Mara Lithaen

Army begins modernization drive Thousands of jobs created over the span of a month as the military redesigns itself Oklahoma City, Oklahoma - The Army Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Congressional Defense Committee officially announced the source of the job boom that occurred this last month - a massive modernization effort by the Army, aimed at providing today's warfighter with the best equipment the state can provide, allowing the actual fighting force itself to be smaller. Among the planned additions to the Army's order of battle are a series of new tanks to replace the Abrams chassis, new sidearms, and a dozen other projects aimed at improving equipment quality and battlefield awareness. The project, expected to cost $2 billion (or a twentieth of the Federation Aeronautics and Space Administration's budget) should take as little as two years to complete, according to Army officials at the announcement press conference this last Monday. Ten thousand jobs are believed to have been created already in the course of this effort, with more surely to come.

NMG&E to open Federation's first solar power plant Environmentalists rejoice as clean power takes a step forward in the Federation. Santa Fe, NM - New Mexico Gas and Electric held a press conference today to announce that they have broken ground on the Federation's first solar thermal power plant, located in southern New Mexico. The array, backed by the BP Energy Fund, OG&E, with subsidies from the Department of Energy, will produce a total 392MW of power through 173,500 multi-mirror units. It will generate enough power to energize up to 140,000 homes in New Mexico, and will represent the sum total of solar thermal power in the Federation. With the successful funding and beginning of construction on this plant, two more are expected to be built in Texas and New Mexico, with other potential sites being considered elsewhere. This coincides with the government's "Minimal Energy Footprint" program, which aims to subsidize the purchase and installation of residential solar and wind power units. The aim of the program is to reduce stress on the nation's power network, and, should all things go according to plan, cut residential needs out of the power network altogether, thereby reducing the nation's carbon footprint.

New Highway Completed Years of work culminate in the official opening of the new Federation Interstate exchange in OKC Oklahoma City, Oklahoma - The final work on the Federation Interstate System ended today, with the cloverleaf interchange in OKC being opened for traffic from the four corners of the Federation. The new interstate system is an eight lane highway that extends through all the territory controlled by the Federation with provisions for future expansion. In other news, the Army acquired a new 240mm artillery system...

To: Baron Sleepy Hollow From: President John Reece of the Plains Federation Baron, The Vice President has expressed her willingness to meet with you and yours in Thunder Bay, and will arrive within the week. I look forward to seeing what becomes of your meeting with the Vice President; she has a way with words. Respectfully, John K. Reece President, Plains Federation

The President would greet the Empress at the Mayor's House in Chicago, with security beefed up accordingly. Upon her entrance, President Reece bowed slightly to her, acknowledging her culture's prickly sense of formality.

Please mark the former US states as protectorates of the Plains Federation.

President Reece signed off on the actions surrounding the protection of the old US territories, stating, "Though we have no idea as to the cause of this apparent collapse, as fellow North Americans and neighbors it is our duty to do everything in our power to help the citizens of the former US in any way we can."

State and National Congressional Elections Conclude: Who Won What, Where? Federation citizens make their desires known through fair election. The many states of the Federation conducted their elections this last week, and signal the end of this year's political turnover season, much to the relief of all involved. Our offices here in Oklahoma City have received the official final count in five of the nine states of the Federation: More results will be posted as we get them. Stay with News 9, We'll Keep You Advised.

This measure would be approved by the other members of Congress from the states of Oklahoma, Arkansas, Colorado and Missouri. Meanwhile, Senator Clinton raised the suggestion of rolling the Lighthouse Authority into the main Transit Authority, and moving the position of Chief Sea Marshal into the office of the Federation Marshals.

Vice President Kennedy arrived roughly on schedule, and opened the floor to new legislation.

The team flooded through the grille into the drainage pipe beyond, emerging ten feet and a snipped mesh grille later on the other side of the ditch, inside the airport’s perimeter. Hayley snapped her rifle to her shoulder as one of her team cracked off a silenced burst of 5.56mm rounds into an insurgent’s head and neck, painting the wall next to him with a spray of gore. Her heart racing, she swept the area in front of her with her eyes. Fifteen feet above, braced against a sandbag wall on the roof of a one story office, she spotted a man in woodland camouflage with a SIG 552 propped on the sandbags, just beginning to turn towards her group. Fighting her heart back into a steadier rhythm as she brought her weapon to bear, Hayley laid her sights across the man’s head and her finger stroked her rifle’s match-grade trigger. The man’s head snapped back, and a part of her brain registered that she’d just killed another human for the first time. Next to her, she saw Chang punch three rounds into another insurgent’s chest, and suddenly there were no more targets nearby. Trotting over to the building’s wall, Hayley keyed her mike. “I’ll take overwatch on the roof. Mackenzie, give me a lift.” She said, speaking quietly. Even though her helmet was sealed, she didn’t want to take the chance of being heard. A hulking figure answered her summons, coming in at a towering six foot five, kneeling down to make a step out of his hands. Putting her heel in his hands as she faced the building, she slung her rifle over her shoulder and gave him the signal. With a whoosh of speed, he flung her skyward, and she jumped from his hands, catching the edge of the roof, hauling herself up. Taking up the position of the man she’d killed, she carefully pushed his body off the building, where it landed with a dull thud on the ground below. She made herself not pay attention to the gore streaking her position, and swept the area between her team and the airstrip’s small terminal where the enemy commander would have to be hiding, the “tower” being nothing more than a small outbuilding, and already a flaming heap courtesy of a mortar strike from the diversionary team, at that. She counted the foemen she could see. “One… two…three… four… eight…” she said softly aloud, marking them in her head. “Good Lord. Twenty…” she said, and shook her head, keying her mic. “Looks like twenty-five plus hostiles between us and Mr. Middle Honcho Terrorist, and those are just the ones I can see.” Off on the other side of the airfield, about two kilometers away, Hayley saw two tubes of incandescent tracer fire churning through an insurgent blocking position, and she could hear the ripping, tearing roar of the Vulcans that were doing the job. “Listen up, I want everyone to move out on my mark. Chang, Diaz, Williams, Dees, I want you guys formed up on the building to my two o’clock, thirty meters. Mackenzie, Daugherty, Lin, Romanov, take the backside of the building to my eleven. Di Angelo, you’re with me… go.” As the team advanced near silently, Hayley set up her rifle’s bipod to make the most use of her current, entrenched position. Beside her, di Angelo did the same with her carbine, resting it between two sandbags to make up for her lack of attached support. When the rest of the team was in position, Hayley commed in again. “Everyone, move up two hundred meters to the buildings nearest the terminal. That should put both fireteams within twenty meters of the terminal proper. Di Angelo and I will provide cover fire. Acknowledge.” Eight clicks over her radio and a thumbs up from di Angelo told her that her message had gotten through and was understood. “Alright, everyone,” Hayley said, nerves suddenly clamping her throat shut momentarily, and for another moment she fought to clear it. Then: “Go.”

Astronauts Cmdr. Sarah Baldwin and Dr. James Solovanov apply for the launch.

Chief took the Senator by the arm and led him up the aircraft's loading ramp, keying his mike while he did so. "Gamma, go and clear the airport for the Guard. I'll escort the Senator and the General back to headquarters." The chorus of clicks that responded to him told him that they had understood and acknowledged the order, and he and his charges swept past the quartermaster, who closed the ramp and doors, before the AV-22 swept into the air and streaked away, heading for a more secure location. Back on the ground, the twenty troopers of Gamma Team loped off towards the north at a ground eating pace, barely taking two minutes to close on their target. They paused in the bombed out ruin of a building nearby, two of them posting to what was left of the upper floors to keep an eye out while the others prepared their attack. Hayley Price checked her gun, putting a bit of gun oil into the bolt to make sure it wouldn’t malfunction at an inopportune moment. The big 7.62 NATO AR platform was three quarters as tall as she was and weighed in at nine pounds, three pounds heavier than the standard variant due to the specialist scope and bipod, but she was more than capable of using it with ease. She clicked the comm key on her glove – one of four different ways she could activate her radio – and spoke into it. “Comms check, all comms good?” she asked of her team. All of her teammates who she could see gave their various gestures of acknowledgement and repeated the process, the two on the upper stories radioing in their affirmatives. The plan was to split into two groups of ten – the first would create a distraction near the airfield to draw the enemy’s attention, while being serious enough of an attack that the enemy wouldn’t recognize it for what it was, if they were lucky. The second group, Hayley’s group, would come up through a relatively deep ditch that the lookouts had spotted. The second group’s task was the more dangerous of the two – such a confined initial entry point could lead to a massacre of the team assigned to take it. But the ditch ran under the fence, and the reinforced grille that kept most things out of it would prove to be relatively useless against a charge of C4. Once they were inside, they would hit the airfield’s defenses from within. “And once you’ve got the defenses knocked down, you take down their leader and wait for the Airborne to come finish off the bastards. Don’t try to be heroes.” Chief told them, keeping tabs on his rookies as best he could from afar. He would have far preferred to be there in person, but the rookies needed to learn that they could do things themselves, without him having to be involved. He figured that it was almost like raising children – as much as you want to teach them everything and show them how yourself, some things just had to be learned the old fashioned way, by doing. “Are we clear?” “Crystal, Chief!” the gathered troops chorused, and he signed off. Sighing, he settled in to wait. Back at the building, the members of Gamma Team finished their preparations, and split into their two groups, making their way towards their objectives. Hayley lead her group – and, she thought with a little shivering thrill, it really is mine – carefully down to the ditch, where she and nine other black-suited figures climbed down inside and made their way to the grille. Tim Chang, her demo expert, slid into place with his charges, the rest of the team falling into breaching position as best they could. Hayley had to contain a shiver when Lilith di Paolo slid in behind her as rear guard. She had nothing against the dark haired, sandalwood-skinned scion of the di Paolo bloodline, but knowing what the girl was capable of sent reflexive shivers of fear down her own spine. Luckily, the object of her attention was paying her no mind, and she mentally shook herself, bringing her weapon to shoulder. She clicked her comm switch three times, Chang nodded, and he stood back, detonating the charge on the grille. “Move, MOVE!” Hayley ordered, and her team rushed in, guns ready, ready to blow away the unknown…

"Target acquired. Take cover." The radioman called, and he thumbed the activation switch on the twin 25s, sending inch-wide shells thundering across the marked position at a prodigious fire rate, high-explosives tearing away cover just as efficiently as it dissolved the Cornhuskers taking cover in and around the building. The AV-22 Osprey swept in behind the chatter of its guns as both of its side gunners opened up with their M134 miniguns. Every second round was an incendiary tracer, so the resultant stream of fire looked like nothing so much as a red-hot laser beam scything through anything stupid enough to be on the other end of the hose of fire dragging along the ground. The VTOL's rear hatch lowered, and the special forces team left at their best speed, occasionally stopping to engage a hostile who had decided to poke his or her head out. Once it had disgorged its payload, the Osprey lifted away, guns still chattering madly.

"Lone Star, Apaches from the 553rd inbound, ETA seven mikes. You'll get your gunships." the radio operator replied, even as the town finally loomed in front of the hybrid plane/helicopter's cockpit. The pilot could see muzzle flashes and explosions from his seat. "Lone Star, we have visual. Supporting fire ready to go - just mark something with smoke." With that, the radio operator left his seat, sliding into the weapons control station, a twin-barreled 25mm turret revealing itself, protruding from the specially built craft's heavily modified nose.

The fast, black shape streaked through the air just fifty feet off the ground, save when it needed to dodge a high-rearing tree on the plains of Kansas. The turboprops mounted on swivels at the end of its wings roared with power, forcing the mid-sized troop transport through the air at upwards of three hundred miles an hour at that low altitude. Inside, twenty black-suited forms sat strapped into the plane’s webbing, cleaning and loading weapons and checking equipment while they waited for the plane to reach the embattled group of National Guardsmen under attack by the Cornhuskers in Ellsworth. They hadn’t originally been tasked with this mission, but the Octagon thought that there was a high priority leader in charge of the attack here, and so they were diverted from their first task. Instead of a supply dump raid, the first mission they would undertake as a unit would instead be the rescue of the Guardsmen and the capture of the rebel leader. “Coming up on drop zone in five minutes. We’ve got reports of mortar and rocket fire in the AO, so be prepared to bail; we’ll be coming in hot.” Said the only standing figure, taller than all the rest even if they had been standing as well. One seated soldier spoke up, voice high and struggling to be heard over the roar of the props. “Chief! What’s our new objective, again?” “Price, we’ll be dropping you into Ellsworth for your first combat application. There’s supposedly a man named Simmons in charge of this area’s Cornhuskers, and the brass wants him brought back alive for questioning. There’s also a group of Guardsmen under attack – we’ll be hitting the Cornhuskers encircling them from the rear to buy them time for the cavalry to arrive.” Chief replied. The suited figure nodded and returned to cleaning her gun. Meanwhile, in the cockpit… The radio operator keyed his mike. “Kansas National Guard in Ellsworth, this is Black Flag. We are incoming with a team of SF; ETA approximately three minutes. How copy?”

John waited for the discussion to come to a head. Then: "All in favor of declaring a state of emergency within the Plains Federation?"

"Thank you, Mr. Morgan." Reese replied, and nodded towards an upraised hand and its owner. "The floor is yours, Sky Marshal." he said, gesturing to the aging commander of the Federation's Air Force, James Weatherby. The man was resplendent in his dress uniform, his left breast liberally festooned with ribbons and medals from the old United States and the Federation alike. The five stars on his shoulder boards denoted his possession of the highest rank attainable by a military officer in his branch of the armed forces. "Thank you, Mr. President." he said, levering himself into a standing position with little discernible exerted effort. He was, even at seventy-five, a formidable man of broad shoulders and thick wrists, though his once dark hair was now silver and grey and mostly gone. "This new menace couldn't have come at a worse time, save for an outside invasion commencing at the same instant. What's more, they're actually better equipped than we are - how the hell they can keep F-22s in the air is beyond me when that's beyond our own capabilities. I support the plan to bomb them to kingdom come; I'd like some time for my staff and I to come up with operational plans however, so as to minimize collateral damage." He said, and sat down. "Well said, Sky Marshal." Reese said, inclining his head, and then turned in the direction of a new hand. "You have something to add, Director Sleighton?" he asked politely. Sleighton was the director of the National Intelligence Bureau, a combined intelligence organ/think tank based out of Stillwater, operated under the Department of Justice. "I do, Mr. President. I apologize for our inexcusable failure to learn of this movement before the attacks began, and we are now devoting every effort into ferreting out the enemy wherever he may be found." said the thin, balding man in his forties, round spectacles perched midway down his nose. The fatherly look of the man had fooled many an opponent in a hundred different situations into underestimating him, and they hadn't lasted long enough for them to do it a second time. Now he looked rather sharply at his aide, who whispered something in his ear. He looked at the room about him and drew a breath, seeming to debate something in his mind before coming to a conclusion. "Mr. President, I feel that it's time to brief you and the rest of Congress on a few things that could rather rapidly alter the course of this conflict and perhaps those in the future." He said. "I will, however, do that in a more private setting." John simply nodded, completely nonplussed by his intelligence head."Very well... anyone else?"

"Not at this time, Mr. President. If we're done here, I think I'll be needed back home in short order."

Vice President Kennedy then penned her signature on both the treaty as well.

Hospitals have a certain distinct smell to them. It’s unlike any other in the world – the stench of disinfectant, sterile equipment, the slightly musty smell of people left too long in beds, and the intangible stench of the pain of a multitude. Some people fear the smell, some people tolerate it, some enjoy it. I hate hospitals, Brandon O’Toole thought to himself, while his chair was pushed down the hall to the visitor room by his attendant nurse. Unfortunately for Brandon, he was likely to remain a patient here for a very, very long time. Once upon a time, he’d been Corporal O’Toole, 2nd Platoon, Bravo Company, 101st Airborne Infantry, Plains Federation Army. He’d lived a fast and dangerous life, enjoying life to its fullest between deployments – because whenever the shit hit the fan, the 101st was always the first thrown into the pile, often already hip-deep. And then had come the Wichita operation, dropping in behind the bandits’ main band to cut them off from their hidey-holes. He’d jumped into Kansas City, Missouri with the rest of his division and an airdropped company of Sesk-95s. Almost immediately they’d found themselves under attack on all sides, and the 101st had circled its wagons, digging in to let the bandits batter themselves to death on the walls of lead it could produce. Then, when the main attack had been blunted successfully, the bandits retreating towards the north, the Screaming Eagles had gone in hot pursuit of their foes. Unfortunately for some of the Eagles, the bandits had learned a thing or two about guerrilla warfare from their counterparts in other countries over the years, and roadside bombs had cost the lives of entirely too many people – nearly a hundred. Half of O’Toole’s squad had been wiped out in an explosion which had also, eventually, cost O’Toole all of his limbs. So he was stuck in the hospital, and his sheer inability to do things for himself anymore was getting to him. The doctors were talking advanced prosthetics to restore his ability to move and the like, but he’d still need assistance showering and handling other tasks that the prosthetics were simply not dexterous enough to handle. As they rolled around the last corner of the hallway, the visitor room looming in front of him, Brandon once again wondered who was coming to see him. His parents and friends would have called, and his wife would have been admitted to his room. His nurse wheeled him into the room towards his booth, where three people waited, apparently for him – one male, two females. All three wore the same nondescript black shirt and jeans, with the only variation being the cut of the shirts with respect to the females’ forms. The male was massive, a blond-haired blue-eyed six-foot-seven-plus mountain of a man with a rather impressive array of scars on his face and arms, each of which were bigger around than O’Toole’s thighs were. He looked like he could eat nails for breakfast and wash it down with gun oil. His face was relatively thin-cut, jaw square but neither strong nor weak. His female companions were smaller, but no less impressive. One, an almost albino-pale redhead with brilliant green eyes, was tall for a woman, standing maybe two inches shorter than Brandon before the bomb at five-ten or so, beautiful but built like a female MMA fighter, all whipcord muscle with very little fat to be found. She, too, had scars, though far fewer. One over her left eye, one very thin across the corner of her lips, and one on her right forearm. Something about her made the soldier that he still was at heart scream “officer”. Maybe it was the ramrod straight way she held herself, or maybe the set of her eyes, or the way the other female and the male both occasionally glanced at her as if waiting for her cue to do whatever she needed them to. The other female was the smallest of the three, five foot four maybe, and built much less impressively. She was thin, a whippet to the other woman’s greyhound and the man’s mastiff, and pale, but her paleness was more of a pallid pale rather than the Irish pale of the other woman that made the Irishman in O’Toole sit up and take notice. Her black hair flowed down over her shoulders and down her back, reaching her shoulder blades, framing her face, which was the same pallid olive tone as the rest of her, suggesting Italian heritage. But it was her eyes that got his attention – they were a dark, dark blue, verging on black, but every so often they turned a very dull orange while she watched him. A smirk crossed her face momentarily when she caught him looking at her. Then his nurse pushed him up to the table, and left them be. A moment passed, then the redhead cleared her throat and leaned forward a bit, her forearms on the table. “Hello, I’m Sarah, and this is Hunter,” she said, jerking her head to her left to indicate the man, who lifted a hand in greeting,” and this is Angelica.” She finished, another jerk of her head, this time to her right, indicating the diminutive woman, who also waved, a bit more freely than Hunter. “Pleased to meet ya. Corporal Brandon O’Toole, Plains Fed Army.” Brandon offered, taking note of the lack of last names given to him by his mysterious visitors. “I hope you’re not offended,” he went on,” but I don’t recognize any of you. What can I do for you?” he said, squirming a bit in his chair, the fake legs and arms in his chair merely for show so that he wouldn’t be immediately pegged as a quad-amputee, but also acting as his support to keep him upright. “I’d be rather surprised if you did recognize us, Corporal.” The redhead said with the slightest of smiles. “Our job is not to be recognized… well, in most situations.” She said, almost conspiratorially. Spooks, Brandon thought. “But as to your question, it’s less a question of what you can do for us as what we’d like to do for you.” Uh oh. “You see, we know about your recent… injuries…” she said, politely not stating them aloud for the whole room to hear,” and, after talking to your family and friends, knowing what serving your country means to you, we’d like to offer you the chance to do so again.” “What?” Brandon couldn’t quite stop himself. “But I can’t even move, much less carry a weapon, and…” he exclaimed, incredulous. The redhead held up one hand, finger raised as if to ask for just a moment to explain, and he subsided, nodding for her to continue. “We know that, Corporal. But we can give you back your old capabilities… and more.” She said, and got every ounce of his attention with that sentence. “We represent a … well, an exploratory development group that proves new technologies for use by the military. We believe we have a new system that will give soldiers like you the chance to fight again, and then return to civilian life better than ever before, walking and talking and being able to pick up your children again. Unfortunately, the chance to get a proper test subject for the system hadn’t come up until now – you, being a quad-amputee, allows us to test the whole system at once if you agree to it. The DoD is paying for it, and it’s yours to keep once we’re done, plus any future updates and upgrades we may come up with after. I’m afraid it’s top secret and I can’t tell you any more than that unless you agree to helping us so I can read you in, though.” She said, and waited. Brandon’s thoughts raced. This woman – Sarah – had offered him the chance to regain so very much… but he was hesitant. After a moment, though, he sighed internally, and glanced over at Hunter and Angelica, then at Sarah. Something about all three just screamed you can trust them. Remember the adage about the gift horse, he thought wryly, and looked back up to meet Sarah’s eyes. “I’ll do it. When can we get started?”

President Reese walked into the Hall of Congress for the first time in months, stepping up to the raised podium in the center of the room where the Vice President normally presided over the senate. The gathered Senators, pulled together for the emergency session, waited patiently. Gripping the sides of the podium firmly, John looked at the assembled faces. "I hereby call this emergency session of the Senate to discuss the Kansan Crisis. Who will take the floor first?"