteemed colleagues, our nation is strong and healthy. Let us ensure further prosperity with this foreign policy. I ask for your assent."

The chancellor stopped and waited for questions and responses. The dissenting voices mainly focused on the amount of trust the chancellor was giving to foreigners. The Conservatives thought any arms reduction treaty was a pipedream, just like the international body. The Nippon Party and the Britonian National Party demanded the immediate dissolution of Rheinland and were booed soundly.

After a lengthy debate the assent was given with the votes of the parties making up the Government, the Centrist Party, Liberals and the Greens. Thanks to their majority, the outcome had never been in doubt. Surprisingly, a majority of the Ostrheinländische Partie, the largest party of former Nippon, voted with them despite not being members of Government. This would cause consternation on the part of political commentators, but Keiko and Fischer knew what the Ostrheinländische Partei was doing. It had everything to do with what was supposed to follow tomorrow.

The first day of the Chancellor's speech was over. Tomorrow, the domestic policies were to be discussed. And Keiko knew that if any of the foreign policies would cause consternation or surprise, that would be nothing compared to the bombshell that was going to be dropped tomorrow on the unsuspecting senate.

Results:
- Caleborn is 24, Freemurka is the half of 28 on the map. Both are NPCs and former colonies of Rheinland.
- Proposals made:
1. Cascadia:
a) invitation to the President to attend the victory celebrations over Britonia in November and to then talk at length
b) student exchange program
c) general remarks about New Britonia
2. San Dorado
a) invitation to the Mayor and heads of corporations to attend the 100th anniversary of the Luftbrücke on July 6th
b) discussion of closer economic ties and whaling to happen then as well if possible
3. Orion
a) Fischer to visit in February if possible to discuss proposed treaty and other things
4. UOCSR , the Granadian State and Kagaria
a) ambassadors instructed to enquire about the possibility of a treaty limiting armed forces between the nations
5. Proposal to all nations:
a) permanent establishment of an international body of dialogue
b) establishment of an international space station for all those interested
6. Umeria
a) general offer of closer economic ties and comparing experiences/cooperating with developing underdeveloped parts of our nations
7. Champa
a) Fischer wants to visit as soon as possible to discuss whaling and make Champa an offer

For details, look in the post above.

[Eternal_Freedom]

Hephaestus-Alpha Power Station, Kingdom of Orion
January 4th, 2014

Despite the chaos that was still ongoing in the downtown area, the Alpha power plant was as calm as it usually was. Plant workers moved to and fro with purpose, heading for whatever task they had been assigned with pride that one might expect from soldiers on parade. In Orion, any form of public service was considered noble; from the bravest defenders of the Kingdom’s shores to the lowliest rubbish collector, all took considerable pride in doing such vital jobs for the benefit of the people. Here too that pride was in evidence. The plant manager, Dr. Hiram Brannagh, was almost obsessed with efficiency and had contingency plans in place for almost every conceivable situation.

Which was why he wasn’t even slightly faxed when six nondescript trucks carrying soldiers of the 6th Commando Division arrived at his plant, complete with orders to augment his existing security force (and the small detachment from the RAF that manned the SAM batteries at the plant). They commander, a Major Sallis, outlined the situation. Dr. Brannagh listened attentively, went into his file room, extracted a file marked Contingency Plan Sierra-232 and ordered it distributed to all personnel. The Major, suitably impressed at the civilian whom he had expected to be difficult, took his copy, studied the proposed disposition of his troops, nodded in approval and left to issue the orders.

For twenty minutes there was a slight, but noticeable disruption to affairs at the plant. Suspiciously large and well-build men and women in white lab coats or plant overalls began moving to key locations, whilst other figures dressed in highly effective camouflage hauled large black bags up to the roofs of the main buildings. Once inside the facilities, people began to stand guard, their lab coats bulging in mysterious places. The more observant plant workers (which, being an Orion facility, was most of them) noticed that these new faces kept their hands free and close to the bulges at all times. Many of them quietly noted this and left to speak to their supervisors, only to have Contingency Sierra-232 explained to them in hushed tones.

Hepheastus-Alpha was preparing for war.

The state of alert continued for three hours, until it was time for shift change. Streams of workers moved to and from the car park as the replacement personnel arrived. And that was when it happened.
Sergeant Watkins was standing post at the main gate, disguised as an ordinary security guard. Approaching down the access road was a pair of large buses, looking hilariously out of place. The first of them stopped at the heavily armoured barrier as instructed. The driver claimed that the buses were here for an arranged tour of the plant. Sergeant Watkins retreated to his guard post to “check” with the plant manager.

The bus driver grinned. His team were almost ready to carry out the main event. The blasts in downtown had been a diversion that drew police and emergency services away, leaving the real target exposed. The driver, a middle-aged man by the name of Felix Leitner, had planned in exquisite detail the placing of bombs this morning, and had in fact detonated one of them himself by remote.

Had he been a slightly more sane man he would balked at knowing he’d been responsible for the deaths of over 2,300 people (the final count was not yet in), but in his frame of mind, one that had been ranting and railing at modern technology as long as he could remember, he saw it as necessary. If he had been saner, he also might have noticed the security guard was not part of the usual security force.

Watkins, having confirmed that he was to let the buses in, pressed the button to lower the gates. The buses rolled forwards, pulling up as directed in front of the plant administration building (which, for shift change, was surprisingly quiet). Before Felix could grab his concealed rifle and lead his glorious band of freedom fighters in the crusade they had spoken of for years, brilliant floodlights illuminated the vehicles. There were distant cracks and bullets from the sniper rifles blew out the bus tires and shattered the windows. Those inside tried grabbing for their weapons, but a voice on a bullhorn ordered them to surrender.

One of the group, being a young idealist, decided to try and fight anyway. He grabbed his submachine gun and had raised it halfway to his shoulder when the left side of his head exploded from the passage of a heavy sniper round. The shock of his sudden death, and the noise, and the splatter of blood, brains and bone across those behind him, was a sufficient delay that no one else raised a weapon before heavily-armed commandos surrounded them and pulled their weapons from their slack hands.

Looking down from the plant managers office, Major Sallis and Dr. Brannagh looked on with satisfaction as the would-be terrorists were secured and loaded into waiting trucks.

“I must congratulate you and your staff Doctor. Your planning was perfect and you carried on splendidly despite my intrusion. I shall report your outstanding efforts to my superiors.”

The Doctor smiled warmly. “It was no real intrusion Major. I must say, I expected these hippy bastards to be a bit more, well, aggressive. I suppose shock and awe are more effective than I thought.”

The Major returned the smile and pulled out his radio. “Sir? Major Sallis reporting. Hephaestus-Alpha secure. No friendly casualties. All terrorists save one captured alive and unharmed. We’re loading them now, they’ll be in Paradise City jail in three hours. Thank you Sir. Out.” The radio was switched off and returned to his pocket. In it’s place, the Major extracted a hip flask. “Care for a drink Doctor?”

The Doctor looked briefly surprised at the Major drinking on duty, but considered that 6th Commando was substantially more…unconventional than the other Army units. And after all, they had certainly earned it.

“Thank you Major. A toast to freedom from hippies!”

Royal Palace, Paradise City,

King Alex looked up as Admiral McKenna walked into his office. “The power plant?”

“General Lethbridge-Stewart reports that all but one of the one hundred and twelve terrorists were taken alive with no friendly casualties, including five who we have identified as the splinter group’s leaders.”

“Good. Interrogate them fully, use whatever means necessary. Then put their backs against a wall and shoot the lot. Except for the leaders; bring them to the Palace.”

“Sire?” The Admiral said with a curious expression.

“I told you all yesterday, if you caught any of the fuckers I’d shoot them myself. I’m not sure I can manage one hundred and eleven, but the leaders, they’re mine.

“As you will Sire.” The Admiral left, impressed at his King’s conviction in seeing things through. The King opened the lower left draw in his expansive desk and pulled out the huge .50 calibre revolver he kept in there. Extracting a box of ammunition, he carefully loaded five rounds into the cylinder before closing the gun.

Alexander returned it to the draw with a grim smile on his face as his secretary entered (who, being an experienced professional, did not take notice of the large and shiny handgun), carrying notes from the Rhennish Chancellors speech, and a glass. The King looked them over, and was pleased to note the acceptance of the invitation, and the proposal for the global body that Alexander had quietly suggested to his Ambassador to Rheinland some months ago.

"Excellent. Pass these along to the Interior and Foreign Ministers. Tell them to begin preliminary preparations for a Rhennish state visit in February. Also, tell the Foreign Minister to pass on a note that Orion supports Rheinland's efforts regarding an international body and a joint spec station, and that I will be making a public announcement of support for both initiatives soon."

His secretary nodded and left, leaving behind the King's customary evening glass of whiskey. He picked it up, swirled it briefly to admire the colour, savoured the scent, then raised it in salute to progress before drinking it.

-----

Results/Actions:

-111 terrorists captured unharmed, one killed.
-Terrorists to be interrogated. Any information gained that is of value to other nations will be handed over as a gesture of goodwill
-Orion supports Fischers proposals regarding a UN and an ISS

[The Romulan Republic]

President Chang stood at a podium in the main hall of the President's Manor. In front of her was a crowd of reporters. The upcoming speech was being broadcast to every news channel in Corona, and some channels beyond its borders.

"It is with great sadness that I reflect on the terrorist attacks in the Kingdom of Orion. Whatever the motivations of the perpetrators, such disregard for the lives of civilians cannot be justified, condoned, or tolerated. Our thoughts are with the people of Orion, and I offer my administration's sincere condolences to all who have suffered loss as a result of these attacks. I hope that Orion will recovery quickly from this tragedy and that its government will conduct a measured and appropriate response.

I would also like to discuss our response to the nuclear disaster in Champa. While we are heartened by the generous response from around the world and the situation appears to be under control, I have authorized my administration to offer medical aid to the government of Champa should they require our assistance."