spaero2011

Overheard in the Federacion Presidential Palace while watching Mr. ColBERT's show: "I don't get it." "It's news, what's there to get?" "I think he's trying to make a joke, and I don't get it." "Now that you mention it, I can't tell if he's serious or not." "Well, this is just craptastic. Get the intelligence guys working on this, maybe they can figure something out in the analysis." "Or we could just change the channel." "That works too. I hear there's a football game on."

After he had been sufficiently dried out near the fire (The excellent vodka didn't hurt), Donado managed to weave his way through the guests to find Anthony Davis. "Mr. Davis!" he beamed, "I can't say how good it is to see you well. I have to say, your reactor accident gave us a tremendous fright. I trust you'll be continuing the project once cleanup has been completed?" Seeing the evening's host walk by, he slapped his forehead and exclaimed, "And where are my manners! Ms. Knightley, I really must thank you for inviting us here for this event. Your hospitality has been outstanding so far. Also, I absolutely adore your dress. Is it a Gebiv design? [OOC: I picked Gebiv because of Milan, but whatever.] My sister used to model for some of the smaller fashion houses in Barcelona, that's why I ask."

Also dripping from the rain, President Luis Donado followed Mr. Davis into the room. "'Evening, everyone. That rain is getting pretty bad, I don't know how many more people are going to decide to come. I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of bringing some of my personal stock of Valencian sherry to prepare us for the meal. Should I leave it with the kitchen staff?" A taller, rather imposing man in a tuxedo and sunglasses walked in after President Donado, his shaved head glistening with raindrops. Turning, the President noticed him and said, "Oh, Jorge, thank you but I think our hosts have security covered. Perhaps you could deliver this sherry to the kitchen staff and then... Well, I suppose you could sample some yourself. Take the rest of the night off." "Yes sir."

OOC: I got the inspiration from the webcomic Templar, Arizona. Anyone read it? I stopped a few weeks ago because the storyline took too many tangents for my personal tastes. /OOC

Finance Minister Dr. Jaime Caporaso of the Federacion Iberiana would like to request that the IBB&C open a branch in the capital city, Valencia. He has also been authorized to extend an invitation to the IBB&C to work out a partnership agreement with BancIberia, the independent central bank of the Federacion. OOC: Are you sure you can't send battle droids? Pretty please?

Though this invitation has been extended to African nations only, the Federacion Iberiana would respectfully request that, as a nation for whom African affairs have a direct and serious impact, we be allowed to send an observer mission to these proceedings.

OOC: RL =/= RP. Duh! Now that I think about it, maybe I should do a Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives just to make ya happy. ;-P /OOC

A deep, rib-shaking techno beat thumps from the speakers of anyone who directs their computer to the Federacion Iberiana's newest Internet news source. The twenty-something female anchor, looking like something from a hip-hop music video, delivers a surprisingly in-depth analysis of recent events in the Federacion and abroad. "Evenin' boys and girls, here's your 'cast of the news of the day from IberiNews.com. "Foreign Minister Marc Delgado got back from Brisbane this week, where he really blew a gasket in the committee room. Must've done some good, 'cause two hours after he did, the dipsh**s in the Communist International and the Nordic Confederacy signed onto an agreement saying they wouldn't go to war. Lady Sarah Tintagyl of the Hanseatic Commonwealth looks to be the person to thank for that one, since it actually looks like it's going to work. In an exclusive interview with Minister Delgado, we were told that 'Lady Tintagyl is the one and only person responsible for the peace. If it weren't for her, Europe would be at war now, and Iberia would be caught in the middle.' "Defense Minister Hernan Guerra and Navy Force Chief Admiral Roberto Jackson announced today that the Federacion Navy is decommissioning two aircraft carriers, three battleships, three corvettes, and three landing ships from the Marine Landing and Support Force. They say the measure is to save on operational costs and try to balance the defense budget. I say they shouldn't have spent the money to build the damn things in the first place. In any case, the decommissioned ships will be turned into museums in Barcelona, Malaga, and Valencia as an effort to raise some revenue from their exhibition. "Aside from the defense budget imbalance and what appears to be some slight stagnation... Eh, that's all boring economics crap. Bottom line is that we're looking like we're out of the recession. Average household income is up threefold from a few weeks ago, national infrastructure -- that's roads, water, sewage, electricity, and Internet for you nitwits -- and technology research have picked up again, and Finance Minister Dr. Jaime Caporaso announced a whole new plan today to employ a couple thousand Iberians for the next six months rebuilding two or three cities that have been hit especially hard by floods, thunderstorms, and the like. "An Iberian Airlines wide-body jet was hijacked and forced to land at Barcelona Regional Airport yesterday. YOU IDIOTS!!! Seriously, everyone knows that's where the Urban SpecWar Group is based! Needless to say, the crisis was resolved within two hours of news getting out. I'm kinda disappointed, the USWG folks didn't even give us time to get a decent camera angle before they took down the plane. Oh, none of the terrorists survived. "It's been fun, people, but I'm out of stories. Then again, there was that guy last night... Nah, I shouldn't tell ya that story. Next time people! IberiNews.com!"

OOC: Someone's been watching The Unit, eh? "SERE is the drill... We are the drillbit!"

Grunting at this new piece of intelligence, Foreign Minister Marc Delgado mutters, "Great. Another civil war with the military split down the middle. Money's on whichever side special forces goes with. Meh." "Oh look, Hooter's is opening another location in Barcelona."

"Mr. President! The Communist Canadians have decided to set up a moon base!" "What the hell have you been smoking, Diego?" "No sir, I'm serious." "So am I. You're going to rehab."

Borders might be right or wrong, but my nation name is still most definitely wrong. It's Federacion Iberiana, not Federacion Espana.

"Dear Generalissimo, there can be only one response to that statement. 'Madness? THIS IS SPARTA!!!' All joking aside... Scratch that. Even a nation such as the Federacion, which was itself born of the partitioning of an empire, cannot help but laugh at this farcical attempt at extortion. It doesn't even qualify as decent blackmail, just petty strongarm tactics. "As an interesting side note, strongarm tactics only work when one has a strong arm with which to execute them. Unfortunately, it would seem that you do not. Thank you for your entertaining interlude, now please be prepared to conduct business in a more sensible manner."

OOC: I did my President's assassination better. ;-P /OOC The Federacion offers the full services of the National Police Investigative Division in the search for the assassin of the Atlantean President.

Mateo glanced at his watch before putting it in the security bin. "Southwest 481 direct to Louis Armstrong International now boarding all passengers." It took all of his willpower to keep from glancing around for his partners. Just trust that they made it through and get on the plane. Grabbing his small duffel bag off the conveyor, he checked his boarding pass again to make sure he was heading for the right gate. Twenty minutes later, Juan and Marco took their seats at the front of first class. They were the only two members of the team seated together, for theirs was the part of the operation that had to go off perfectly. Marco allowed himself a glance aft, checking to see Mateo and Lucas had made it on the plane. Mateo was around the middle of the craft in an aisle seat, and Lucas was at the extreme rear of economy class, as close to the flight attendants' station as he could get. Good, everyone made it aboard. Four hours until we go. Turning to Juan, he gave a silent thumbs-up and sat back in his seat, doing his best to get in some sleep before what he knew would be a grueling ordeal. --- Three hours and forty-five minutes later, Marco awoke to find his companion's seat empty. Concerned but not panicked, he looked around and noticed that the first-class bathroom's lock was turned and a line of perhaps five people had formed. He waited until a flight attendant had ushered the passengers toward the aft restroom before getting up and knocking on the door. "Juan, estas bien?" "Yes, I'm good... I don't think that meal is agreeing with me though." "Hideputa... All right, we'll delay until you get out and settled. I'll alert the others." Disgusted, he turned aft and held his closed fist at shoulder height, then opened his hand and held it out palm to the floor. Let's hope they get the message to hold off... Damn Juan and his stomach. --- An hour later, Paulo was finally out of the head, but the plan had changed. By now the plane only had enough fuel to reach its intended destination -- that is, not their intended destination. Regardless, Mateo was confident he could get the authorities at LAX to refuel the aircraft and let it fly off. Sure of himself and of his team, he decided to set the plan in motion anyway. First Lucas ducked into the galley and pulled out the false bottom from one of the drink carts. He pulled out two fragmentation grenades and a Heckler & Koch UMP submachine gun from the hidden cavity. Marco's weapon was not two feet away from him, tucked inside the recently replaced seat in front of him. He pulled his 5.7mm FN Five-seveN pistol, checked its chamber and magazine, and nodded toward the pair up front. Mateo and Juan got their weapons from the same place Juan had just left: The first-class restroom. The two men checked their own Five-seveNs and moved toward the $@pit door. Not wanting to give the crew any warning, they kicked open the door and immediately took over the enclosed space. Lucas let loose a burst from his submachine gun -- He had loaded the first magazine with blanks so as not to puncture the aircraft's skin -- and yelled for the passengers to stay in their seats and keep their heads down. Marco brandished his own weapon and did the same. Secure in their control of the aircraft, the hijackers ordered the pilot to continue the flight as normal. "Ladies and gentlemen," Mateo said over the intercom, "This is Mateo speaking. My brothers are Marco, Lucas, and Juan. We are here to write a new story for you. This story begins a long time ago in a place none of you have heard of, with a bomb falling from the sky. My brothers and I are all that remains of our village. An aircraft destroyed our people, and it is with this aircraft that we will have our final victory! Now, we do not wish to harm you. You will be released as soon as our demands are met. All you have to do is remain in your seats and do not resist, and you will leave this airplane as safely as you entered it. Flight attendants will continue to serve drinks, and individuals may use the restroom as they require it. But do not test my brothers, for we have had a long hard time." Turning to the radio, he clicked the handset and said, "Louis Armstrong, this is Sierra Whisky Four-Eight-One, requesting immediate landing vector, repeat immediate landing vector. We are declaring a fuel emergency, over."