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Showing The Flag
Posted: Aug 6 2010, 11:24 AM
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Now that she was a full Admiral and was getting set to command the First Fleet, Katie Patinkin was now going by her full legal first name, Katherine.

She'd gone with her nickname for years. She could get away with it as a lowly commodore, then later as a rear admiral and vice admiral. She was always in the shadows. But with Ben Newman now accepting a desk job and Stephen Marcus now retiring, it was up to her to fill her father's extraordinarily large shoes.

Of course, she knew the history. Her father was the only man in the history of the country to be awarded seven stars as an admiral. During wartime, his official rank was Admiral of the Incorporated Sarzonian Navy. That meant other wartime ranks would have to answer to him. The five-star rank, Fleet Admiral was only issued to senior admirals during wartime. The six-star rank, Admiral of the Navy would become Theatre Admiral when Sarzonia's navy expanded enough to have numbered navies. Only a select handful of admirals would attain that rank. And Katherine's father outranked them all.

So she knew full well what her responsibilities were when she set foot on the quarterdeck of the ISS Isselmere. She would be in command of a fleet with legendary stature in a navy that had a worldwide reputation for excellence. She knew of few countries that actually dared to challenge a supremely motivated Incorporated Sarzonian Navy at its best.

However, she also knew that one such country lay well to Sarzonia's south. It certainly wasn't their southern neighbours in Cyanea. Delaclava and Sarzonia were well into developing a close relationship that many political observers were already dubbing a special relationship. No, the challenge lay farther to the south.

"So where is this regional tour supposed to begin?" asked Captain Brad Endicott, the man who was the commanding officer of the ship when Katherine Patinkin wasn't on the quarterdeck.

"Falcania," she said. "We're going to sail in international waters between Cyanea and their territory."

"But aren't they in the midst of a civil war right now?"

"They are. We'll make sure we leave a large squadron behind to monitor the situation and ensure that our interests aren't threatened. And, for good measure, we'll ensure that we have enough Naval Infantry on hand if our interests are threatened. She didn't forget the landgrab King Falcon II initiated to snatch Diamindokere, which was part of Sarzonia's former southern neighbours Crystilakere's territory. And now, she was going to make sure Falcania didn't try anything rash.

She knew the real purpose behind this tour. Sure, the wags in Woodstock and the Military Command Centre's stated purpose behind this tour was to show the flag as a reminder that Sarzonia's military might didn't go away with The Great Isolation. The real purpose was to remind those nations that fancied themselves enemies to Sarzonia and opposed to her interests that the Incorporated Sarzonian Navy was not something to be trifled with, now or ever.

"Helm, clear all moorings," Patinkin ordered.

"Aye, sir. Clearing moorings."

"Control, this is the ISS Isselmere. Requesting permission to depart."

"Isselmere, this is control. Permission to depart granted. Over."

"Take us out. Engines at one-quarter."

"Aye, sir. Engines at one-quarter."

Patinkin looked up at the flags that flew from the mainmast high above the imposing warship under her command. The Sarzonian flag flew highest with a flag that bore her father's most famous slogan, borne from the strategy that helped him and his Praeteonian partner win the CorpSac War.

"Fight crazy with crazy."
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Posted: Aug 6 2010, 12:55 PM
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"Are you going to tell him?"

"I told him last time."

Eric and Alistair looked at each other. The memorandum had plopped into their in-tray moments earlier. As one, they turned to look at the grand double-doors behind them. Made of polished oak, they were said to have been first hung in their frames the day the first King had been crowned. Fortunately, nobody had told Lord Tarrick this.

"He's really, really not going to like this."

"I know. Which is why I made sure to tell him last time."

"Sky above."

Alistair leaned back, cricking the muscles in his neck. This job never used to be that hard. He'd been a senior aide since before the Old King was born. He could feel his wings growing heavy on his shoulders. Sky, how he yearned to retire.

There was a pause. "Alistair..." Eric was using his Furtive Voice. Alistair knew it well. Eric was the younger of the two.

"... What?" Alistair asked suspiciously.

"We could always, you know..." Eric nodded to the corner, where Clara's desk was set up.

"No. Absolutely not." Alistair looked around. The capacious office was deserted, save for the three of them. He leaned in closer to Eric, lowering his voice to a hiss. "That poor girl's been through enough." He snatched the paper away from Eric. "If you're not man enough to go in there, I suppose I'll have to."

"If you say so, sir." Eric's voice was solemn, but Alistair knew the hint of smile playing over his lips. That slippery little... Alistair thought, he's won again. And he knows it.

He sighed outwardly. "Look. Have we got any good news? Make a sandwich out of it?"

Eric made a point of lifting up the two sheets of paper in the in-tray. "Not today," he said.

"Blast it." Alistair coughed. "OK, I'll go in and tell him."

He straightened his tie, steeled his nerves, and pushed open the throne-room door.

Sky above, what has he done? I barely recognise this place.

"Your lordship," he called. "I bring news."

Tarrick was sitting at his desk. The Old King's desk. It was criss-crossed with claw-marks. It was, by now, common knowledge that Tarrick never lost his temper. The Icarus proudly proclaimed it a sign of their leader's fortitude, but that handful of people who interacted with him knew the truth. He never lost his temper, no, but whenever he was angry, he would scratch deep welts into the walls, floor, furniture - whatever came to hand.

The extensive mahogany panelling that surrounded the room was marked like something out of a horror film. The throne was unrecognisable. The desk, Sweet Sky, what a beautiful desk it used to be, was the worst-affected though.

Tarrick looked Alistair disconcertingly in the eye. "News. And judging by your smile, I don't suppose it's good news. More supposed lies about the state of the Markets? Come to tell me that even more staff have fled my palace?" Alistair remained silent. "Oh good, it's about the swelling numbers of that street rabble, Quicksilver. Or maybe you've come to report that that traitor Cockroft is mobilising his forces in New Nestia?"

Alistair swallowed. "Sir, it's news from overseas."

This took Tarrick mildly aback. "Spit it out."

"Sarzonia. The First Fleet of the Incorporated Sarzonia Navy is patrolling our border to the north." He proffered the document like a shield. "Latest intelligence reports."

"Thank you, Alistair." Tarrick smiled. "You may leave."

Alistair hurried for the door, and paused. The doors, with their extensive carvings of the history of Falcania, had been ruined by Tarrick's claw-marks.

"Actually, Alistair. There is one thing." Tarrick smiled a cold smile. Alistair heard the tramping of feet outside the throne room, and his heart sank.
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Posted: Aug 6 2010, 01:29 PM
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Smith Cockroft chuckled and put down the paper. His de facto base of operations was Landfall FAF base, in the capital of New Nestia.

Two months had passed since the Riot at Palace Square. Quicksilver's members had escaped unharmed, many innocent civilians had been gunned down by Palace Guard. Cockroft had slipped away in the confusion, rallied whatever armed forces and FLIE operatives were still loyal to him, and fled to New Nestia. The Republican Army had been formed.

The Riot at Palace Square had altered the course of the war. Before it Quicksilver had planned to wage a guerilla war against the Protectorate. Afterwards, Quicksilver would have to fight the Protectorate and the Republicans. The Protectorate, meanwhile, would have to divide their resources between a conventional war with the Republicans and asymmetric combat with Quicksilver insurgents.

In fact, it would be just as Cockroft had planned.

He had not, however, anticipated Sarzonia's isolationism to end in a fleet uncomfortably close to his base of operations. But plans could change.

He smiled as he sifted through the reports on his desk. Yes. Just as he had hoped, roughly a third of the Aerial Navy had thrown their lot in with the Republicans, as well as about the same in aircraft from the FAF and the FAN. More importantly, in the short term, he had wrested the launch codes for the Zimorodok silos that dotted the New Nestia coastline. That meant a net of 500 miles extending from every point on the New Nestia coast that threatened any and all shipping - probably enough, in point of fact, to make a serious dent in the first fleet all by itself.

Not that it would come to that.

No, Sarzonia could wait, for now. Any day now, the Protectorate would mobilise troops, and start the war in earnest.
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Posted: Aug 6 2010, 03:11 PM
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With a grimace, Status Aran took the proffered sheet from Birdie, the work experience lad. "Fresh off the wire, sir. From one of our girls in the Office of Defence."

"You don't need to call me sir, Birdie." He adjusted the ice-pack on his shoulder and read it. "Sarzonia. Great." He raised his voice again. "Birdie, get Georgo, Farrell, Hack, and the Bens in here. We need a meeting."

They entered, in dribs and drabs. Farrell paced in the shadows, as was his usual modus operandi. Status handed around the document. "This is either a problem," he intoned, "or an opportunity. Now. The Protectorate isn't going to want to get involved with Sarzonia, nor will Sarzonia want to associate with them. Neither will Cockroft and his Republicans. That leaves us."

"Is that wise?" Benni asked.

"We've got no choice," Hack answered. "If Sarzonia's mobilised the whole first fleet on our doorstep, that means they've got a grievance to settle. They won't risk open war, they'll wait for us to make the first move, before flattening us."

"Flattening us?" Jory Georgo scoffed.

"Don't sound so incredulous, Jory. Even under the Old King we would barely have stood a chance against that navy. Now our armed forces are carving themselves up between Tarrick and Cockroft. I'd be willing to bet Cockroft has command of New Nestia's Zimorodok silos, but we can't bank on him to not to use them."

"I don't think we can hope to expect what that man's next move is, whatsoever," Farrell's voice darkly intoned. "After all, he pulled the wool over our eyes well enough. He's an opponent. Simple as."

"Nothing's ever that simple," Status said, with unusual gravitas. "I propose a meeting with the Sarzonians. After all, we're seemingly the sole voice of reason for our nation. Believe it or not, the Sarzonians may be willing to help us."

"I wouldn't count on it," replied Hack. "But you're right. It's a sensible move to at least try. So, how do you propose getting a message out to them?"

"I have a few ideas," Status smirked.
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Posted: Sep 16 2010, 03:05 PM
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The intercom chimed as Patinkin awoke from her slumber.

"Admiral Patinkin, incoming message."

"What the hell does Admiral Tracy want now, Brad?" she said, looking at the clock next to the intercom on the desk in her quarters. "Doesn't he know it's 0100 hours?"

"It's not Admiral Tracy, sir."

That seemed to stir Patinkin out of her half-asleep funk. She eyed the speaker where Endicott's voice was coming from.

"Then who is it?"

"Uh, sir you're not going to believe this," Endicott said with slight hesitation in his voice.

"I'll believe just about anything at this point, Captain."

"That's just it, sir. The transmission seems to be coming from ... Quicksilver."

Patinkin's eyes now were wide awake.

"I'm on my way. I'll take it in my ready room in five."

"Aye, sir."

She looked in the mirror and quickly grabbed her duty uniform and put it on. She grabbed the hat she sometimes wore on deck. It would now have to pull the double duty of covering the early onset of bed head.

She walked to the bridge and almost curtly said, "as you were," when Lieutenant Misty Barkley announced, "Admiral on the bridge." Patinkin quickly opened the door to her ready room and punched the button.

"Admiral," Aran said. "Please be aware that this transmission is encrypted."

"I am aware," Patinkin said. "It took us a bit longer to figure out the encryption than usual. We don't usually use this channel."

"With good reason," he said. "Look, I have a ... proposal for you, but we'll have to meet with your government officials to present it to them. Do you think you have a way to arrange that?"

"Considering the fact that your government is in the midst of a rather ugly civil war, I don't," she began before thinking for a second, dragging out the word don't until the idea formed in her mind.

"Actually," she said, I do have an idea. "We do have a few special forces operatives on board one of our ships. I can instruct them to send a special ops submarine with operatives who can bring you to the sub. That way, you can leave Falcanian soil undetected. We'll then bring you back to our ship and I can send it to Nicksia. I can have Deputy Senior Vice President for Defence Jared Noah meet with you to outline the details of your proposal."

"Sounds good," Aran said.

"I'll instruct the captain of the ISS Wright to send the team. Dawn shouldn't be breaking until about 0645 hours. That should buy them a little time."

"Thank you," Aran said. "Good luck," he said, ending the transmission.

"To us all," Patinkin whispered before returning to the bridge.

"Lieutenant Willingham," she said as she crossed the threshold from the ready room to the centre seat. "Open a channel to Captain Thomas of the ISS Wright. Maximum encryption."

"Aye, sir," Willingham said. "Channel open."

"Yes, Admiral?"

"Marti, I need you to send one of your special ops teams to the shore. You are to pick up members of the leadership of Quicksilver at an address we're sending on a coded channel STAT."

"Understood, sir," Thomas said. "Will our forces know which members to grab?"

"That information will also be coming on the coded channel. I'm afraid I can't get too detailed over the airways. We're encrypting this right now, but there's not telling if Tarrick's bunch or Lockroft's lackeys are able to decrypt it."

"Acknowledged."

"Good luck, Captain."

"Thank you, sir."

As soon as the transmission ended and the information came up from the coded channel, Thomas printed it out.

"Lieutenant Barkley, please report to the bridge," she said, punching the intercom.

"On my way, sir."

Within a few minutes, Thomas was talking to Barkley.

"Sam, I want Alpha Team to go to this address. Take Submarine 382 to the shore and have Bravo Team stay with the sub."

"Isn't that going to be a bit risky? Relations between Sarzonia and Falcania aren't too cozy."

"I'm aware," she said. "Risk is part of the game if you want to sit in that chair," she said, pointing to her chair in the centre of the bridge.

"You have two hours. Good luck."

"Aye, sir," Barkley said. He knew he didn't have much time to waste. He pushed the button on the intercom.

"Alpha and Bravo teams, meet me on Deck 12."

"Aye, sir," came the responses.

Barkley didn't acknowledge them. He was too busy getting himself to Deck 12, where the small submarine was kept.
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Posted: Sep 17 2010, 07:51 AM
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"This is a bad idea, Status."

"It's the only one we've got."

The address was a secluded dockside villa in the north-west suburbs of Mathdon. Very expensive, very upmarket. A stretch of private beach not a hundred yards from the back door.

"But all six of us? with no bodyguards?" Benila was pacing up and down the kitchen, her shoes clicking on the marble floor.

"The more people we bring," Farrell intoned, "the more at-risk we are. But if we're to have a meeting with the Sarzonian brass, we're going to have to all be there. You realise that between us we have contacts in every field of politics, military and industry. That's our chief asset."

"Farrell's right," Status commented. "We're going to wait here for the Sarzonian spec-ops to take us out of here."

"Bloody submarines..." Hack shuddered, and Status knew why. All Falcanians had an innate discomfort with water. It got in the flights, it bogged them down, it'd been known to freeze them to death. No wonder the conventional navy had been abandoned decades before. Falcania still maintained ports, up until the death of the Old King, as several foreign shipping companies leased their wharfs for import and export. For the last ten years or so, all Falcanian-owned "shipping" companies had used cargo-converted C3 airships. The arrangement worked until Tarrick shut down the airports. Falcania was now relying solely on foreign sea-shipping companies for all their imports, and since war had all-but broken out, they were looking more than a mite twitchy about sticking around.

"Look," Status said. "Just stay on watch. We don't want to alert anyone to our presence here, let alone that of the Sarzonians. Let them come to us."
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