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The Civil War in Sorthern Northland has taken a turn for the worst, with the government of Rhys O'Donnell ordering the destruction, not only of Beningrad, but of all major cities in mainland Sorthern Northland by use of the nations Nuclear Arsenal upon itself after impending upheaval in the government. It is believed that there will be minimal to no survivors on the Stralphi peninsula where the majority of Sorthern Northland lies.
Beningrad, the closest modern-day city to the glassed island of Tachbe, may now share Tachbe's historical fate, though no search parties have as yet arrived, VOIA drones have been sent to study the air quality and radiation levels in the region. With eerie similarity to the attack on East Gate City, no signs of life have yet been found.
There is currently no adverse impacts to the very-nearby Tropics of Vilita or Andossa Se Mitrin Vega, but winds are being monitored constantly new warnings will be issued if necessary. This is the first major recorded nuclear event in Atlantian Oceania since the Abbattoirian Atomic Trials.
Nearby in Vilita, the Atlantian Oceania Regional Hockey Championships have not been postponed and the Sorthern Northland hockey team, being told they could not return home, has opted to play out their remaining tournament games.
In the Restricted VOIA map provided to Atlantian Oceania Leaders, the red area shows the area where Vilitan Drones detected radiation in their initial flyovers, while the middle maroon band shows areas likely to see some levels of radiation in the coming days. Depending on winds, areas as far out as the black could see some slight effects, but VOIA believes no effects will be felt, regardless of wind conditions, outside the black region.
Click for Larger Image
What follows is a description of the events as they happened posted to the interweb from Sorthern Northland. Graphic Details may require reader discretion.
| QUOTE |
One final deep breath from Danel Bengochea as his commander issues the command to go into battle. A young man barely into his third decade, this is a situation that Bengochea has experienced more than he ever wanted. Over the months of the war he'd lost friends, seen the people he grew up with either killed or flee, or worse, killing for the other side. This though had something of a different feel to it, this wasn't just a battle in the war, it was the battle. Emerge victorious here and they'd finally have control of the country. A nation freed from years of oppression.
Already in the Battle of Beningrad heavy losses were being felt by both sides. For Bengochea it had seemed as though comrades had fallen all around him, hundreds must be dead already.
“DUCK!”
They was no thought in Bengochea's next action, he just willingly obliged without question. A good job as well as he heard a bullet whizzing over his head, the man behind him however wasn't so fortunate. Having seemingly not heard the warning the bullet sped straight through his neck. One more down, but certainly not the last. There would be many casualties before the fight was over.
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The fighting had been tough. Not only were many men and women falling but the wayside, but Beningrad itself was. Fighters were not only having to avoid bullets, bombs and blasts, but also collapsing buildings and the resulting fires and dust clouds. The rebels though had the the upper hand, they were slowly forcing the government forces back, and though the price they were paying was huge, their numbers seemed to be larger than those of the government.
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“RETREAT! RETREAT!”
Captain Jared Butler. He'd served in the Sorthern Army for a bit over a decade and had always held unquestioning loyalty to his superiors and to the state. Despite that though recent events had seen him begin to question that. There was nagging feeling inside of him that what he was fighting for was wrong, that the people he pledged his loyalty were wrong. The rebels, yes, they were an illegal movement, they were a threat to the nation, the nation that he'd sworn to protect, but did that make them wrong. Or was the nation wrong?
Whatever the case he'd made his bed and committed to it. The men under his command needed his leadership and low on morale and weapons retreating ad regrouping was all they could realistically achieve with a rebel tank division bearing down on them.
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Surveying the scene Rhys O'Donnell couldn't help but feel a sense of encroaching defeat. The Taoiseach had ruled over this country with an iron fist for many a year, for a couple of decades even. That rule had largely been built on the back of support from the military, but that very military was now failing him.
Looking out across Beningrad from his office in the top floor of the Dáil he could see the battle scarred landscape of a previously grand city. Smoke billowed and wafted across the ruins, whilst almost immediately below the rebels could clearly be seen over-running the remnants of the army. Time was running out.
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“Yes Taoiseach?”
“The launch codes. I want them activated.”
-----------------------------
“Taoiseach, are you sure?”
“Yes General, I'm commanding you to activate the launch codes.”
Once of O'Donnell's closest allies over the years General Xavier Porras clearly doubted his latest orders.
“You'll destroy everything. You'll kill us all. Ourselves, our own men, civilians, the rebels. Everyone. The country, everything.”
“Xavier.” looking into the eyes of his General whilst taking a final sip of whiskey, O'Donnell spoke his words solemnly, in a calculating manner, but most of all with conviction, “Look out there. Look out the window, go on. Do it.”
It was hardly a postcard sight, a previously vibrant city now lay as grey dreary smoke filled ruins, former landmarks long wiped from the face of it. Gunfire could be heard, whilst rockets and shells continued to pound certain areas.
O'Donnell continued, “What is there to save? They've already murdered Sorthern Northland. Destroyed it. There's nothing left now to save, she's taking her last few breaths. Put her, put us all out of this misery.”
“Yes Sir.”
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“COME ON! LET'S GET THE BASTARD!”
The rebels by now had overrun the government forces and were now storming the Dáil. Their target? Rhys O'Donnell. They had control of the nation now, but the symbolism of his regime falling still needed to take place. The noise of their charge however was deflated by a loud shriek from the skies above.
“What was...”
“Oh sh....!”
They may well have overrun the government, but in it's dying breaths the government had one final trick up his sleeve. With a sizeable nuclear arsenal under it's control it hadn't merely brought about the end of the rebels. It had obliterated everything.
Sorthern Northland is dead. Long live Sorthern Northland.
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Royal Falcon's Council of the Nation
Message from the desk of Ronnand Warst, Chairman of the Nation
At 4:05 this morning, I was awoken with terrible news. The FAV Feather, on patrol above the Vilitan cove, reported a series of nuclear detonations over the Stralphi Peninsula. Scout drones were sent in to investigate, and they reported catastrophic devastation, and near-complete loss of life.
The repercussions of this tragedy will be felt far and wide, by all the peoples of Atlantian Oceania, for decades to come, and in light of the relatively recent cessation of violence in our own nation, we feel it is our duty to ease the chaos that will ensue. The FAV feather has already been retasked, and her carrier group has established a forward command centre in the mountains of "International Territory Area 7", south of the affected region. Further resources are on their way from the Old Country, including a fully-equipped CBRN division to help coordinate relief. Falcania is enjoying a prosperous recovery, and we should like to channel some of this fortune into the region, in the form of humanitarian support for the survivors of the tragedy, and military security to prevent further loss of life in the conflict.
I would like to call on all leaders of AO to remember the spirit of Sorthern Northland's role in our great region, and to join us in the relief effort. |
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Falcania |
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Winging It Since 2004 |
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Daily Icarus
Editorial - International Correspondent Horuse Wight
Today the Chairman made a very public proclamation of his intent that Falcania shall lead some grand crusade to liberate the survivors and the future of Sorthern Northland. And very impressive it was too. Certainly since the Protectorate downed arms in the wreckage of Mathdon, Falcania has never been in a better position in AO. The new King reformed government, the economy has boomed back to a better position even than before the war, and we have even secured the post of regional delegate to the World Assembly. But critics have been questioning how robust this recovery will prove. Warst has been very vocal about his arrangements with the King, and very keen to rebut those same critics; this, then, must be seen as his great gamble. Clearly, if Falcania is seen to outdo Vilita in providing aid on the Regional Founder's own doorstep, then our place on the regional stage will be assured for centuries to come. However, if Warst overstretches Falcania's recovery, then there won't even be any jobs left for him to find after he's sacked.
And throughout all this to-and-fro about Falcanian commitment to relief, there remains the elephant in the room: In the Merlin Programme, Falcania maintains one of the more powerful nuclear arsenals in Atlantian Oceania. Twelve supersonic strategic bombers, each armed with a pair of Tercel missiles, on standby 24/7 to drop up to 96 thermonuclear warheads on any target the King sees fit. As the small but vocal group of unilateral disarmament advocates continue to be blithely ignored by King and Council, a few voices are beginning to question Falcania's ideological commitment to the cause.
Still, one thing is for sure. With only 9 months until the appointment of a new Council, one way or another, Warst's Legacy will be remembered by all.
For full coverage of the tragedy in Sorthern Northland, please see pages 1-3, 5, 7
Be sure to check out our interview with 'Guns & Nuns' star Katherie Bates on page 4!
This post has been edited by Falcania on Nov 29 2011, 12:43 AM |
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Falcania |
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Winging It Since 2004 |
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Posts: 776 |
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"Whats that, on the screen?"
OP: "Where?"
"Right there, just behind that brush, I think its..."
OP: "It's Moving!"
"Yes! Zoom in! Is there life?"
OP: "I can't tell yet what it is"
"Loop around, see what you get"
OP: "Loop commenced"
*Drone begins reprogrammed flight pattern*
"Now lets see what we'v.... WHOA! What the hell was that"
OP: "Looked like a Falcanian Drone sir."
"What!?! A Falcanian Drone?! It almost hit us!"
OP: "We've just done a loop sir, it must have been tailing us."
"How long have they been here?"
OP: "Arrived last night, quite a few in numbers as well"
"Have we communicated with them yet?"
OP: "Not that I know of sir. We've just been following our plan"
"DAMMIT! How many times do I have to say it. COLLABORATE COLLABORATE COLLABORATE. This is a damn humanitarian effort here, we aren't at war!!"
OP: "We will contact the Falcanian's immediately"
"No. Wait, don't contact them yet. Do you think they've seen this sign of life on the southeastern island?"
OP: "They did not loop around sir, they have continued on the original course"
"Get some choppers or some hovercraft to that Island immediately. Radiation suits on."
OP: "Sir even if there is life now..."
"Slim chance is better than no chance. We need boots on the ground, go see whats happening."
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There was quite a rabble rousing in the big silky hall of the Nellies in Nellietopolis. And some several million purple-stinging nellies had assembled for a gander at what was supposed to be the resurrection of the old Nellietopia. And assembled with them was the hard-core corps of the AFLAC. And they stood as the news came in from a wide variety of sources.
"Sorthern Northland has been attacked, its nuclear arsenal turned against itself. Its population is presumed dead or dying, the remnants of the rebellion sweeping country likewise dead or dying. At this point, it is fair to assume that Sorthern Northland is dead."
And a jovial cry filled the air - the longtime nemesis of the bovine geese now deceased - only remember, these are geese and nellies doing the screaming. Any human nearby would have probably heard incoherent screeching, honking, and maybe some exotic sounds that would either be soothing or irritating to the ear (unfortunately, not even hyperbole would aptly describe it). In any event, there was much rejoicing.
Except for one character. Guard Duck - the not-so-famous-but-quite-infamous commander of the AFLAC. Of all those sworn to hate Sorthern Northland, it was he who first declared war on Sorthern Northland - and was summarily ignored (along with everyone else in AFLAC) for the past 3279 years - ironically, longer than the mere existence of AFLAC itself, let alone Sorthern Northland. But amid the cries of ecstasy, there lingered a quantum of doubt in Guard Duck's mind - surely, there was one left alive? So he thought, and while the rest of Nellietopia rejoiced in their return and the demise of their long-unavowed foe, he plotted.
He first plotted a 9'x9' garden using 54' of 2"x4" wood to construct a barrier, with a remainder of 18' of wood, which he used to craft a giant wooden lance and emblazoned the words "SIC SEMPER MORS AD SORTHNORTHTERRAE" in blood red (using the blood of blood tree - yes, those things grow in Nellietopia...). And after he had plotted his garden, he plotted his next move to conquer Sorthern Northland.
The Nellies and AFLAC had a nice conversation, which unfortunately escapes a good translation. But we've decided to try anyway.
"But they're all dead, aren't they?"
"No, that's what they want you to think! I mean, who nukes themselves? It's obviously a cover for them, and they're too scared to face the almighty might of AFLAC!"
"Come on, Duck. You know no one takes us seriously. I mean, we do have an awesome armed fleet of exotic plants and animals, but beyond that, we're cute and adorable - most of us at least. Who'd want to fight us?"
"That doesn't matter! We need to fight and kill the last Sortherner. We need to make sure the job is done, if they're not all dead, then they're gonna be."
"*sigh*" <<< fortunately, our translators managed to pick that one up unambiguously. One hollow victory...
"We're going to lead the bovine goose aircorps to Sorthern Northland, and we're going to hunt the Sortherners until they are no more! And then people will fear AFLAC!"
"Come to think of it, don't you think it's unwise to invade Sorthern Northland after they've just nuked themselves? After all, there is all of that harmful radiation lingering about."
"We'll just take a vacuum and suck it all out of the area."
"What?"
"Sure, humans do it all the time. Whenever there's a nuculear explosion, they always use vacuums to suck it out. Otherwise, how else do they continue to procreate without having mutant babies? I mean, look at all of the nukes flying left and right!"
"You just said 'nu-cu-lear'. It's nu-clear."
"I know. Nuculear."
"Nu-clear."
"Nuculear."
"Nu-clear!"
"Nuculear."
"Nu-"
"Nu-"
"-clear."
"-clear."
"Nu-clear."
"Nuculear."
After this, there was some unusual grumbles and grunts from the nellies as they went their, and the duck and his bovine geese companions lined up for take off. Yeah, we're not sure what they said, but when you hire Dancougarite interns to do your translating, it's only a wonder you don't get empty paper back. |
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The flight of F-6 "PreyII" strike fighters stormed over LCpl Mossi's head as his fireteam secured the ridge. The terrain was fair, well, fair enough. Rough scrubland dominated the area around Feather Command Post. He turned to look over his shoulder, at the base. Two of the great prewar C-3 bulk conveyors lay, more than 200 metres nose-to-tail, three times longer than the biggest jumbo jet and as vast in its other dimensions. Around them was the fledgling outpost. Even at this distance, he could see the men working to erect the prefab structures that would form his home for the foreseeable future, not to mention the central Falcanian military command post in this sector of AO. He had been briefed; this was to be the first postwar deployment of the Combined Strike Force, and according to the idle chat in the mess it was as much a publicity stunt as a shakedown. Still, nothing more dangerous than straggling rebels was expected; no match for the Skymarine 2nd Division, and their guardian angels, Feather Carrier Command. He looked up to the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of the FAV Feather, hovering 12 kilometres above the command post. Of course, she was nowhere to be seen, but Mossi felt safer knowing that the air superiority her four squadrons provided was watching over him and his team.
A glint caught his eye. He turned and saw his platoon leader signalling him. "Team 22C," he called into his radio, "we're relieved, return to base."
============
Artur Strongborn straightened his uniform. At 33, he had been the youngest man to have been promoted to the rank of marshal since Michal Hack, hero of the independence war and Falcania's first (and only) astronaut. Those were big boots to fill, and CSF Command had decided to fill them by putting Msl Strongborn in overall charge of Force Feather, comprising the FAV Feather herself, her logistical tenders, five aircraft wings, command facilities, and the 2nd Division of the Skymarine. His direct subordinates were a general, a low-admiral and an air commodore, with a combined age five times his.
He stepped through from his ready room to the buzzing activity that was the Command Bridge of the FAV feather. It was getting through to evening, and the view from the captain's rail was quite spectactular. But there was no time for this. "Midshipman, do you have those reports for me, yet?"
"Aye, marshal." The young midshipman handed the young marshal a clipboard. "Feather Command Post is 100% operational, and should be fully fortified within two days."
"Excellent work. And the drones?"
"We've picked up isolated pockets on the mainland, sir. One division of rebels in the countryside, they fired on our drone, no damage was sustained... by all accounts, the poor blighters were dying of radiation sickness. Reckon the operator did them a favour."
"Reckoning aside, midshipman," Strongborn replied with a stern glance, "what of the south-east island?"
"We're doing fly-bys sir, no indication of any life. Our intelligence does suggest that Vilitan drones are operating in the same area as we are, but we've yet to discover any. Oh, and one last thing, marshal, the CBRN specialists from central command arrived this afternoon, and they've begun their training regime."
"That shall be all, midshipman." Strongborn sighed. He'd put it off long enough, but the time was nigh. He returned to his ready room and typed a brief communiqué.
| CODE | ATTN: VOIA
MESSAGE FROM FAV FEATHER
SECURITY CLEARANCE 2-A
MESSAGE DATED 23-622-31
GREETINGS VOIA. THIS IS MARSHAL ARTUR STRONGBORN OF THE FALCANIAN COMBINED STRIKE FORCE. AS YOU ARE NO DOUBT AWARE, WE HAVE BEEN TASKED WITH PEACEKEEPING AND HUMANITARIAN OBJECTIVES IN THIS PART OF THE REGION AS WELL AS IN THE FORMER TERRITORIES OF SORTHERN NORTHLANDS. WE HAVE ESTABLISHED A COMMAND POST ON THE SHORE SOUTH OF TACHBE, NEAR THE NOJIKAN BORDER. AS YOU ARE THE ONLY OTHER FORCE CURRENTLY ON A RELIEF MISSION WE SUGGEST FULL COOPERATION. WE CAN BE REACHED ON FREQUENCY 25236. |
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Falcania |
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Winging It Since 2004 |
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Posts: 776 |
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"This is NOT what we bargained for."
Chief Paladin Rhys Bélanger was not a happy man. The abandonment of The Kingdom of the Midlands had been controversial - a sideral portion of the population had wanted to stay, even if they were the only nation left in the Midlands. He had staked his re-election, really his entire place in NMS history, on making this move. Yesterday he had announced his nation's new prospective location: right at the junction of two continents, and very near the geographic center of AO. Aside from sports-talk nuts griping about having the Milchamans just across the water, the announcement had gone over just fine. But this threatened to change everything.
"What, exactly, am I going to say on the television tonight? 'Sorry, but some of our new neighbors have flipped their -explicitive removed- and nuked themselves right into the history books?' This is like moving into a new neighborhood, looking out the windows and watching your new neighbors smoking crack at 9 A.M."
"No, wait." He sighed. "Crack doesn't contaminate everyone's crops." He walked over to the Paladinal sideboard and poured two fingers of scotch, taking a rather indecent gulp right afterwards. Slamming the glass down on the board, he turned to face his chief of staff, who had been watching silently and somberly as his boss fumed aloud. His lieutenant held up a thin manila folder.
"Atmos boys are saying that the cloud's not gonna come anywhere near the site. And nobody in CD has heard any alarms go off yet."
CD, or Operation Continental Drift, was the moving of the entire NMS from the empty hulk of The Kingdom of the Midlands to their new home in AO. If radiation clouds blew onto the project, two trillion ounces were up in smoke, and Bélanger's election prospects would be as radioactive as his erstwhile new home.
"Thank god. One bit of cesium over the line and they'd maroon us in the wasteland before sprinting back home." Bélanger's natural instincts for damage control were slowly whirring into place; his pupils narrowed, his pulse and breathing slowed back to a more natural rate, and he was able to go back to his chair and sit back.
"Send out some lab types. And let's start writing this speech. If I'm going to go down as history's greatest moron, I'd at least like to go down as an eloquent moron."
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Eighteen hours later, the research vessel NMS Docteur Penfield and the medical ship Five-Leaf Clover, accompanied by the destroyer NMS McIntosh, was making its way towards the glowing remnants of Sorthern Northland. Naval NBT teams and atmospheric scientists had been feverishly loading gear on and off of the Docteur Penfield, and new banks of sensors, as well as a small doppler radar set, graced the top of the research vessel. The Five-Leaf Clover was equipped to handle radiation exposure to either the research teams or any possible survivors. The McIntosh was there just in case those survivors were less than happy to see them; although some crank had worked off his nervous energy by distributing a set of fake "orders" directly the crew to ready themselves for a "radioactive zombie onslaught."
The gallows humor didn't do much to dispel the nervous energy on board the ships, as every crew member anxiously checked the closest Geiger counter at every opportunity. |
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Estrianii Raelea Vega had heard enough. The damn drunks had finally done themselves in and now it was becoming evident that parts of the DSE were now facing a very possible threat from radiation fallout. It did seem as the danger would be mostly in the western provinces and not likely to effect the vastly more populated east, but that was of little consequence as two of the DSE’s largest research and developmental zones were under threat of fallout. Eros especially was of much concern. With a highly active genetic engineering program that had suffered its own issues in the recent past, there was no way to tell what increased levels of radiation would produce.
But all steps domestically that could be taken were already in progress. The entirety of the west had been placed on alert and citizens ordered to stay inside as much as possible until further notice. The minimal supply of Potassium Lodide pills currently on hand had been procured and shipped west towards major cities such as Radience and Falcione, while the production of the inexpensive anti-radiation drug had been ordered into full production. While most domestic experts agreed with Vilitan officials in that only Radience and Thryvist were in any form of danger, there was no use taking chances. The pills would be needed at least in parts of Maraque and in the remains of Sorthern Northland.
Now was the time to put the military into action and joint the search for survivors being led by Vilita and Falcania. The VDF Navy would set up a perimeter near the Bear Islands and send its drones to search the northern regions of the country for survivors as well as the unclaimed territory between SN and Maraque. A trio of unclaimed islands as well as An Blascoad Mor would also require a search incase of peoples needing immediate help. This would be a huge undertaking to say the least. One thing was certain - the face of AO and Nothandryun in particular had changed dramatically for the worst.
Slowly she turned to face the camera. It was time.
“Today the Draggonnii Socialist Empire steps outside of itself to lend aid in this time of regional disaster. Sorthern Northland as we know it is no more but there may be survivors in isolated pockets who have escaped the devastation this once proud nation has inflicted upon itself. We will join the search for those survivors and offer asylum for any who wish to take it. The governments of Vilita and Falcania have already begun their relief efforts. In an unprecedented move I have decided to open the ports of Kelsey in the south and Radience in the north to those governments so that they may reprovision and make repairs as needed. These two ports may also be used as staging points for any other nation wishing to join the search and/or relief efforts. We call upon the great nations of our region to lend aid during this turbulent time. Thank you and may the Mother Star shine brilliantly for you.”
ASMV Map
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(OOC - Apologies for contradicting a couple of the RPs already posted, but it was my admittedly unstated intention that whilst the mainland would be destroyed Inis na Dún (the island to south-east) would escape more or less intact.)
Inis na Dún had long been a province associated with violence, and yet ironically it had been the only one of the Sorthern provinces to remain free of the civil war. Many on 'The Inish' as it's residents refer to it would of course claim it not to be a Sorthern province at all. Two years had passed since the referendum that voted in favour of autonomy from Beningrad and in those two years those running the island had taken as much autonomy as they could.
Whilst Inis na Dún officially still remained a province of the land across the Tailteann Strait, the 20 kilometre long Tailteann Bridge was more a de facto international border than the provincial border that it legally was. The war across the water however meant that traffic in recent months had almost exclusively been one way.
Some of the more hard line and cynical nationalists on the island reckoned the glut of refugees from the mainland to merely be a Sorthern ploy to 'recolonise' the island. Ethnic dilution for those hard-liners was a concern, escaping Sortherners had seen the island's population double, but for the majority of islanders it was a simple matter. The hundreds of thousands of Sortherners may be foreign, but they were still people. People escaping war and the loss of everything they had, to offer what accommodation and help they could was the least they could do. And that had been the story of the civil war for Inis na Dún. Not a battlefield as the other provinces were, but safe haven for those who had lost everything in the other provinces.
If the fighting itself however had been hidden from Inis na Dún's view the conclusion of the war couldn't have been. Many along the north coast had spotted the jets heading towards the mainland on a flight path hugging the coast of the former West Pocono across the Straits of Inishnadun from the island. The sound of the bombs being dropped had been heard. Crowds in Tailteann watched as Durness, the town at the other end of the Tailteann Bridge burned on the horizon. In Móinéar an Glas, the capital of the island, crowds gathered on the waterfront to watch a large mushroom cloud billowing above what was probably a ruined Sorthern Northland.
The people of Inis na Dún could only stand and helplessly watch as their neighbour was destroyed. Yet rather miraculously they themselves would not fall to the same fate. South-westerly winds would see the worst of the radiation blown away from the island. Over the years many had died fighting for Inis na Dún's separation from Sorthern Northland, but in the end it would be Sorthern Northland fighting itself that saw the mainland and Inis na Dún separate fully. |
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The hovercrafts had landed on the beach of the Island Inis na Dún southeast of the Sorthern Northland mainland. This was the same Island where Vilitan Drones had spotted potential signs of life the night before. Now, under the dark of night, it appeared that the worst fears of the search party would be realized. No signs of life anywhere.
"Look over there" one operative said, "Smoke in that chimney and a light is on, lets go check it out"
A group of 4 carefully approached the home, careful not to tear their radiation suits on a stray twig or debris.
"Thats strange" another operative said," the drones reported radiation in this area, but the geiger counter is pegged with nothing"
The group approached the door and attempted the handle. No good. So they took a small explosive charge and got out of the way.
"Door Cleared!" was the call as the group entered the home. The first operative turned to the right.
*thwak*
"What the!" the operative said after being smacked in the head with a frying pan "Oh! Oh! A Survivor! Hello!"
-- "Of course I'm a survivor what are you doing knocking down my door!"
"Sorry mam we didn't think anyone was alive here"
-- "Alive? We're all Alive, there were no missiles fired at us"
"Yes but the radiation, the drones haven't spotted anyone clearly"
-- "Drones? What are you talking about?"
"Planes, flying over head, haven't seen people walking about"
-- "Do you think we are idiots? We're not going to walk about outside when we've got perfectly good homes to help shelter us if the winds change"
"Fair Point. Hadn't thought of that. Why haven't you called for help"
-- "We're all doing just fine, the explosions must have severed some communication lines from the main land. Bill was going to go take his boat and go communicate with some folks if no one came, but we figured someone would eventually come."
"Well thats amazing! Let me go radio this news in. And we'll get someone to fix your door."
OP: Sir, the drones must have been wrong! We're on the ground here on the Island, no reading from the geiger counters, people are alive!
- The Drones are never wrong.
OP: Must be this time sir! Incredible!
- The Drones are never wrong. The Analysts must have been.
OP: Hows that sir?
- The Drones were flying thousands of feet in the air. I'll bet my bottom dollar those analysts didn't factor in altitude in their calculations and predictions of the radiation effects.
OP: Really? Well, good news for the people of this Island.
- Indeed. |
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Guard Duck was well on his way, leading the Bovine Goose Corps to the remnants of Sorthern Northland. There was a heavy military presence around the islands, but it did not seem that any of them paid heed to the uncommonly large flocks of geese approaching the territories. Needless to say, there were casualties passing the circling aircraft... Brave souls, putting up the valiant fight against flying monstrous heaps of metal and unmanned aircraft...
But that was not the fight of the day. Guard Duck was focused. He was going to launch a full-scale attack against the people of Sorthern Northland, and they would rue the day they nuked themselves! Although to be fair, they probably didn't need a bunch of belligerent birds to do it in for them. The Corps made their descent into the charred and scattered lands. Hardly anything was alive.
"honk honk honk!" went one goose.
"quack." was the simple reply. And instantaneously, the Bovine Goose Corps was suited in NPC hardware. They waddled in the ruins, with a fine dust of radioactive snow littering the ground. What life there was seemed a long distant memory. The only thing scattering in the ruins were tiny little bugs that not only survived the blast and the radioactivity, but thrived by feeding off the scat and debris. The smell of roasted Sortherners appealed to the geese, but it was not why they had come. They were there to finish the job. Maybe there was no job to finish?
In that instant, a rumbling swept under the feet of the bovine geese, and Guard Duck stood alert that something big had come. It broke through the ground, and a giant mutant worm started to attack the geese!
"QUACK!!!", the commands were barked, and the geese heeded. They lined up in attack formation and proceeded to peck the worm. At first, it did little to hurt or hinder the worm, who greedily gobbled up goose after goose. But in time, with repeated pecking attacks, and the help of a bazooka that Guard Duck happened to have hidden behind him (somewhat mysteriously at that), the worm fell over, its head blown to bits and its midsection pecked to a miserable pulp.
Just then, another squadron of geese arrived to support the Corps. "honk honk honk!" they cried.
It seemed just the news that Guard Duck wanted to hear. The Bovine Goose Corps was on its way again. |
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The journey inland was slow and tedious and to the three men who occupied the heavily armed and armored search and rescue rover it seemed as if an eternity had passed in the few short hours since their departure from the northern coast and the bulk of the VDF forces who had been sent tom lend aid to any surviving Sortherners. The results of the first 48 hours of searching had only revealed three drunken Sorhtern fishermen attempting to find their way home.
Other than that the rescue mission thus far had been a grand exercise in futility. All cities of all sizes had been hit hard when the nukes were fired and no survivors had been found in any that had been searched. There was no news of a hopeful fashion such as the Vilitans had announced with survivors having been found. Aerial drones and ROV’s had all turned up the exact same thing - nothing.
And thus the reason for the current mission. The rover and its crew were to make their way into the more sparsely populated regions inland where people might have had a legitimate chance to survive. Drones raced all over the sky collecting the bleak pictures that showed no life. ROV’s did not have the necessary range for this.
“Captain. The radiation levels have decreased substantially that immediate survival could be possible. Now initializing biological scanners. If there is anyone to be found, we will find them.”
The Captain nodded his approval. This mission had him more than a little on edge. So much devastation and lack of life were not natural and he would be glad to be leaving it all behind.
* * * * * |
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"OK, Squad 22. You've been drilling for this." LCpl Mossi sat in the back of the Skyranger as it hurtled through the sky at Mach 1.4, listening to the squad commander, Sgt Balner. "Our ETA is 13 minutes. Section C is first. We spread out, we search, we report back. Maximum mission time is 6 hours; edict from Command that until a more stable analysis of the radiation levels, we're not to stay in the red zone longer than that. You each have your care package; if you find any civilians, one package per family."
12 minutes later, the Skyranger broke from the cloud bank, with its escort of two PreyIIs, and began the descent to the city of Móinéar an Glas, the capital of Inis na Dún. Mossi put on his respirator at the gesture from Balner, and Section 22C prepared for deployment.
Squad 22 fanned out from the Skyranger. They had landed in a town square of some kind, tactically advancing and spreading out to secure the LZ. LCpl Mossi saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and whipped around his FALC to bear on the assailant.
The rather shocked-looking woman dropped her shopping bags and fell to her knees in surrender. Through the eyepieces of his respirator, Mossi had a limited view of other pedestrians looking on in awe at the Falcanian soldiers, standing in the middle of a pedestrian shopping precinct in CBRN suits. After a moment, Mossi realised his mistake, and hurriedly pulled up his weapon. "Sergeant Balner," he called into his radio. "There are people here. Not refugees, just people going about their business."
"Stand down, Squad 22, our intel has been faulty. This is meant to be a ghost town. I'm getting on to base, in the meantime stand down."
Mossi saw his men lower their rifles. He slung his own around to his back and walked to the woman. He crouched down and began to comfort her, though his clumsy rubber-suited hands made it feel awkward. "Hello, can you understand me? I'm with the Falcanians, we're here to help." The woman looked up at him, mollified but nonplussed. Overhead, the PreyIIs thundered past.
============
"That was a bloody embarrassment!" Mossi heard one of the privates thunder, in the quarantine mess later that day. They had gotten back to Feather Command Post, gone through the decontamination procedures, and now the whole of platoons 1 and 2 were confined to the radiological quarantine. The view amongst the men was that Falcanian CBRN procedures were stringent; perhaps a bit too stringent for those who had only gone to Inis na Dún. The most prevailing emotion though, was shock. Shock that the tiny island had gotten off so unscathed. |
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Falcania |
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Winging It Since 2004 |
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Posts: 776 |
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The rover ground to a stop. Initially the scanners had picked up some form of life in theis quadrant but after more than an hour of searching there was nothing to be found. That is until the rover had crested a small rise to find the smoking wreckage of an unmanned aerial drone. Many had been sent out by VDF orders to search for signs of life. But this was not one of their own. The styling was all wrong.
“Who’s drone is that?” The question was asked from the rear of the rover where the communications tech had been resting. “Captain, that’s not one of ours is it?”
The captain was slow in his reply. “Looks to be Falcanian in origin. See the wing structure. It is different than what most other nations would call conventional.”
“What do you think brought it down?”
Again the Captain was slow to answer. “Could have been mechanical failure. This is a long way out to find one of theirs as they have positioned themselves off the southern borders of Sorthern Northland. Could be almost anything. Call it in and see what they want us to do.”
Several minutes passed as the Captain stared at the wreckage of the drone. Something just didn’t add up. Something about this whole situation screamed that it was wrong.
“Captain, we have lost contact with base. I cant raise anyone on any channel.”
“Try it ag… Hold on!” The Captain slammed the rover into full reverse and sped back up the rise. The drone had not crashed. It had been shot down. “Gonna be a bumpy ride!”
“Captain! The biological sensors are going crazy. Picking up movement from nearly every direction.”
The man who had been sleeping awoke as the rover bounced hard over a large rock.”What the Hell…”
“Captain! Multiple missiles incoming!”
“may the Mother Star help us! Brace for impact!”
The rover shuddered as the first missile impacted its side. It would not take many direct hits like that one… The second missile struck the rover square on the nose and the world went black for the three men inside as countless numbers of people descended upon the newly found outsiders. |
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"You're telling me you want to bother someone higher about this?"
Intelligence Officer Dannel Mirin rewound his footage station again. "Sir, I took this footage from the memory dumps. Official ruling is a radioactivity-induced malfunction." He hit play. Liason Consultant Jerem Usnor sighed inwardly as his subordinate showed him his mad conspiracy theories.
The footage was of one of the White Raven drones, on patrol fairly deep into the red zone. The footage crackled alarmingly with a degraded signal. Mirin paused the footage. "Look at this cluster here. Four flares in a t-shape"
"Radiological burn. There's spots of it all over the camera."
Mirin cued up another video. "This one was taken three years ago, the White Raven Mark 2 during development." The footage showed a drone doing an overpass of a mocked-up airbase. At the bottom of the footage, from a jeep, there was the flash of a surface-to-air missile. A cluster of four flares in a t-shape.
"I want to take this as high as it can go."
Usnor looked at Mirin. "You want to take this to Marshal Strongborn?"
Mirin nodded.
Usnor looked at the footage again. "Okay." |
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Falcania |
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Winging It Since 2004 |
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Posts: 776 |
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