Omega124
Challenging Fate
OOC: In a vote for "Most poorly managed Military", would you guys vote for me or bestrfcplayer?
INES II: Gone is the Old Guard
- Thread starter Imago
- Start date
Shadowbound
Incorrugible
- Joined
- Mar 4, 2007
- Messages
- 4,079
You don't have a military.
Omega124
Challenging Fate
OOC: I HAD a military last turn.
TheLizardKing
Let's talk Michelle.
Considering that the Polish military was halted by Airline clerks, for not having travel visa's.. definently him.
Yes, your military was mismanaged, but everyone makes mistakes. It was your first turn, or what have you, and that is somewhat excusable.
Yes, your military was mismanaged, but everyone makes mistakes. It was your first turn, or what have you, and that is somewhat excusable.
Omega124
Challenging Fate
OOC: Yes, it was my very first turn in an NES.
Crezth
i knew you were a real man of the left
Who's arguing what? I expressed my opinion that these awards seem pointless. I explained why I felt that way. Fair enough, though, you have every right to address the feelings I expressed in a public forum.
Well, it's not a perfect metaphor. Allow me to rephrase. It's like playing an online historical simulation with several other like-interested people with great expectations but halting in the game's premature youth, and using what is effectively the pregame to determine what merits need recognition.
I should hope so, simply because I know you don't filch on your work. That was never my concern.
Right, and that's a good point. I won't begrudge Das or (Iggy? he ran LINES, right? please correct me if I'm wrong) their right to dole out such awards, but I'm sure the situation is comparable, no matter how competent or popular the moderator is. I'm not ribbing you because you're Imago. I'm not even ribbing you. I expressed my distaste is all.
Fair enough, and it is precisely because it's not the perfect pause/ending/halftime/whatever that it is not a good candidate for a time to give awards.
Yes, the community of people are being self-serving. They are serving their collective interests. It is worth noting that there's nothing wrong with that. Awards, however, are not a conclusion to a story-based game. A conclusion is. This is self-aggrandizement because it's a pat-on-the-back, and its relevance to the game itself is very nil. I will reiterate that I expressed distaste at giving pointless awards, not disapproval for the ceremony.
Been there, done that, experienced this sober reality. You make a good point though beneath your needless metaphor: if this is indeed the end of the NES, it's only fair to make the players feel like what they were in was a full experience. Achievements is a good way of seeing to that, at least, because blue ribbons look pretty even if they're just synthetics sewn together to spell "Number 1!"
Don't flatter yourself. I may not be a lot of things but I don't esteem myself on the opinions of internet strangers.
I disagree on principle that this is any real conclusion but at this point I'm beating a dead horse.
Agreed. You'll see my orders within the day, as well as one final story.
Circuit
Writing Letters
The Constantinople Federation's soldiers on parade
Parades were one of Cronus Xanthou's favorite past-times. Well, perhaps "past-time" was not the right word. Parades were important for showing the support for the DEP not only internationally but domestically as well; something that was needed as of recent. Opposition to the DEP had been growing, especially in the North. The way Xanthou saw it, he had two choices: one, he repeal the discriminatory laws in the North; two, he sick the military on them and show them who was boss.
Both choices were unappealing. He had plans for the military. There were far better uses for it than holding down the hatches domestically. Yeah, suppressing the nationalist movements early on was essential. But with the big bad wolf known as the People's Republic of Europe right next door, there were more important duties for the military than rebels.
And as for repealing the discriminatory laws...Xanthou really didn't contemplate it much, since there was no way to escape its pugnent scent. Greeks were meant to rule; Xanthou knew this in his heart. All good ideas could trace their roots to Greece: art, philosophy, mathematics, democracy...well, maybe not democracy. But there was no way to escape Greece's influence on the world; all things traced back to the Greek. What have Bulgarians or Turks brought? Islam? Exactly. No good came from them.
He was in the House of the Igetis--what had once been known as the Presidential Palace--at the doors, self-consciously padding down his uniform (which was basically the uniforms the Party officials wore, except more decorated, with medals and bands) and adjusting his armband and tie one last time. One of the other men with him, wearing a uniform similar to the Party uniform only with a different armband (where the Party members' armbands were black with a red trim and the Eagle and Crosshairs, his band was white and had a black Eagle and Crosshairs), walked up to him. "Are you ready, my Igetis?"
Xanthou smiled and looked at him. "I am, Sergeant Giziks. Just...habit."
"Yes, sir," Giziks said with a gleeful smile, and he fell back into rank. Xanthou chuckled silently to himself. The Talon Guard was a good idea, no doubt. A secret arm of the military directly under his control. No military tradition. No concept of ethics. They'd do whatever he said, no matter the cost. And there was no established heirarchy to challenge his authority. Protecting his person was only a part of the program.
He gave a nervous huff. Why am I nervous, he thought. There were far, far more critical moments in his campaign. A bad speech during his rise to power could have sent him careening into anonymity. This was a picnic in comparison to his other appearances. But soon, the doors swung open.
His turn in the parade was up.
A broad smile spread automatically across his face. He went into politician mode fast. He stepped from the shadows of the Palace into the bright sunlight. The avenue stretched out before the recently-constructed, neoclassical palace. Throngs of spectators, jubilant from the displays of black-suited soldiers in decorative dress and great black tanks, artillery, missiles, and trucks, flanked by the black and red flags of the Constantinople Federation/Dark Eagle Party (it had long surpassed the old flag of the Constantinople Federation in popularity), turned to look upon the Igetis, standing at the head of the steps of the Palace of the Igetis.
The cheers were earsplitting.
Many leaders would prefer to ride in a limousine or fancy car and wave at the crowd; or they would rather stand upon a balcony and watch as the military marched below them. Xanthou, though, was peculiar in that he would rather walk in the parade with the soldiers than just stand there. He strode down the steps, with the eight Talon Guard members surrounding him, submachine guns in hand. It was a large circle, so all could see Xanthou in the center, alone, with all his glory. The procession stepped onto the street, and conviniently merged with eight flag bearers, four of whom were carrying the Constantinople Federation's traditional flag, the other four carrying the DEP flag. Thus it continued after a line of goosestepping troops.
Xanthou had no idea why he had been so nervous. The job was easy. Just smile and wave. Smile and wave. Barricades kept back the mob, who were leaning over the fence in order to possibly catch the Igetis's attention. They wove miniature DEP flags. Now that he noticed it, he was pleased with the sheer number of DEP flags all along the avenue: carried by the color guard, on top of floats, by civilians, and hanging on the buildings all along the avenue, as well as giant flags fluttering on hastily-built flag poles atop buildings along the avenue. The sheer amount of black and red caused a jubilant feeling in Xanthou.
The procession continued. There wasn't much to this. Xanthou noted--with a slight bit of pleasure--that the only faces in the crowd were Greek. It appeared that the Talon Guard had done its job, just as Xanthou ordered: no one other than ethnic Greeks was safe, and they therefore should not come near. Not that Xanthou thought that anyone else would come even if they could. Good sign? Bad sign? There were ups and downs.
As the procession continued on, a tussle of some sorts emerged on the left bank of the avenue. Xanthou looked over. A couple drunks. No big deal. They now had the Talon Guard's complete attention; in fact, some broke rank to deal with it. Xanthou chuckled. Nice that some decided that this was a party to get drunk at. He looked over to his right.
A man had a pistol trained on him. He pulled the hammer back. Xanthou's jaw dropped. His eyes locked on with horror on the pistol. How? he wondered. Just...how?
Time slowed. The man, his arm extended over the rail...why didn't anyone notice? The Talon Guard was thoroughly distracted. And the crowd...how did they...the man pulled the trigger, and the gun discharged loudly.
Xanthou, in that fleeting moment of terror, did not notice a man jumping over the railing, yelling, running, sprinting, speeding to Xanthou. But not to Xanthou. Xanthou's line of sight between him and the barrel of the gun was cut. A man was inbetween.
He was shot. He took the bullet. Xanthou would live.
The Talon Guard heard the shot and turned their heads in the direction of the man. The crowd began to scream. The gunman, looking on the fallen man with wide eyes, looked up just in time for a bullet to pierce his skull right between the eyes.
And as for Xanthou, he didn't know exactly what to do. But one answer seemed to emerge above the others. With himself now safe, he stepped over to the fallen man. The man was breathing hard. Blood seeped through the clothing over his left chest. His eyes were wide, as was Cronus Xanthou's.
Xanthou screamed, "Doctor! Medic!" But he knew very well it was too late. As the Talon Guard rushed past to grab the body of the gunman, Xanthou looked closely at the man. He wasn't like the rest. All the others were clearly Greek, but he didn't look very Greek. In fact, he looked more...Northern.
His suspicions were confirmed when the man spoke. It was not Greek, Xanthou knew that much. But he could identify at least the origin of the word: the North. Lithuanian.
And then the man heaved a last breath and died, his eyes staring into the heavens, the corners of his mouth turned up only slightly.
One of the Talon Guards rushed to Xanthou's side, knealing to get at the same level. The crowd stirred and jostled in the background, though no one of any importance in the affair took notice. "My Igetis, are you all right?" the Guard asked.
Xanthou's neck snapped up to look the man in the eyes. His eyes narrowed to a piercing glare, the trademark dagger-grey eyes he had. "All right? No thanks to your miserable lot, yes! Instead a man here had to die to save my life, while you deal with drunks!"
The man hung his head. "I am sorry, my Igetis. The blame rests entirely upon the Talon Guard. We have failed you."
Cronus Xanthou was not done. "How did that man get so close anyway? And how was he able to bring a gun?"
The Guard looked up. "Your orders, President Xanthou. We were to check non-Greeks, not Greeks."
Why should I have to specify that, Xanthou thought. Ultimately, someone was cocky, and Xanthou didn't rule out the possibility that he had overestimated his support amongst Greeks. But he sighed. This would all be resolved later. He looked up to the fallen gunman. "Who was the gunman?"
"We're getting a profile on him. We don't know, but he appears to be a Hellenic Socialist."
Oh, joy! One of the militants. The Hellenic Socialists weren't a militant group in general, but this one must have been an outlier. Xanthou looked back to the man who saved his life. "And what about him?"
The Guard took a closer look. "He doesn't look Greek."
Xanthou nodded. "Didn't speak Greek either. Some Northern dialect. Just goes to show how well you checked out both Greeks and non-Greeks, huh?"
The Guard opened his mouth, but closed it as Xanthou continued: "Where's someone who knows what the word 'spasytel' means?"
"I've spent some time in the Ukrain, my Igetis," the guard said. "I believe the word mean, 'savior'."
Savior? From a Northerner? Something was not right here. The Igetis was almost assassinated by a Greek, and had his life saved by a Northerner, in a time where unrest in the region made them hate him more than anything. And this man was to save his life?
Perhaps he had to get a nap. Perhaps he had to give this man a hero's burial. Perhaps he needed to look again at his stance to race in the North. The questions did not end as he leaned on the dead man's chest.
TheLizardKing
Let's talk Michelle.
Great story, as always.
Circuit
Writing Letters
Thanks. Always appreciated.
Circuit
Writing Letters
FEAR's anthem, as sung by Vitas. Any who can't hit that high note have their vocal cords removed.
Link to video.
Link to video.
Too fruity. This is my anthem:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qbzh...0A02E9876&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=6
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qbzh...0A02E9876&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=6
The soldiers marched through Tunis with perfect form. As they went through the city units would peel off to head to their duties. The entire force was engineering corps. Building was heard around the clock in points all over Tunis. The populace had no idea what all the construction was for, nor how long it was to go on.
The people of Tunisia did know that the construction was taking place in every major city across the nation. Most assumed it was simply a revitalization effort or improvement campaign to employ all the refugees. They appeared to be right.
A vast underground mass transit system appeared to be in the works. Tunisians in general viewed this as being a positive, and only possible because of the refugees. Tunisia was in one of the great alliances and they had gone to war. All Tunisians knew the cowardly democratic pansies fired the first shot, but the Eastern Coalition would be the ones to finish the fight. They had conviction and most importantly Allah on their side.
Nihat Uzanlar didn't particularly care about any of that, he was simply glad to see all the refugees who had escaped the genocide that was about to take place back in Constantinople. The world had gone to war and Uzanlar found himself in one of the nations involved when he hadn't intended to be. But he had been added to a government team of scientists to further research on various war applications. Uzanlar and his friend Dr. Al-Sawari were both very disinclined to do weapons research so they turned to another field, biological enhancement. Tunisia was on the cutting edge of genetic improvements to make people unnaturally fast, strong, intelligent. Nihat Uzanlar Found the work to be rewarding and engrossing, two things he feared he would never feel again.
He had a feeling that Tunisia was not all that interested in the war though, they seemed pretty fixated on Simply being the big dog in the Muslim world. Tunisia truely saw itself as the rightful government of all Muslims and did not care too much beyond that. They did know however that the rest of the world would not leave them in peace unless they beat them down. Especially all those uppity Christian "democracies".
Uzanlar took a moment to stop by one of the construction sites as he walked to work. And he noticed the soldiers were carrying supplies into the sites. He was confused that didn't seem to fit with a transportation system. "Excuse me private. But why are you stocking up down here?" The soldier stopped and appeared to be about to ignore him when he saw the ID badge and the national clearence level it gave Uzanlar.
"Private Eftekhari at your service sir," the soldier said before carrying on; "It is in case somehow the enemy can take the fight to us. We have prepared bunkers in the transportation system designed to hold most of the population of the city. The glorious President wishes to ensure all of the people are cared for just in case."
Uzanlar nodded and thought that was actually not a bad idea. Based on the things Uzanlar was researching, especially the regeneration genetics from Lizards, and how surprisingly effective the gene manipulation around that had been, that it was unlikely the enemy could win. But apparently the President was not one to take chances on the lives of his citizens, well his Muslim citizens at any rate.
Private Eftekhari saluted and then continued in his work, and the way he carried himself only further backed up Uzanlar's belief that Tunisia would never fall. Well back to the genetics research he thought to himself and also remebered the name of the confident soldier and decided to request him as a research subject. I mean if you can improve on people why not improve the ones you have a good impression of?
The people of Tunisia did know that the construction was taking place in every major city across the nation. Most assumed it was simply a revitalization effort or improvement campaign to employ all the refugees. They appeared to be right.
A vast underground mass transit system appeared to be in the works. Tunisians in general viewed this as being a positive, and only possible because of the refugees. Tunisia was in one of the great alliances and they had gone to war. All Tunisians knew the cowardly democratic pansies fired the first shot, but the Eastern Coalition would be the ones to finish the fight. They had conviction and most importantly Allah on their side.
Nihat Uzanlar didn't particularly care about any of that, he was simply glad to see all the refugees who had escaped the genocide that was about to take place back in Constantinople. The world had gone to war and Uzanlar found himself in one of the nations involved when he hadn't intended to be. But he had been added to a government team of scientists to further research on various war applications. Uzanlar and his friend Dr. Al-Sawari were both very disinclined to do weapons research so they turned to another field, biological enhancement. Tunisia was on the cutting edge of genetic improvements to make people unnaturally fast, strong, intelligent. Nihat Uzanlar Found the work to be rewarding and engrossing, two things he feared he would never feel again.
He had a feeling that Tunisia was not all that interested in the war though, they seemed pretty fixated on Simply being the big dog in the Muslim world. Tunisia truely saw itself as the rightful government of all Muslims and did not care too much beyond that. They did know however that the rest of the world would not leave them in peace unless they beat them down. Especially all those uppity Christian "democracies".
Uzanlar took a moment to stop by one of the construction sites as he walked to work. And he noticed the soldiers were carrying supplies into the sites. He was confused that didn't seem to fit with a transportation system. "Excuse me private. But why are you stocking up down here?" The soldier stopped and appeared to be about to ignore him when he saw the ID badge and the national clearence level it gave Uzanlar.
"Private Eftekhari at your service sir," the soldier said before carrying on; "It is in case somehow the enemy can take the fight to us. We have prepared bunkers in the transportation system designed to hold most of the population of the city. The glorious President wishes to ensure all of the people are cared for just in case."
Uzanlar nodded and thought that was actually not a bad idea. Based on the things Uzanlar was researching, especially the regeneration genetics from Lizards, and how surprisingly effective the gene manipulation around that had been, that it was unlikely the enemy could win. But apparently the President was not one to take chances on the lives of his citizens, well his Muslim citizens at any rate.
Private Eftekhari saluted and then continued in his work, and the way he carried himself only further backed up Uzanlar's belief that Tunisia would never fall. Well back to the genetics research he thought to himself and also remebered the name of the confident soldier and decided to request him as a research subject. I mean if you can improve on people why not improve the ones you have a good impression of?
Abaddon
Deity
Finding it very hard to find the enthusiasm to write these orders 
Milarqui
Deity
Martí hid in a backstreet, waiting for the patrol to pass. Malditos moros, ¿por qué no se quedaron en sus casitas?
He knew the answer. World War III had started, and Iberia had been invaded by the Moors from the south and the French from the north, all of them probably on the orders from the tyrant of Vladivostok. The invasion had been terrible for the Iberian Armed Forces, for, even though they had managed to hold them back at several points, it had been at a great cost in men and matériel. And now, only the north and the center were still in the hands of the Iberians. Propaganda from the Moors continuously said that Madrid was about to fall, but Martí knew better than to pay attention to that. Madrid had held wonderfully against worse odds during the Spanish Civil War, so it was hoped amongst all the guerrilleros that the city would hold again. Hopefully with better results than the last time.
Meanwhile, he had heard, through the network of resistance fighters, that there was a big chance that the DFI would send help to Iberia in order to repeal the attacks from the Commie bastards. They would be more than welcome to come here. Martí hadn't wanted to send the franchutes and moros back home. Preferably in a pine pyjama.
Martí looked around, and saw that there were no moors in the coast (no pun intended), so he stepped out and continued running towards the resistance headquarters. The information he had in his pockets was sure worth having risked his life when he entered the enemy's HQ.
He knew the answer. World War III had started, and Iberia had been invaded by the Moors from the south and the French from the north, all of them probably on the orders from the tyrant of Vladivostok. The invasion had been terrible for the Iberian Armed Forces, for, even though they had managed to hold them back at several points, it had been at a great cost in men and matériel. And now, only the north and the center were still in the hands of the Iberians. Propaganda from the Moors continuously said that Madrid was about to fall, but Martí knew better than to pay attention to that. Madrid had held wonderfully against worse odds during the Spanish Civil War, so it was hoped amongst all the guerrilleros that the city would hold again. Hopefully with better results than the last time.
Meanwhile, he had heard, through the network of resistance fighters, that there was a big chance that the DFI would send help to Iberia in order to repeal the attacks from the Commie bastards. They would be more than welcome to come here. Martí hadn't wanted to send the franchutes and moros back home. Preferably in a pine pyjama.
Martí looked around, and saw that there were no moors in the coast (no pun intended), so he stepped out and continued running towards the resistance headquarters. The information he had in his pockets was sure worth having risked his life when he entered the enemy's HQ.
germanicus12
First Citizen of Rome
San Diego, California, 12:32 pm.
A woman watched as the convoy approached, as the lead car stopped she approached the window and a man with sunglasses showed her a badge and some papers. The woman nodded and stepped back, she looked to her companion and nodded, the gate slowly opened, both guards smartly saluted as the convoy moved through. When the last car passed the gate slowly rolled into place and the MP's once again assumed their position outside the San Diego Naval Facility. None of them spoke about the convoy that just passed or wondered who it was, it was none of their business and they respected it.
The convoy continued down the road, they finally approached the large annex, the name on the annex said, Deseret Naval Facility, San Diego, California, the large limousine stopped in front of the doors, the Marine stepped down and opened the door then quickly snapped to attention and shouted, "At ten shun!" The other Marines promptly snapped to attention as President Hinckley and Prime Minister Vaughn stepped out and looked around. They were quickly flanked by their subordinates, the group then headed to the double doors as the Marine closed the car door and the convoy drove off. As the distinguished men entered the building, they met Admiral Hughes, commandant of the Pacific Fleet and exchanged greetings.
"Tell me Admiral, how goes our fleet?" Asked Prime Minister Hughes.
"It is progressing well, Mr. Prime Minister, construction is almost complete, just putting the last electronics in now and the ship will be ready for her planes."
"Oh... I was informed that the ship was finished yesterday?" Asked President Hinckley.
"Yes sir, I apologize, but we ran into an unexpected problem and had to hold off until today, but the ship will be ready in 30 minutes."
"Very well, is there a place we can wait?" Asked President Hinckley.
"Yes sir, if you would follow me please."
-------------------------------------------------------------
The crowd was large, but containable for the Marines, it was mostly reporters and on base personal who came to see the christening of the new Carrier as the base was off limits to civilians. Despite this, civilian yachts and speedboats floated nearby forcing naval boats and Deseret Coast Guard vessels to keep them at a respectable distance. The center of all this attention was a behemoth, towering over them at 200 feet stood the DNS Hinckley, a supercarrier and the first of its kind. As the reporters waited for the speeches and christening of the ship, they watched was jets came from the east and landed one by one on the vast ship. Soon after followed the helicopters, used primarily for search and rescue missions or transportation between ships, finally the moment they were all waiting for, Admiral Hughes arrived, along with President Hinckley and Prime Minister Vaughn. Admiral Hughes spoke with the Marine Captain and he bellowed, "Privates Hamilton and Young! Prepare gangplank!" The privates saluted and stepped aside, allowing Admiral Hughes and his guests to walk up the plank, followed by a Marine company. Finally the reporters were allowed up to the deck.
Once on the deck, they were met by an awesome sight, several jets lay on the deck, no doubt the first to take off should an emergency arise, the crew busying themselves in fueling the jets and taking care of the pilots. The deck itself was odd, it was not a straight deck as so many pocket carriers looked like, instead the deck went straight, except midway through, where the deck angled off, the meeting before they saw the carrier explained that it allowed 2 jets to take off simultaneously. A huge step forward from the pocket carriers, the reporters chattered happily, they could not believe how large the carrier was. Off to the side, stood 5 Seahawk helicopters, their rotors still moving, though slowing... as if stopping. The pilots and mechanics chatted nearby pointing at various parts of the helicopters. But possibly the most imposing part of the ship was the island, a huge skyscraper that rose out from the middle of the ship, dotted with numerous AA guns and radar scanners, the island itself was teeming with little ants... or at least that what those sailors looked like to the reporters, each ant tending to a part of the island or watching them. Those on the very top stood out more than the rest, they wore brown and were the officers of the ship, 2 of them had binoculars and were watching the reporters below, chuckling.
The reporters felt small and insignificant, even Admiral Hughes and his guests were not acknowledged on the ship. Each crew member was too busy to notice, but all that changed when an alarm sounded, "All crew report to the deck! All crew report to the deck!"
Suddenly, the floodgates opened, where there were hundreds of people on the deck, thousands poured out from the doors, the reporters stood in shock, they had never seen so many people in on place. Sure New York City or even San Diego herself were by no means unpopulated, this carrier had more people per square foot than those cities. They quickly formed a straight line along the edge of the carrier, lowest rank to highest, there was a sea of white, dotted with few blue and brown. Every one of them stood at attention. The Captain and his Lieutenants stood in the front and saluted as Admiral Hughes approached, Admiral Hughes returned the saluted and walked with his guests along the line, which now extended around the carrier, thrice. Admiral Hughes nodded every now and then, as if in approval of what he was seeing. After an hour, the inspection was complete and Admiral Hughes walked up to the podium with his guests and cleared his throat, "Sailors and distinguished guests, I give you the pride of the Pacific Fleet, the DNS Hinckley!" The sailors broke into a cheer and congratulated their buddies before the higher ups quieted them down. Admiral Hughes resumed again, "I give you President Gordon B. Hinckley, the great Prophet of the LDS Church and the wise leader of the State of Deseret, the man who this ship was named after." Admiral Hughes clapped as President Hinckley approached the podium.
"Thank you Admiral Hughes, I am proud to see our power grow, it is my hope that the world will see that where this ship goes, democracy follows. This ship is a true symbol of democracy and freedom. I am proud to have such loyal and free men serving their country on this ship. I wish this ship would never have to see combat, but in our uneasy times, with the Muslims and their governments running rampant and starting World War III, we have no choice to use this ship and bring the war to them so they can finally understand that war is not the answer. I cannot be prouder to have you brave and couragous men on this ship when that time comes. My heart and the hearts of Deseret are with you. This ship is a true symbol of democracy and I want you to go out there and prove it."
The photographers began snapping pictures and reporters began throwing out questions hoping to get a response, but instead, President Hinckley simply waved and walked towards the gangplank with Prime Minister Vaughn. Admiral Hughes went to the mike and thanked the reporters, the Marine Captain then signaled to his men and they began herding the reporters off the ship. The sailors went back to work, tomorrow the DNS Hinckley would join her squadron at sea and go to war.
Below, a picture from a news helicopter with the DNS Hinckley supercarrier with the DNS Moroni and DNS Utah, both of whom are pocket carriers. (Propaganda picture showing the size and strength of the new supercarrier.)
A woman watched as the convoy approached, as the lead car stopped she approached the window and a man with sunglasses showed her a badge and some papers. The woman nodded and stepped back, she looked to her companion and nodded, the gate slowly opened, both guards smartly saluted as the convoy moved through. When the last car passed the gate slowly rolled into place and the MP's once again assumed their position outside the San Diego Naval Facility. None of them spoke about the convoy that just passed or wondered who it was, it was none of their business and they respected it.
The convoy continued down the road, they finally approached the large annex, the name on the annex said, Deseret Naval Facility, San Diego, California, the large limousine stopped in front of the doors, the Marine stepped down and opened the door then quickly snapped to attention and shouted, "At ten shun!" The other Marines promptly snapped to attention as President Hinckley and Prime Minister Vaughn stepped out and looked around. They were quickly flanked by their subordinates, the group then headed to the double doors as the Marine closed the car door and the convoy drove off. As the distinguished men entered the building, they met Admiral Hughes, commandant of the Pacific Fleet and exchanged greetings.
"Tell me Admiral, how goes our fleet?" Asked Prime Minister Hughes.
"It is progressing well, Mr. Prime Minister, construction is almost complete, just putting the last electronics in now and the ship will be ready for her planes."
"Oh... I was informed that the ship was finished yesterday?" Asked President Hinckley.
"Yes sir, I apologize, but we ran into an unexpected problem and had to hold off until today, but the ship will be ready in 30 minutes."
"Very well, is there a place we can wait?" Asked President Hinckley.
"Yes sir, if you would follow me please."
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The crowd was large, but containable for the Marines, it was mostly reporters and on base personal who came to see the christening of the new Carrier as the base was off limits to civilians. Despite this, civilian yachts and speedboats floated nearby forcing naval boats and Deseret Coast Guard vessels to keep them at a respectable distance. The center of all this attention was a behemoth, towering over them at 200 feet stood the DNS Hinckley, a supercarrier and the first of its kind. As the reporters waited for the speeches and christening of the ship, they watched was jets came from the east and landed one by one on the vast ship. Soon after followed the helicopters, used primarily for search and rescue missions or transportation between ships, finally the moment they were all waiting for, Admiral Hughes arrived, along with President Hinckley and Prime Minister Vaughn. Admiral Hughes spoke with the Marine Captain and he bellowed, "Privates Hamilton and Young! Prepare gangplank!" The privates saluted and stepped aside, allowing Admiral Hughes and his guests to walk up the plank, followed by a Marine company. Finally the reporters were allowed up to the deck.
Once on the deck, they were met by an awesome sight, several jets lay on the deck, no doubt the first to take off should an emergency arise, the crew busying themselves in fueling the jets and taking care of the pilots. The deck itself was odd, it was not a straight deck as so many pocket carriers looked like, instead the deck went straight, except midway through, where the deck angled off, the meeting before they saw the carrier explained that it allowed 2 jets to take off simultaneously. A huge step forward from the pocket carriers, the reporters chattered happily, they could not believe how large the carrier was. Off to the side, stood 5 Seahawk helicopters, their rotors still moving, though slowing... as if stopping. The pilots and mechanics chatted nearby pointing at various parts of the helicopters. But possibly the most imposing part of the ship was the island, a huge skyscraper that rose out from the middle of the ship, dotted with numerous AA guns and radar scanners, the island itself was teeming with little ants... or at least that what those sailors looked like to the reporters, each ant tending to a part of the island or watching them. Those on the very top stood out more than the rest, they wore brown and were the officers of the ship, 2 of them had binoculars and were watching the reporters below, chuckling.
The reporters felt small and insignificant, even Admiral Hughes and his guests were not acknowledged on the ship. Each crew member was too busy to notice, but all that changed when an alarm sounded, "All crew report to the deck! All crew report to the deck!"
Suddenly, the floodgates opened, where there were hundreds of people on the deck, thousands poured out from the doors, the reporters stood in shock, they had never seen so many people in on place. Sure New York City or even San Diego herself were by no means unpopulated, this carrier had more people per square foot than those cities. They quickly formed a straight line along the edge of the carrier, lowest rank to highest, there was a sea of white, dotted with few blue and brown. Every one of them stood at attention. The Captain and his Lieutenants stood in the front and saluted as Admiral Hughes approached, Admiral Hughes returned the saluted and walked with his guests along the line, which now extended around the carrier, thrice. Admiral Hughes nodded every now and then, as if in approval of what he was seeing. After an hour, the inspection was complete and Admiral Hughes walked up to the podium with his guests and cleared his throat, "Sailors and distinguished guests, I give you the pride of the Pacific Fleet, the DNS Hinckley!" The sailors broke into a cheer and congratulated their buddies before the higher ups quieted them down. Admiral Hughes resumed again, "I give you President Gordon B. Hinckley, the great Prophet of the LDS Church and the wise leader of the State of Deseret, the man who this ship was named after." Admiral Hughes clapped as President Hinckley approached the podium.
"Thank you Admiral Hughes, I am proud to see our power grow, it is my hope that the world will see that where this ship goes, democracy follows. This ship is a true symbol of democracy and freedom. I am proud to have such loyal and free men serving their country on this ship. I wish this ship would never have to see combat, but in our uneasy times, with the Muslims and their governments running rampant and starting World War III, we have no choice to use this ship and bring the war to them so they can finally understand that war is not the answer. I cannot be prouder to have you brave and couragous men on this ship when that time comes. My heart and the hearts of Deseret are with you. This ship is a true symbol of democracy and I want you to go out there and prove it."
The photographers began snapping pictures and reporters began throwing out questions hoping to get a response, but instead, President Hinckley simply waved and walked towards the gangplank with Prime Minister Vaughn. Admiral Hughes went to the mike and thanked the reporters, the Marine Captain then signaled to his men and they began herding the reporters off the ship. The sailors went back to work, tomorrow the DNS Hinckley would join her squadron at sea and go to war.
Below, a picture from a news helicopter with the DNS Hinckley supercarrier with the DNS Moroni and DNS Utah, both of whom are pocket carriers. (Propaganda picture showing the size and strength of the new supercarrier.)
conehead234
Braves on the Warpath
I'm in the same boat as Karalysia with my orders
