INES III: Storm Tapestry
- Thread starter Imago
- Start date
Eltain
Deity
Sometimes Catherine seems like a big of an airhead.
Terrence: Bring it, India.
Terrence: Bring it, India.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Eltain + System: I hope I get what I was advertized.
Eltain
Deity
The UKA is unable to deliver. However, I'm right here, if you need me.
Spam, spam, spam the thread.
Gently to it's death
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily...
Spam, spam, spam the thread.
Gently to it's death
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily...
Anonymoose
KING OF MEESE
OOC:
There is only one true Queen.
Kneel before Freddie, puny world.
Edit: appropriate 1111th post.
There is only one true Queen.
Kneel before Freddie, puny world.
Edit: appropriate 1111th post.
Checkmate
Part II
Franz Kohler hadn’t eaten for at least a week. When the Identification System went into effect, it was pretty much impossible. Not that Franz would want the rations they gave, for he knew that once he consumed them, he’d be condition to obey the Queen who took his nation and his freedom. The water would be even worse.
At first, he, and the German people, responded to this challenge with determination. They stockpiled water and food, grew gardens, and most importantly, shared with their neighbors. That was the only way they could try to resist the mind control. Franz was proud of his nation. They had truly accepted the mandate of Marx, and commune living, conditioned from years of the Party’s guidance over Germany
But the occupiers wouldn’t allow that. Those who stockpiled or tried to grow their own food were dragged into the street, beaten mercilessly, and had their homes burned to the ground. If they were lucky, a bullet went through their head. Unfortunately, Franz heard of his people’s resettlement.
He had a plan though. He would have to get to the Baltic Confederacy. He had a friend there from their days in LIARS. Hopefully, they’d have a boat or something that’d take them to Africa or Japanese Russia. He would prefer to stay in the Balt Confederacy, but these days, it was taking orders from Washington, and it seemed to be ready to bow down to Catherine.
Kohler started shaking. It wasn’t fair. He was to be the leader of a new German Reich, a Reich of the Proletariat. Russia, France, Spain, Italy, England would all be liberated and would seek guidance from Berlin. But no. Who would have thought, of all the nations to conquer Europe, it’d be a third rate provincial backwater nation. The Atlantic Kingdom? Or was it the United Kingdom of the Atlantic? They’d probably change their name in a year anyhow with the identity crisis going on.
As he traveled through the village, two French soldiers motioned to him. Irregulars were the worst occupiers. The clones had no feeling, no emotion, so they did no intentional acts of added cruelity. Unlike their American and British counterparts though, there was no hope for compassion for small offenses. But the French…they had the worst of both soldiers. No leniency, lots of cruelty. Kohler could understand. They had lost their nation, and the once proud people had to kneel at the feet of a tyrant. But they had one place where they were superior, and that was here.
A group of French soldiers had joined their friends, exiting the bar, and came to torment the Germans. One held a pool stick, and two soldiers held another German, a frightened young man.
The man with the pool stick spoke with a Vienna dialect of German. “Dear subject, we have a game for you to play. We have a special employment opportunity for you, but it’s a competitive job. This man here already proved his skill by punching a soldier. Normally, that’s a violation, but I see potential in him. So, let’s begin with the try out!”
The man broke the pool stick in half, and tossed a half to each German. Kohler stared at the stick, and without warning, the other man attacked, slashing above his eye. Kohler dropped to the ground and rolled out, and crouched as the other man came in for a swing. Kohler waited, and as the man brought the stick to be swung down like a club, Kohler stabbed the man through the stomach. The stick unfortunately wasn’t quite sharp enough to kill the man, but the man dropped his stick and shirked in agony. Kohler picked up the dropped stick and continued to beat the man senselessly. He was dead. Kohler won.
Won? He had the blood of a fellow German on his hands. All for the occupier’s sport. They shouted at him, cheering and clapping, while the Frenchman that had the pool stick clapped slowly. The man blurred, and Kohler felt a painful darkness surrounding him as he collapsed to the floor.
When Kohler woke up, he could see nothing. But he could smell, salt, sweat, blood, and tears. The ocean. Where was he going? I guess he’d find out soon enough.
Part II
Franz Kohler hadn’t eaten for at least a week. When the Identification System went into effect, it was pretty much impossible. Not that Franz would want the rations they gave, for he knew that once he consumed them, he’d be condition to obey the Queen who took his nation and his freedom. The water would be even worse.
At first, he, and the German people, responded to this challenge with determination. They stockpiled water and food, grew gardens, and most importantly, shared with their neighbors. That was the only way they could try to resist the mind control. Franz was proud of his nation. They had truly accepted the mandate of Marx, and commune living, conditioned from years of the Party’s guidance over Germany
But the occupiers wouldn’t allow that. Those who stockpiled or tried to grow their own food were dragged into the street, beaten mercilessly, and had their homes burned to the ground. If they were lucky, a bullet went through their head. Unfortunately, Franz heard of his people’s resettlement.
He had a plan though. He would have to get to the Baltic Confederacy. He had a friend there from their days in LIARS. Hopefully, they’d have a boat or something that’d take them to Africa or Japanese Russia. He would prefer to stay in the Balt Confederacy, but these days, it was taking orders from Washington, and it seemed to be ready to bow down to Catherine.
Kohler started shaking. It wasn’t fair. He was to be the leader of a new German Reich, a Reich of the Proletariat. Russia, France, Spain, Italy, England would all be liberated and would seek guidance from Berlin. But no. Who would have thought, of all the nations to conquer Europe, it’d be a third rate provincial backwater nation. The Atlantic Kingdom? Or was it the United Kingdom of the Atlantic? They’d probably change their name in a year anyhow with the identity crisis going on.
As he traveled through the village, two French soldiers motioned to him. Irregulars were the worst occupiers. The clones had no feeling, no emotion, so they did no intentional acts of added cruelity. Unlike their American and British counterparts though, there was no hope for compassion for small offenses. But the French…they had the worst of both soldiers. No leniency, lots of cruelty. Kohler could understand. They had lost their nation, and the once proud people had to kneel at the feet of a tyrant. But they had one place where they were superior, and that was here.
A group of French soldiers had joined their friends, exiting the bar, and came to torment the Germans. One held a pool stick, and two soldiers held another German, a frightened young man.
The man with the pool stick spoke with a Vienna dialect of German. “Dear subject, we have a game for you to play. We have a special employment opportunity for you, but it’s a competitive job. This man here already proved his skill by punching a soldier. Normally, that’s a violation, but I see potential in him. So, let’s begin with the try out!”
The man broke the pool stick in half, and tossed a half to each German. Kohler stared at the stick, and without warning, the other man attacked, slashing above his eye. Kohler dropped to the ground and rolled out, and crouched as the other man came in for a swing. Kohler waited, and as the man brought the stick to be swung down like a club, Kohler stabbed the man through the stomach. The stick unfortunately wasn’t quite sharp enough to kill the man, but the man dropped his stick and shirked in agony. Kohler picked up the dropped stick and continued to beat the man senselessly. He was dead. Kohler won.
Won? He had the blood of a fellow German on his hands. All for the occupier’s sport. They shouted at him, cheering and clapping, while the Frenchman that had the pool stick clapped slowly. The man blurred, and Kohler felt a painful darkness surrounding him as he collapsed to the floor.
When Kohler woke up, he could see nothing. But he could smell, salt, sweat, blood, and tears. The ocean. Where was he going? I guess he’d find out soon enough.
Anonymoose
KING OF MEESE
So this is our final update, no? If not, I'll have to be auto-piloted or something, because I'll be out of state for the weekend.
Eltain
Deity
Bill: This is just the handiwork of an internet troll. Why are we discussing this?
Ted: No, this is not just trolling. This is social commentary coming from real people, all over the world. People's opinions of how the Kingdom of the Atlantic is steamrolling smaller countries with their brain control- I'm surprised it hasn't seeped into the Internets yet.
Bill: They're very fragile tubes, Ted.
Ted: Yes, but I'm told the Internets in Japan have been bogged down with so many security protocols, nothing could've originated from there. In fact, the entirety of Asia has bad internet. From the website it's being hosted at, I assume it's from within the United Kingdom of the Atlantic itself. Someone who has been drinking their own, filtered water, perhaps.
Bill: Someone with enough intelligence, or paranoia, to have been doing it from day one. And smart enough to hide it from the authorities, perhaps.
Ted: That's right, Bill. Someone with enough guts to fight da powah, as it were.
F**k da Police..?
Eltain
Deity
Imago/Agent: Please direct your attention to the MDI social group. Please and thank you.
Spoiler :
Eltain
Deity
Double post, not sorry. Waaagh.
Orders sent.
Imago: The front page should have LIARs listed as being able to build the Cull class Gunships, no? Story coming, edited INTO this post, as to avoid triple post.
Orders sent.
Imago: The front page should have LIARs listed as being able to build the Cull class Gunships, no? Story coming, edited INTO this post, as to avoid triple post.
Circuit
Writing Letters
The day was beautiful. The sky was a clear blue, the sun high overhead, and strangely enough the pollution was under control. New York City was vastly different from Ummah-occupied Europe, something Duce Dante Romano had to get used to. For one thing, the city was so tall, like a concrete forest not matched perhaps for London (Rome preferred to keep a low profile, and the few high rises that dared challenge that were met with sneers and derision). But the city was perfect for the mission that would change the course of history one last time and put it on track to its future.
The streets were lined with a throng of cheering people as the royal entorage proceeded slowly through the streets. The parade was quite telling what the old Atlantic Kingdom had been through, and how much it transformed. No longer was the Royal Army, the Royal Guard, or the Washingtonian Guard the only militaries present. Just as spectacular were the Praetorian Guards in full dress, appearing as if they were parading in independent Rome. In many ways, the Praetorians hadn't changed. They hadn't sworn allegiance to the Queen personally, but because Dante's uncle had pledged his loyalty to her, they respected her authority, even though they were still sworn to uncle Nico.
It wasn't just the Praetorian Guard that gave the new multinational feel to the parade. Newly-appointed nobles from Brazil, Britain, France, and Rome had made an appearance. No big names, such as Prime Minister Blacktyde or Nico Romano, were present, but there were just enough brown Brazilians and olive Italians to give the impression that the Kingdom was no longer an anglophone state and was becoming something far greater.
Finally the most important persons of the parade arived, the Queen and the Prince Consort, their car driving slowly, the Queen giving the very frail wave that was characteristic of nobility. Also telling, the car was flanked on either side by both Washingtonian Guard and Praetorian Guards (the Washingtonian Guard being more a matter of tradition; if they so desired, the Praetorians could easily overcome the Washingtonian Guards and kill everyone in the vehicle before anyone had an idea what was going on). This was the most critical moment of the parade, the moment that uncle Nico and Fiorella Conti bashed into his head could not be screwed up in any way, and had to look absolutely right, for the mission was more than just an assassination...
His mind accessed the clone command. Through the artificial vision, he could see through the clone's eyes, ten floors up behind him. The clone put its eye to the scope of the sniper rifle. Dante guided the clone's vision, first to himself standing along the street keeping guard (he always got a kick from seeing himself), and then to the road. He began homing in on his target. The scope was guided by steady hands till Prince Will's head was in the crosshairs. Then the clone fired, and the prince was gruesomely dead.
As instructed, to make the attempt more logical and less suspect, the clone fired a grazing shot at the Queen (who was merely a clone double of the true Queen Catherine), then pulled back and sat down, and Dante returned control to clone command. Now was the time to make an image. He ran across the street to the car. "I'll save you, my Queen!" he shouted loudly, pulling the panicking clone from the vehicle, putting himself between the Queen and the direction of the clone sniper. He brought her over to the side of the road into a building as the confused Washingtonian Guard and the cool Praetorean Guards (who knew very well what was going on) rushed to her aid. Dante then ran back across the street, leaping over the vehicle for all the cameras to see, into the building from which the shot came.
NYPD officers were already scouring the building, but they would not be able to beat Dante to the clone. He ran up the stairs to the room the clone occupied. He was still sitting by the window, the rifle on the floor. He wore a flanel shirt, blue jeans, and on his upper arm was a tattoo of Texas with a white star in the middle. The clone stood up, and Dante took his arm. The clone then began to appear to resist. "You'll never take me, you Yankee bastard!" the clone began to holler in a Texan accent. This made Dante chuckle. The image was just so perfect.
The clone didn't struggle too much to be a challenge, but he did make Dante's return more difficult. The police caught up with him, and tried to help Dante, but he only said, "I've got this; you look for others." They didn't argue; who would dare challenge a cybernetically-augmented Praetorian Duce? When they reached the lobby, Dante took the clone outside, right next to the car, where all the cameras could see. In a loud voice, he said. "I found this man with a rifle; he is certainly responsible for the death of Prince William and the attempt on our Queen!"
"You all will die!" the clone said. "Texas will win this war, and you all will go to hell!"
At that moment, a knife slid out from underneath Dante's "skin", and he jabbed it into the clone's back, right into the heart for effect. "This is the fate of those who oppose the Kingdom!" he declared. The crowd gasped. Women screamed. The clone slid off the knife and onto the pavement, dead.
Reporters began to rush Dante, but he avoided them to enter the building where the Queen's clone was. Some of the other guards fought the onrush of reporters, as Dante just stood there with the clone. Fiorella Conti's voice was heard in his head. "Excellent job, Dante. We were watching the whole thing. It was captured live, just as the Queen ordered. Prince William is dead, the Queen is a widow, and you'll be a national hero in no time."
"More than a national hero, of course," Dante replied in his mind.
"One step at a time, Duce," Fiorella Conti teased.
The streets were lined with a throng of cheering people as the royal entorage proceeded slowly through the streets. The parade was quite telling what the old Atlantic Kingdom had been through, and how much it transformed. No longer was the Royal Army, the Royal Guard, or the Washingtonian Guard the only militaries present. Just as spectacular were the Praetorian Guards in full dress, appearing as if they were parading in independent Rome. In many ways, the Praetorians hadn't changed. They hadn't sworn allegiance to the Queen personally, but because Dante's uncle had pledged his loyalty to her, they respected her authority, even though they were still sworn to uncle Nico.
It wasn't just the Praetorian Guard that gave the new multinational feel to the parade. Newly-appointed nobles from Brazil, Britain, France, and Rome had made an appearance. No big names, such as Prime Minister Blacktyde or Nico Romano, were present, but there were just enough brown Brazilians and olive Italians to give the impression that the Kingdom was no longer an anglophone state and was becoming something far greater.
Finally the most important persons of the parade arived, the Queen and the Prince Consort, their car driving slowly, the Queen giving the very frail wave that was characteristic of nobility. Also telling, the car was flanked on either side by both Washingtonian Guard and Praetorian Guards (the Washingtonian Guard being more a matter of tradition; if they so desired, the Praetorians could easily overcome the Washingtonian Guards and kill everyone in the vehicle before anyone had an idea what was going on). This was the most critical moment of the parade, the moment that uncle Nico and Fiorella Conti bashed into his head could not be screwed up in any way, and had to look absolutely right, for the mission was more than just an assassination...
His mind accessed the clone command. Through the artificial vision, he could see through the clone's eyes, ten floors up behind him. The clone put its eye to the scope of the sniper rifle. Dante guided the clone's vision, first to himself standing along the street keeping guard (he always got a kick from seeing himself), and then to the road. He began homing in on his target. The scope was guided by steady hands till Prince Will's head was in the crosshairs. Then the clone fired, and the prince was gruesomely dead.
As instructed, to make the attempt more logical and less suspect, the clone fired a grazing shot at the Queen (who was merely a clone double of the true Queen Catherine), then pulled back and sat down, and Dante returned control to clone command. Now was the time to make an image. He ran across the street to the car. "I'll save you, my Queen!" he shouted loudly, pulling the panicking clone from the vehicle, putting himself between the Queen and the direction of the clone sniper. He brought her over to the side of the road into a building as the confused Washingtonian Guard and the cool Praetorean Guards (who knew very well what was going on) rushed to her aid. Dante then ran back across the street, leaping over the vehicle for all the cameras to see, into the building from which the shot came.
NYPD officers were already scouring the building, but they would not be able to beat Dante to the clone. He ran up the stairs to the room the clone occupied. He was still sitting by the window, the rifle on the floor. He wore a flanel shirt, blue jeans, and on his upper arm was a tattoo of Texas with a white star in the middle. The clone stood up, and Dante took his arm. The clone then began to appear to resist. "You'll never take me, you Yankee bastard!" the clone began to holler in a Texan accent. This made Dante chuckle. The image was just so perfect.
The clone didn't struggle too much to be a challenge, but he did make Dante's return more difficult. The police caught up with him, and tried to help Dante, but he only said, "I've got this; you look for others." They didn't argue; who would dare challenge a cybernetically-augmented Praetorian Duce? When they reached the lobby, Dante took the clone outside, right next to the car, where all the cameras could see. In a loud voice, he said. "I found this man with a rifle; he is certainly responsible for the death of Prince William and the attempt on our Queen!"
"You all will die!" the clone said. "Texas will win this war, and you all will go to hell!"
At that moment, a knife slid out from underneath Dante's "skin", and he jabbed it into the clone's back, right into the heart for effect. "This is the fate of those who oppose the Kingdom!" he declared. The crowd gasped. Women screamed. The clone slid off the knife and onto the pavement, dead.
Reporters began to rush Dante, but he avoided them to enter the building where the Queen's clone was. Some of the other guards fought the onrush of reporters, as Dante just stood there with the clone. Fiorella Conti's voice was heard in his head. "Excellent job, Dante. We were watching the whole thing. It was captured live, just as the Queen ordered. Prince William is dead, the Queen is a widow, and you'll be a national hero in no time."
"More than a national hero, of course," Dante replied in his mind.
"One step at a time, Duce," Fiorella Conti teased.
Spoiler :
Eltain
Deity
Several rather important revisions sent. New orders received?
EDIT:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQ7cTI623Vg
Poi Sun sat at the head of a large, oval table in a simple white room. The government's new glorious hidey-hole, he thought bitterly. He was smirking inwardly, though. Finally, after years of being glorified as the final word when it came to warfare, they were eating their words.
"As you can all see, High Commander Sun's design request for an anti-infantry Gunship, to 'cull the livestock', as he so ruthlessly put it, is the best thing to happen to the Siamese Military since, well, the High Commander himself."
Numerous grunts and 'hear hear's in agreement were grumbled throughout the room. Not many in the government liked hearing even civilians praise this general, who has been priased for so long, so highly.
"With 122,000 Indian deaths and only 38,000 allied, it's more than a 3-1 death ratio. Please bring your attention to the big screen."
The presenter clumsily pulls cloth screen, and turns on a projector. Really rather unnecessary in the white room..
On the screen appears the inside of a spacious hangar.
"Hi, I'm Thai Li with Pan-Siam Global, here inside the enomrous Indian Free States Hangar, "Thunderbrush". Behind me is one of countless "Cull" Class Gunships, or CCGs for short. With me here is their chief designer, and head of the Siamese Aeronatics Division, Li Pheony.
"So, Li, what made you decide to bring this to the India Air Show-Off this year? Surely, this far into contested territories, this precious design could be stolen by the Netaji Rebels?"
The camera focuses on Li. "Well, it's kind of part of the nation-building concept Commander Sun has mentioned, sort of how smaller air-forces or younger air-forces, like that of Tibet's or the Proletarian Republic of China, should cooperate and learn. Train some pilots and give a country the air to ground power that they need, at a very low cost. It's all about spreading the knowledge to those who need it, and lack it."
Thai Li nods. "Tell- tell me about how the Siamese government can manufacture these so very cheaply. What goes into the construction process that something so successful can come out of it?"
"Well, for starters, there have been alot of companies and factories chartered specifically for the construction of supplies for the Siamese military in the last ten years. With the initial invasion of China and the massive factories and basically limitless labor from there, I gather we got a kickstart on our industrial capacity from that. One million Dongs* can go into making 180 Gunships. That's little investment, for alot of firepower." Li Pheony cracks his knuckles eagerly, and smiles.
"I'll say. What inspired the design of gunship? For those viewers who haven't seen it in action, from below it has the smallest possible surface, with nearly impenetrable slanted armor that also gives a 70% boost in the chance the pilot and gunmen can escape after it has been hit too severely."
"It was actually a turtle that inspired me, believe it or not. Have you ever held one aloft? Brilliant. Which is ironic, because turtles are famed for their slowness, which these are not the least bit of. Only in toughness, comparatively with other gunships, as the turtle is to other reptiles and amphibians. Commander Sun encouraged me to finish the design and got me the government grants I needed to make my vision a reality. The armaments he advised me on, mostly, however."
"And what are those?"
"Basically your standard issue Siamese Military Heavy Minigun, attached on a triple swivel pod. 7.62MM, multi-barreled, and with over 7,000 rounds per minute gatling reload. Also 8 78mm air-air and air-ground smart joystick guided homing missiles, and about 40 pounds of your basic dumb bombs, for dropping on light bunkers, like we've faced so far in India."
"Now, we-"
The screen goes blank for a moment, before turning into the inside of one of the cockpits.
"Bravo, this is packleader, come in. Repeat, packleader requesting check-in."
"Roger, packleader, this is Bravo. Target 7km to your southeast. Repeat, target is 7km to your southeast, over."
"Flagholders, this is packleader, over."
"Gotcha, packleader," says one voice.
"This is twelve fox," and another.
"Ready, packleader," and a third.
The view inside the gunship changes drastically from wild shrub to dense forrest. The whirr of many gunships can be heard through the moan of the one the camera is inside of.
Tracer rounds can be seen shooting in a red streak at what look like ants far below. "Gotcha," says a voice.
A few hundred more ant-figures are shot at in the next few minutes. The film stops and the screen is raised.
"Well, gentleman,"
Poi banged his crutches on the table, smirking at the collected officials.
"I hope this has been instructional for you all. The Cull ships were not a wasted investment, at all now were they."
*A Dong is a unit of Siamese currency. 1,000,000 Dongs = 1 ASP. Suck it. Pun intended.
EDIT:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQ7cTI623Vg
Poi Sun sat at the head of a large, oval table in a simple white room. The government's new glorious hidey-hole, he thought bitterly. He was smirking inwardly, though. Finally, after years of being glorified as the final word when it came to warfare, they were eating their words.
"As you can all see, High Commander Sun's design request for an anti-infantry Gunship, to 'cull the livestock', as he so ruthlessly put it, is the best thing to happen to the Siamese Military since, well, the High Commander himself."
Numerous grunts and 'hear hear's in agreement were grumbled throughout the room. Not many in the government liked hearing even civilians praise this general, who has been priased for so long, so highly.
"With 122,000 Indian deaths and only 38,000 allied, it's more than a 3-1 death ratio. Please bring your attention to the big screen."
The presenter clumsily pulls cloth screen, and turns on a projector. Really rather unnecessary in the white room..
On the screen appears the inside of a spacious hangar.
"Hi, I'm Thai Li with Pan-Siam Global, here inside the enomrous Indian Free States Hangar, "Thunderbrush". Behind me is one of countless "Cull" Class Gunships, or CCGs for short. With me here is their chief designer, and head of the Siamese Aeronatics Division, Li Pheony.
"So, Li, what made you decide to bring this to the India Air Show-Off this year? Surely, this far into contested territories, this precious design could be stolen by the Netaji Rebels?"
The camera focuses on Li. "Well, it's kind of part of the nation-building concept Commander Sun has mentioned, sort of how smaller air-forces or younger air-forces, like that of Tibet's or the Proletarian Republic of China, should cooperate and learn. Train some pilots and give a country the air to ground power that they need, at a very low cost. It's all about spreading the knowledge to those who need it, and lack it."
Thai Li nods. "Tell- tell me about how the Siamese government can manufacture these so very cheaply. What goes into the construction process that something so successful can come out of it?"
"Well, for starters, there have been alot of companies and factories chartered specifically for the construction of supplies for the Siamese military in the last ten years. With the initial invasion of China and the massive factories and basically limitless labor from there, I gather we got a kickstart on our industrial capacity from that. One million Dongs* can go into making 180 Gunships. That's little investment, for alot of firepower." Li Pheony cracks his knuckles eagerly, and smiles.
"I'll say. What inspired the design of gunship? For those viewers who haven't seen it in action, from below it has the smallest possible surface, with nearly impenetrable slanted armor that also gives a 70% boost in the chance the pilot and gunmen can escape after it has been hit too severely."
"It was actually a turtle that inspired me, believe it or not. Have you ever held one aloft? Brilliant. Which is ironic, because turtles are famed for their slowness, which these are not the least bit of. Only in toughness, comparatively with other gunships, as the turtle is to other reptiles and amphibians. Commander Sun encouraged me to finish the design and got me the government grants I needed to make my vision a reality. The armaments he advised me on, mostly, however."
"And what are those?"
"Basically your standard issue Siamese Military Heavy Minigun, attached on a triple swivel pod. 7.62MM, multi-barreled, and with over 7,000 rounds per minute gatling reload. Also 8 78mm air-air and air-ground smart joystick guided homing missiles, and about 40 pounds of your basic dumb bombs, for dropping on light bunkers, like we've faced so far in India."
"Now, we-"
The screen goes blank for a moment, before turning into the inside of one of the cockpits.
"Bravo, this is packleader, come in. Repeat, packleader requesting check-in."
"Roger, packleader, this is Bravo. Target 7km to your southeast. Repeat, target is 7km to your southeast, over."
"Flagholders, this is packleader, over."
"Gotcha, packleader," says one voice.
"This is twelve fox," and another.
"Ready, packleader," and a third.
The view inside the gunship changes drastically from wild shrub to dense forrest. The whirr of many gunships can be heard through the moan of the one the camera is inside of.
Tracer rounds can be seen shooting in a red streak at what look like ants far below. "Gotcha," says a voice.
A few hundred more ant-figures are shot at in the next few minutes. The film stops and the screen is raised.
"Well, gentleman,"
Poi banged his crutches on the table, smirking at the collected officials.
"I hope this has been instructional for you all. The Cull ships were not a wasted investment, at all now were they."
*A Dong is a unit of Siamese currency. 1,000,000 Dongs = 1 ASP. Suck it. Pun intended.
Lord of Elves
Suede-Denim Secret Police
- Joined
- Oct 31, 2009
- Messages
- 6,976
Japanese Imperium's (and Proletarian Republic of China's/Proletarian Commonwealth of Oceania) orders sent.
germanicus12
First Citizen of Rome
President Porter sighed, his 2nd term was nearly up and he had fought tooth and nail to keep Texas alive in the recent war and despite last years break in the defenses his brave troops still held the line and prevented civilian casualties, stopping the enemy at the river once again. He chuckled, imagined the UKA generals cursing that River, the same River that allowed Texas to live and provided Texas with their water for their enormous farmlands. Porter himself had rarely been north, only going there when campaigning and it never ceased to amaze him just how large the farms up there were. Just one farm could encompass the entire metropolis of Dallas and Fort Worth, the size alone was mind boggling. But Porter did not care much about those farms, no, today he would attend the Texan Football Cup, the biggest sporting event in the Republic of Texas, the game promised to be good, the Denver Mountaineers, a defensive powerhouse who enters this game undefeated for 2 years and is defending champs, takes on the Austin Apaches, who likewise are undefeated for this year after a miraculous turnaround after the dismal showing last year. The Stadium in Oklahoma City is already packed despite heightened security and double AA emplacements for miles around.
Despite fears from his personal security staff and his War Department, Porter promised his people he would attend every Championship game in each sport. Already he had attended the Baseball Championship just 3 months ago, and thoroughly enjoyed watching his Austin Stars defeat the St. Louis Titans in 5 games, and he also plans to attend the Rodeo Championship in Dallas in 2 months. He rubbed his temples as the convoy departed Oklahoma International Airport, it was now a short drive to Sooner Stadium, home to the Oklahoma Sooners Professional Football team. Above him flew several army helicopters and the closest Air Force squadron does routine flyby's every 15 minutes, something Porter does not particularly like, but even the most powerful man in Texas must accept protocol. He is still leader of Texas and the military will do all it can to protect him and his family. Fortunately, thought Porter, the National Guard is handling security and not the Regulars who are still busy handling the defenses at the River. He stared to the north, where the heaviest fighting is occuring and thought, 'God bless you boys.'
Porter's convoy entered through the basement, if you would call it that, and dropped him off at the foot of the tunnel. From here Porter would make the short trek to his seats on the 50 yard line surrounded by his personal security team and select VIP's, his Secretary's of the Army, Navy, Air Force and even the War department could not accept his invitation as they were all too busy coordinating the actions that go into intricate war maneuvers. Nevertheless Secretary of State Calhoun along with his Vice President and Porter's two teenage sons came with him. As Porter emerged from the tunnel to make his way to his seats, he heard a thunderous applause, every person in the stadium had stood and applaud everything Porter has sacrificed and done for Texas in the last few years and kept Texas not only alive, but still in the fight against all odds. Porter simply waved, he could not speak for fear of allowing a whimper to leave, his eyes were almost on the verge of tearing. Porter had deep respect for his country and would do anything for his people, but to be accepted and respected by his own people, the same who may have denounced the war or cried for peace or simply did not vote for him in the last two elections, just showing their acceptance and appreciation of his devotion, of his sacrifice to Texas was simply too much for Porter.
Porter wondered if anyone here could see the tears streaming down his face, he sincerely hoped not and attempted to keep his eyes moving in hopes that the tears would not fall as freely. It was a losing battle, Porter never realized that such patriotic support would move him as much as it did now and for that Porter was grateful, it showed the true Texan spirit, nobody is accepting defeat without first fighting for their very homes and dying for it. Porter had no doubt that his 60 something Million people would die before they gave up their homes and that the UKA would simply annex an empty and charred state that would be useless for years and require billions to rebuild. Porter simply stood on that field and dreamed of a world where Texans would live free and there were no wars. A screaming jet awoke him as he glanced up and saw 2 jets fly over the stadium, both showing the lone star of Texas. Porter sighed, grabbed his handkerchief and wiped his face. The game was about to start and it would not be good to have the President of Texas on the field when the ball is kicked.
Despite fears from his personal security staff and his War Department, Porter promised his people he would attend every Championship game in each sport. Already he had attended the Baseball Championship just 3 months ago, and thoroughly enjoyed watching his Austin Stars defeat the St. Louis Titans in 5 games, and he also plans to attend the Rodeo Championship in Dallas in 2 months. He rubbed his temples as the convoy departed Oklahoma International Airport, it was now a short drive to Sooner Stadium, home to the Oklahoma Sooners Professional Football team. Above him flew several army helicopters and the closest Air Force squadron does routine flyby's every 15 minutes, something Porter does not particularly like, but even the most powerful man in Texas must accept protocol. He is still leader of Texas and the military will do all it can to protect him and his family. Fortunately, thought Porter, the National Guard is handling security and not the Regulars who are still busy handling the defenses at the River. He stared to the north, where the heaviest fighting is occuring and thought, 'God bless you boys.'
Porter's convoy entered through the basement, if you would call it that, and dropped him off at the foot of the tunnel. From here Porter would make the short trek to his seats on the 50 yard line surrounded by his personal security team and select VIP's, his Secretary's of the Army, Navy, Air Force and even the War department could not accept his invitation as they were all too busy coordinating the actions that go into intricate war maneuvers. Nevertheless Secretary of State Calhoun along with his Vice President and Porter's two teenage sons came with him. As Porter emerged from the tunnel to make his way to his seats, he heard a thunderous applause, every person in the stadium had stood and applaud everything Porter has sacrificed and done for Texas in the last few years and kept Texas not only alive, but still in the fight against all odds. Porter simply waved, he could not speak for fear of allowing a whimper to leave, his eyes were almost on the verge of tearing. Porter had deep respect for his country and would do anything for his people, but to be accepted and respected by his own people, the same who may have denounced the war or cried for peace or simply did not vote for him in the last two elections, just showing their acceptance and appreciation of his devotion, of his sacrifice to Texas was simply too much for Porter.
Porter wondered if anyone here could see the tears streaming down his face, he sincerely hoped not and attempted to keep his eyes moving in hopes that the tears would not fall as freely. It was a losing battle, Porter never realized that such patriotic support would move him as much as it did now and for that Porter was grateful, it showed the true Texan spirit, nobody is accepting defeat without first fighting for their very homes and dying for it. Porter had no doubt that his 60 something Million people would die before they gave up their homes and that the UKA would simply annex an empty and charred state that would be useless for years and require billions to rebuild. Porter simply stood on that field and dreamed of a world where Texans would live free and there were no wars. A screaming jet awoke him as he glanced up and saw 2 jets fly over the stadium, both showing the lone star of Texas. Porter sighed, grabbed his handkerchief and wiped his face. The game was about to start and it would not be good to have the President of Texas on the field when the ball is kicked.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Netaji watched as the technician booted the moniter. "Sardar would like to speak to you" was all he said before leading Netaji to a secret location. Although he wondered at what the technician was talking about (after all, Sardar was dead for nearly a century) he followed the man deep into the earth, trailed only by one of his guards.
"I am one of the Guardians" spoke the wiry man, "We have defended India's Leaders with our lives since Sardar himself. You will also find Jarwal here." He pressed one final button and the screen lit up with the faces of Indian's Leaders. Every single one. "May Sardar grace you with his leadership." intoned the technician, and he turned and walked away.
Netaji nodded, "of course" and watched the moniter as it lit up. The Guardian slowly left. As he walked past Netaji's Guard, he quickly incapitated the man with a strike to the head and dragged the downed man away behind him.
Netaji looked up at the faces of Sardar, Soter, Jarwal and many others, he felt a sweat break out. All the great leaders, and the not so great leaders of India arrayed before him. "Greetings, oh great ones" he spoke, bowing his head, "I hear that the Glorious Sardar Patel wishes to pass me his great wisdom."
"You have heard well" spoke a fierce image of Sardar Patel, "I wish to pass to you my wisdom and your future. You see here the minds of all of India's leaders, for them to ascend to immortality to lead India forever. And for we have infinite time here, we plan and discuss India's future."
"Yes... I assume that the Plan 3785b2.5 I found on the desk upon my ascension to be yours?"
"We have though long and hard. This plan was young, only thirty years old, but was accepted by all the leaders here. To lure Ummah forces onto our lands and to trap them here." Sardar smiled, "You have done well."
"But why can't you lead our Glorious Union directly?" inquired Netaji, overcoming his awe, "We need your intelligence, your various specialties! Who can forget the Immortal March of you, yourself? Or the felling of the Great Rebellion by Soter?"
"You see, here lies our weakness. We are not of flesh anymore, and we cannot lead with charisma or power. Nor can we conduct diplomacy without possible damage to our files. However, we can choose and guide leaders of India, and one day, join him with our ranks.
You remember the SINs you implemented among the Billion Strong population? Remember the fear that you do not have enough control over them with what you have within the tunnels. We are here.
The Leaders of the past will return. Plan 3785b2.5 will succeed to its end and the Union will defeat the Jihadists.
You must go now. Take Tactics-666ggg with you and implement it."
"Yes, glorious leaders" bowed Netaji and he walked away, holding a large file.
Then there was silence... but behind the monitor.
"I am one of the Guardians" spoke the wiry man, "We have defended India's Leaders with our lives since Sardar himself. You will also find Jarwal here." He pressed one final button and the screen lit up with the faces of Indian's Leaders. Every single one. "May Sardar grace you with his leadership." intoned the technician, and he turned and walked away.
Netaji nodded, "of course" and watched the moniter as it lit up. The Guardian slowly left. As he walked past Netaji's Guard, he quickly incapitated the man with a strike to the head and dragged the downed man away behind him.
Netaji looked up at the faces of Sardar, Soter, Jarwal and many others, he felt a sweat break out. All the great leaders, and the not so great leaders of India arrayed before him. "Greetings, oh great ones" he spoke, bowing his head, "I hear that the Glorious Sardar Patel wishes to pass me his great wisdom."
"You have heard well" spoke a fierce image of Sardar Patel, "I wish to pass to you my wisdom and your future. You see here the minds of all of India's leaders, for them to ascend to immortality to lead India forever. And for we have infinite time here, we plan and discuss India's future."
"Yes... I assume that the Plan 3785b2.5 I found on the desk upon my ascension to be yours?"
"We have though long and hard. This plan was young, only thirty years old, but was accepted by all the leaders here. To lure Ummah forces onto our lands and to trap them here." Sardar smiled, "You have done well."
"But why can't you lead our Glorious Union directly?" inquired Netaji, overcoming his awe, "We need your intelligence, your various specialties! Who can forget the Immortal March of you, yourself? Or the felling of the Great Rebellion by Soter?"
"You see, here lies our weakness. We are not of flesh anymore, and we cannot lead with charisma or power. Nor can we conduct diplomacy without possible damage to our files. However, we can choose and guide leaders of India, and one day, join him with our ranks.
You remember the SINs you implemented among the Billion Strong population? Remember the fear that you do not have enough control over them with what you have within the tunnels. We are here.
The Leaders of the past will return. Plan 3785b2.5 will succeed to its end and the Union will defeat the Jihadists.
You must go now. Take Tactics-666ggg with you and implement it."
"Yes, glorious leaders" bowed Netaji and he walked away, holding a large file.
Then there was silence... but behind the monitor.
