"Meeting the Challenge"

[TheShammySocialist]

[[b]OOC:[/b] [b]UPDATE![/b] - [url=http://forums.cybernations.net/index.php?showtopic=98323]Link[/url] to Open National RP OOC Factbook/Discussion.]

[[b]OOC:[/b] Unrelated to CNRP; just for the love of writing short stories; (unlinked to in-game events) RP between my in-game nation and fictitious nation]

[[b]OOC:[/b] Parameters; if you would like to join this single RP, I'd prefer you just drop me a message to what capacity you would like to be involved. I'm just doing this for my personal enjoyment, and hopefully some people will enjoy reading it. ]

[[b]OOC:[/b] Geographic Areas/Nations of Interest in this RP Currently; [b]Atlantik Clique (AC)[/b] (Comprises Current Canadian Provinces of; Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, and Current US State of; Maine) [b]Confederation of New England (CNE)[/b] (Comprises Current US States of; New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, and New York) [b]Le Union de Quebec & Newfoundland-Labrador (QNL)[/b] (Comprises Current Canadian Provinces of; Quebec, Newfoundland and Labrador, and French Overseas Territory of; Saint Pierre and Miquelon) State/Province/City names remain unchanged]

__________________________________

[b]"Meeting the Challenge"[/b]

[quote][i]Atlantik Chronicle - June 19, 2013[/i]

[size="5"][b]Tensions Further Heightened - Another Vessel Seized[/b][/size]
[i]Trip Burnley, Staff Writer[/i]

[b]Boston, CNE[/b] - Late last night, Lieutenant-Commander Martena Clyde, a spokeswoman of the Confederation of New England Navy confirmed earlier reports that a CNE warship interned the [i]Bounder[/i], an Atlantikian-flagged fishing vessel. Clyde reported that the vessel had strayed inside the naval demarcation line between the two nations, and that it was fishing inside this area. Also in violation of CNE maritime protocols, two personal weapons were found on board and confiscated.

"Not only once has this happened this week, but twice, and once again," Clyde asserted, and continued, "the Atlantik Clique has shown its disregard for our maritime borders and making sure its flagged vessels operate outside of them."

This incident comes only two days after an Atlantikian ocean survey vessel, was seized; the [i]Mapmaker[/i] was reportedly doing ocean floor surveys for possible inklings of oil and gas reserves, when it was ordered to heave-to. The [i]Mapmaker[/i] arrived in Boston last night, under tow by a CNE Navy tug, and its crew has been incarcerated on violation of international economic law. Atlantikian Naval Forces, after consulting radar and transponder readings, are calling the seizure of the vessel illegal, as it had not crossed over the sea boundaries until towed. Naval officials have also noted that communications with both ships were jammed prior to their seizure, which was criticized by a naval spokesman at a press conference yesterday.

Clyde responded to that criticism today, labeling it as standard operating procedure in the seizure of vessels at sea by CNE Naval Forces.

These recent incidents are arguably going to worsen relations with the Confederation, that took a bloody turn for the worse after the [i]Digby[/i] incident in March, where the Atlantikian Navy Corvette [i]Digby[/i] exchanged gunfire with two CNE patrol ships. Both sides have claimed the other violated the others' territorial economic waters, and it only exacerbated a year of tumultuous affairs between the two countries. After the refusal of the Atlantik Clique to split the economic rights of oil and gas reserves that have been found in the Gulf of Maine with the CNE last spring, the CNE has put heavy, but fruitless pressure on the Foreign Office to redefine the sea borders to allow for some exploitation of this rich oil reserve.

There has yet to be any comment from either the Atlantikian Foreign Office, or the Office of Defense and Security (ODS) on the [i]Bounder[/i] incident. The crew of the [i]Mapmaker[/i] has been reportedly been held in detention at the Salem Naval Yard, and no legal comment is reportedly forthcoming at this time.[/quote]

[b]0648 Hours, June 19, 2013[/b]
"Gravesend" - Presidential Residence
Outskirts of Halifax, County Nova Scotia

Sam "Sham" Thatcher looked across the table at his chief of staff, Olson Burns, as he put down the article after reading the article regarding the newest travesty between the Confederation and the Clique. He folded the paper neatly, took a sip of his coffee, as Burns sat back in his chair, his arms folded. Nearby, Armed Services Chief General Walter Hamilton stood looking out the window at the prim and well-kept back lawn of the Presidential Residence. The aroma of coffee was pungent in the dining hall, and all three had significantly drained the large coffee dispenser at a side table.

Thatcher broke the silence, "Has our consulate in Boston gotten in contact with those sailors off the [i]Mapmaker[/i] yet?" Thatcher pushed away a plate that had the remnants of his breakfast on it, outlines in the maple syrup surrounded where pancakes had lain. Next to that, the spent shell of a grapefruit lay in a small bowl. His gray eyes flicked from Burns, who looked up from his mobile phone when he spoke, to Hamilton, who turned to look at him when he spoke.

"Not yet, they're still holding them in a brig on the base in Salem, for once the news knows about as much as we do at this point," responded Burns.

"The ODS is withholding comment on the [i]Bounder[/i] incident, especially after we know that it was in our territorial waters when it is seized," added Hamilton, pacing along the line of window-doors that led to the back deck of the presidential residence.

"Right, we already have enough of the nationalist hawk crowd screaming about the [i]Mapmaker[/i] and [i]Digby[/i] incidents, don't need any more of it," grumbled Thatcher, taking another long sip of coffee.

"I can't say I blame the nationalist hawks, especially the families who had sons and daughters on the [i]Digby[/i]," noted Hamilton.

The [i]Digby[/i] incident had occurred on March 3, when the Village-class Heavy Corvette [i]Digby[/i] exchanged fire with two CNE patrol ships in a disputed area of the maritime border. The [i]Digby[/i] was struck with two small anti-ship missiles, one had failed to explode and had passed through its superstructure. The other missile drove itself into an aft fire control station, and exploded, killing five sailors and wounding an additional twelve. The [i]Digby[/i] didn't fail to give an account for itself either, and scored hits with its five-inch naval auto-cannon. The accurate fire forced one of the patrol ships to be scuttled following the engagement, and had left nine dead and twenty wounded for the CNE.

"I agree Hamilton, but we don't need them making this situation any worse then it already is," replied Thatcher, Hamilton giving him a nod of understanding. "I want the consulate in Boston to make contact with those sailors today."

"I'll make sure Judd puts in a call to the Foreign Office, and make that a priority." He scratched at the gray whiskers invading his dark mustache, as he nodded at Thatcher.

"No need, present," called out Judd Watkins, Thatcher's International Affairs Adviser, bursting in through the door, making the trio look to the threshold. Simply adding after his entrance, "Traffic was murder out on Transnational 1."

"Read the paper this morning?" asked Burns, as Watkins went to the coffee dispenser and poured himself a cup.

"What else am I going to do when I have to wait forty-five minutes to drive ten miles?" chuckled Watkins, as he went to the mini-bar next to the table, and grabbed a fifth of whiskey and poured a few drops into his cup.

"You know the traffic is bad when he does [i]that[/i]," said Burns, with a nod towards Watkins, and a smile at Thatcher.

"Never too early for a cup of Joe a la Whiskey," said Watkins, a connoisseur of hard liquor when he wasn't working at the Foreign Office or working with Thatcher on the Clique's external relations. His pastime did have its ways of sneaking into his work, however.

"The CNE is playing this pretty close to ear, not letting anyone speak to those sailors," said Hamilton, walking back to the table and setting the cup of coffee he had been nursing for the past fifteen minutes. "Hopefully the consulate can make some headway today."

"We got some of our best working in the CNE," noted Watkins, as he sat down at the table. "They could charm the habit off a nun."

"They still haven't been able to charm them from dropping those demands on those oil fields," said Burns, pointedly.

"I don't think any charm would do them good there, you mention the phrase 'oil discovery', and they have to excuse themselves to wipe the drool from their chins," chuckled Hamilton, shaking his head.

"Well, half their industry is based on petrochemical production and refinement, I'm not surprised," nodded Watkins, taking a long sip from his coffee. "Ah, the wonders of gracious living."

"Alchy," grumbled Burns, earning himself a stuck out tongue from Watkins.

"Is there any legal basis for their detention?" asked Thatcher, still mulling things over in his head.

"We got a task force from the Office of Judicial Affairs, they're reviewing CNE Law and Judicial procedure down at the Turner Building," answered Burns. "We also got some international law professors working with them."

"You do know that they're in there on trumped up charges, right?" said Watkins, looking at Thatcher. He took a bite out of a strudel he had plucked from the array of baked goods laid out on a platter in the center of the table.

"There has to be a reason why they're holding them without being able to talk to legal counsel," replied Hamilton, Thatcher giving him a nod of agreement. "There's that old adage, everything happens for a reason."

"Add on top of that they're holding them in a military brig," noted Watkins, shaking his head.

"Whatever their reasoning, let's try to settle this legally; Watkins, I want you to go down to the Turner Building, and work with the judicial task force, and be their link to the Foreign Office," ordered Thatcher, turning to his foreign affairs specialist.

"And here I thought my morning commute was done and I was going to be able to lounge in the President's House for most of the day," grinned Watkins, as he sipped his coffee.

"If the CNE is going to keep impounding our vessels in that area, we need to set an exclusion zone on that area, we can't afford another vessel impounded," noted Hamilton, shaking his head, as he looked over at Thatcher.

"If we set an exclusion zone, the nationalist hawks are going to be screaming bloody murder," said Watkins, giving a glance at Hamilton.

"Yeah, but Hamilton has a point, they impound another vessel, they're going to be screaming just as bad, if not worse," countered Thatcher, rubbing his hand over his eyes, keeping there for a second, and shaking his head. "Look, we set an exclusion zone on that area, official government statement is that we're doing this for the safety of our nations' mariners. We also make a statement that this is in good faith to our neighbors, for the time being, as a gesture we don't want things escalating any more. How much of an exclusion zone are we talking, Walt?"

Hamilton thought for a second, and shrugged, "twenty nautical miles seems fair to me?"

"Twenty miles it is," nodded Thatcher, glancing over at Watkins.

"You got it, boss, I'll phone it into the Foreign Office," responded Watkins.

"Walt," said Thatcher, looking up at his top military man, and gestured towards the back doors of the dining room. The two men stood up, and strode through the open doors into the humid June morning, the aroma of flowers from the gardens that dotted the back lawn fresh. Thatcher sighed heavily, Burns and Watkins quietly behind them in the dining hall.

"One of those days you could use a stiff drink at breakfast, eh Sham?" chuckled Hamilton, as the two stood side by side, not looking at each other.

Very few people called the President by his nickname, a name that hearkened back to his days as a rising star in the military. It had been at his hand that the old tyrannical regime had been swept away and replaced, first by a military junta, then a oligarchy, that Thatcher led as President. At first, many people called the new leader a "sham" or more frequently, "Sam the Sham", as many believed he was just a figurehead puppet of a faceless military regime. They had been utterly surprised by the steady transition of liberal reforms implemented by the regime, that introduced more freedom to the press and speech.

Although the country was definitely no democracy, there were elections for the four "counties" of the Clique. These counties then answered to the President and his cabinet, which was a mix of senior military officers and civilian appointees, all of whom were well-acquainted with their positions. The cabinet was a meritocracy, and it was not uncommon to see a shuffle in positions every year or two.

"That scotch at the mini bar was very tempting I must say," replied Thatcher softly, after pausing for a moment to consider Hamilton's comment, with a small smile.

"What do you want me to tell the Office of Defense and Security when I brief them later?" asked Hamilton, looking sideways at his leader.

"Enforcement of that exclusion zone is paramount, I don't want any more vessels impounded. Vessels that do not abide by the regulation will be impounded for the remainder of this incident, by executive order."

"And the Army?"

"Right now, we're considering this just some diplomatic wrangling, no need to drag the army into this. Just put up some air patrols, and adjust the sea patrols as you see fit, Walt. I want some extra ships patrolling the border of that exclusion zone."

"I'll deploy Task Squadron 23 out of Yarmouth, that will put an additional four corvettes and two frigates on the water," responded Hamilton, turning to face Thatcher.

"Have Roseway put up the 29th Tactical Squadron and the 67th Naval Intercept Squadron. Assign them flight paths that will match the exclusion zone," noted Thatcher, referring to Roseway Air Force Station. The base was the Clique's largest in southwest Nova Scotia, and both the navy and air force shared the base.

"Are you sure? I was going to give the Tactical role to the 78th, out of Stewiacke," asked Hamilton, giving Thatcher a rather ominous look.

"I'm sure, Walt," replied Thatcher, folding his arms and looking at Hamilton. "We leave personal matters out of this, she's doing the same job I was twenty some-odd years ago, she's not a kid anymore."

"Of course, Sham."

"We'll see how much charm the Foreign Office really has today," said Thatcher, with a grin.

"I hope it has as much as Watkins says it does."

"We'll see."

Edited February 7, 2011 by TheShammySocialist

[AironthFlamewing]

OOC: love this- Can I rp as CNE?

[JEDCJT]

OOC: Wow, I quite like this. Keep it up!

[TheShammySocialist]

[quote name='graniteknight' timestamp='1296951739' post='2621129']
OOC: love this- Can I rp as CNE?
[/quote]

[OOC: Thanks. I'm not sure, I've had an idea on how CNE could/should/would be acting, we'd have to discuss it more, I think. If you'd like to make a nation involved with the RP, I'm definitely amenable.]

[quote][i]ENCRYPTED TRANSMISSION INCOMING[/i]

>>>

>>>

[i]TRANSMISSION SENDER VERIFIED 'ODSNORMAN - PRIORITY ONE TRANSMISSION' 0843:23 HOURS 1962013
TRANSMISSION COMPLETION VERIFIED 'ROSEAWAYCOMM - PRIORITY ONE IMPLEMENTATION' 0843:43 HOURS 1962013[/i]

[b]To:[/b] PULLER, L., COL, ACAF, CO ROSEWAY ACAFS
[b]From:[/b] NORMAN, G., LTGEN, ACAF, ACAFCOM
[b]Subj:[/b] SITUATION [b]YELLOW[/b] - HEIGHTENED ALERT - COMBAT PATROL ORDERS EFFECTIVE [b]1100 HOURS 19 JUNE 2013[/b]

Recent events in [b]SOUTHWEST HOME OPERATIONS AREA (SWHOA)[/b] require airborne patrol deployments effective immediate as of [b]1100 HOURS - 1962013[/b], aircraft will be assigned to patrol vectors once airborne. AWACS CRAFT #CD39403-W CALLSIGN [b]CLOUDY DAY[/b] will handle patrol assignments once aircraft have taken off. Aircraft will proceed to these vectors and hold station along these course headings unless engaged or ordered otherwise.

Refueling CRAFTS #F29404-T and #G29406-T CALLSIGNS [b]FUMES[/b] and [b]GUZZLER[/b] to be on station for airborne refueling operations, vectors [b]TBD[/b].

These combat deployments will not be announced to the public unless consent is given to do so by ODS PUBLIC AFFAIRS SECTION, increased aircraft activity will be labeled as training exercises until further notice.

Squadrons will fly six hour shifts, until orders are changed or orders to stand down are given.

[b]AIRCRAFT TO BE DEPLOYED AT ALL TIMES SHALL INCLUDE[/b]
[list]
[*] TWENTY-NINTH TACTICAL SQUADRON - [b]EIGHT[/b] TF-111H TACTICAL STRIKE AIRCRAFT - [b]NAVAL STRIKE AND DETECTION EQUIPMENT PACKAGES[/b]

[*] SIXTY-SEVENTH NAVAL INTERCEPT SQUADRON - [b]TWELVE[/b] NIF-14 NAVAL INTERCEPTORS - [b]AIR-TO-AIR INTERCEPTION AND STRAFING PACKAGES[/b]
[/list]
[b]ADDITIONALLY[/b]
[list]
[*]All personnel on non-medical leave from ROSEWAY ACAFS are to be recalled immediately, pending further force requirements in SWHOA needed. Personnel not on leave are hereby assigned to [b]STANDBY[/b] status, pending possible force requirements.

[*]ID #493023-9021 THATCHER, A., 1LT, 29th TFS CALLSIGN [b]PRINCESS[/b] is cleared for flight operations, until further notice.

[*] FORTY-FORTH NAVAL INTERCEPT SQUADRON is hereby placed on [b]STANDBY - QUICK SCRAMBLE[/b] status, and will be maintained at this status until further notice.
[/list]
GODSPEED

[i]Semper Paratus[/i]

NORMAN, G., LTGEN, ACAF, ACAFCOM

>>> [i]END OF TRANSMISSION[/i][/quote]

Edited February 6, 2011 by TheShammySocialist

[Lestari]

General Ivan Mikhailovich Novikov ran a large hand over the visor of his peaked cap thoughtfully. Seated before him, clothed in similar uniform, were three men and a woman, each looking at one another with empty looks in their dark eyes. The room in which the table they sat at was situated was large and noticeably cold. On the walls hung portraits of history's greatest military commanders--Suvorov, Napoleon, Frederick II, Horatio Nelson, among many others no less worthy of mention. At one end of the room, an ornate double door stood made of decorative oaken wood; the room was noticeably without windows, lit by several unobtrusive sources throughout the expanse. An aire of military strictness and severity hung about the room--an aire that was interrupted as Novikov spoke with a casual tone.

"And so yet more news of international scandal arrives at our doorstep," General Novikov, Chairman of the Committee, stated.

"CNE and the Atlantik Clique pulling their usual !@#$," Colonel Anna Averin, Officer of Research and Science, replied with a smirk. Averin's long black hair was tied at the back and braided, and her face, plain at first glance but intelligent and clever, possessed a certain quality--a strange charisma. "Typical."

"Fortunate we are uninvolved in their useless bickering." The hoarse voice of Colonel Ilya Vrubletsky, Officer of Foreign Affairs. Vrubletsky had served in military and civil capacities in the Russian Federation and, prior to that, in the old Soviet Union. Short black hair intersparsed with patches of grey concealed Vrubletsky's true age.

"The Federation of Arkhangelsk cannot afford to involve itself in such petty squabbles," Novikov nodded gravely. "We must look to our own troubles."

To this, Aleksei Konev, Officer of Education and Industry, raised an eyebrow. "It would seem to me that we have little to trouble ourselves over." Of all the officers present, Konev was the most well versed in the art of playing upon the minds and hearts of people. He could turn an outright lie into an attractive truth with only a few words.

"Actually..." At last, the reticent Nikolai Kolkharin, Officer of the Interior, spoke his opinion. "Would it not be a desirable option to reassert the Federation's influence on the world?" Kolkharin, a veteran who had lost his left eye (and, some say, his soul) to the Second Chechnyan War, spoke little, but when he did the gravity of the room shifted dramatically.

"A fair point," Averin agreed. "It seems to me the Federation's influence is waning. Should we not remind the world Arkhangelsk remains a vigilant and ever-present superpower. We have inherited a land that historically has always exerted a powerful influence upon nations of the world. The Federation should not fear to exercise its power and influence."

Novikov gave pause to think. It was true that the Federation dominated Eastern Europe and Eurasia, but in recent years Arkhangelsk had neglected to remain involved in world affairs. "Perhaps it is time we reentered the global scene," he spoke slowly, ponderously. "We are, after all, a naval power as well. It would not be difficult for the Federation to increase a naval presence in the region. Not to mention the disturbances down in Central Asia."

"Different factions are asserting themselves," Kolkharin added with a minuscule nod.

"Supporting one or another militarily could provide us with an important ally in the region," continued Averin. As she spoke, she reached into the pockets of her overcoat and withdrew a canteen from which she drank. "After all, Arkhangelsk has the potential to be able to virtually control the passage of weapons and military strength through Eurasia. And given the state of this continent...I would argue that is a very useful ability indeed."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Novikov's pale lips, to hear such words spoken of the country he had carved out of Northern Russia years ago. "Let's start with this situation with the CNE and Atlantik Clique, then. We'll send a battlecruiser squad near the region...in the interests of protecting passing Federal assets in the area. That corridor is, after all, an important naval route between us and our allies in South America. An expression of the slightest fraction of Arkhangelsk's naval superiority. From there, we can continue to police the route...see what our friends the CNE and Atlantika are up to these days."

[TheShammySocialist]

[b]1041 Hours, June 19, 2013[/b]
Air Force Station - Roseway
Roseway District, County Nova Scotia

The air was heavy as was the haze on the horizon of the long runways at Roseway Air Force Station, one of the largest air installations available to the Clique's air forces. The home of multiple squadrons, and personnel, the huge facility was built to handle strategic bombers, as well as small craft. Its long ten-thousand foot set of double runways provided the base with the space it needed to host its mechanical guests and their pilots.

Hanger Bank C, comprising Hangers C1 through C4, was a flurry of activity that morning as a group of pilots walked out of the preparation areas that sat next to the huge hangers. Ground crews were switching modular components on the aircraft that sat outside the hangers, and fitting them with weapons packages. The 29th Tactical Squadron, armed with the aging but still combat-effective General Dynamics, Atlantik Division TF-111H "Bronco" Tactical Strike Fighters, was on its' first alert in nearly two months, since the [i]Digby[/i] incident.

The TF-111H was a supersonic-capable tactical strike fighter, that could carry up to 31,500 Pounds of Ordinance, in different types of configurations. The Atlantik Clique had required General Dynamics to upgrade the planes in 2005, resulting in the "H" Version. The "H" Version was dubbed a "modular component strike version", which allowed major components including sensory, targeting, and other avionic equipment to be switched with other components, which fit the mission that the Bronco would be flying into. This allowed the aircraft to fit to flexible roles, including naval and ground strike, and even interception if needed. The modular components were able to be switched within sixty minutes of landing and clearing the aircraft, and within ninety minutes, the aircraft could be armed and ready to take on another role.

Among the group of pilots that strode towards the aircraft, which were having their final checks wrapped up, was a group of female pilots. At their center, a young first lieutenant, her hair dirty blond, and pulled back into a tight bun, wearing aviator sunglasses, and wearing the customary grey flight suit. Her stature was rather diminutive, standing shorter then all but one of the three total female crew walking with her. The men in the group towered over her easily, but her stroll was one of extreme confidence and respect. Like the rest of the crew around her, she carried a helmet, emblazoned with their personal callsign, and visually artistic, allowing some expression in the rather colorless uniforms they were assigned.

Across the top of the purple-colored helmet of the diminutive first lieutenant's helmet, was the word in pink "Princess", a gold crown emblazoned beneath it. As they walked along the line of planes, duos would peel away, walking to their aircraft, as the TF-111H required both a pilot and Weapons Systems Officer to operate at optimal performance. At the second to the head of the line, "Princess" bumped fists with the flight leader, and nodded, before peeling off with her Weapon Systems Officer to their own aircraft.

"How we doing Jackson!" called out "Princess", to a Technical Sergeant, pulling the last of the red "remove before flight" tapes on one of the weapons pylons on the starboard wing.

"Got her gassed and loaded bosslady, naval strike configs, you got your 30-Mil Autocannon Pod, and Anti-Ship Rockets," said Jackson, pointing out the weapons systems attached to the aircraft, his face covered in grease and a heavy stubble.

"Running pretty heavy for a routine patrol," commented "Princess", "but that's what they said we'd be running with at briefing."

"Its what the brass gave us for orders," responded Jackson, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"You don't look too happy this morning," commented the WSO "Pepper", looking at the Technical Sergeant, her helmet showing two pepper-shakers dumping the condiment into an explosion. She wore the same aviator sunglasses and regulation hair style as her pilot counterpart.

"I had a week-long furlough with the Missus back in Yarmouth I was getting ready to leave for it this morning. You do the math on my expression, ma'am," shot back Jackson, wiping at his hands off in an already soiled cloth.

"Sorry to hear you'll be missing it," replied "Princess", "all systems are go?"

"We ran a double check on everything, bosslady, that Bronco will be giving you a nice smooth ride. No buckin' from this baby," nodded Jackson, patting nose of the aircraft affectionately.

"Glad to hear it," said "Princess", as she started stepping up the ladder into her seat, "Pepper" circled around the aircraft, to slip into the seat next to "Princess".

"Davis, give Pepper a hand with her straps would ya'"? nodded Jackson, calling over another ground crew member. "Surprised to see daddy gave you keys to the T-Bird, bosslady," he chuckled, winking at "Princess".

"Daddy would be getting a mouthful if I missed a date with my wingman," shot back "Princess", returning the wink, as she handed over her aviators to Jackson, her steely gray eyes watching him like a hawk.

"She's a pistol," said "Pepper", with a grin, as she also handed over her aviators to Jackson. Both pilots held their arms aloft as the two ground crew adjusted the straps holding the pilots in, and checked them for too much slack.

"That good?" called out Jackson, finishing adjusting the straps, as a duo of NIF-14 "Tomcats" roared past overhead.

"Princess" forcefully pushed her body forward, and nodded, "we're good." "Pepper" repeated the same process and gave Davis a fist bump, as the ground crewman stepped away from the cockpit, and folded up the ladder for the WSO on the other side.

"You take care of yourself and my baby up there, bosslady," said Jackson, as he stepped away from the cockpit and folded up the ladder.

"Don't worry, she's my baby too," responded "Princess", as she slid the shaded visor down over her eyes, her smiling lips still visible.

"I'm holding you to that!" yelled Jackson, pointing at her, his face with a grin that revealed the creases in his face that had escaped the oil and grease. She chuckled, and flipped a switch, the cockpit canopies closing down, as made sure the ladder was latched.

Jackson reached up and patted the names that were painted right below the cockpit, "First Lieutenant Andrea 'Princess' Thatcher", and "First Lieutenant Jessica 'Pepper' Price".

In the cockpit, Price and Thatcher turned and grinned at each other, giving each other a high-five, and bumping fists.

"You ready to get your feet wet, Pepper?" said Thatcher, her smile not breaking. She reached up and began flipping the standby switches and keying the engines for start-up. The huge TF30-100AT Turbofan Engines roared to life, when she flipped the keyed the ignition switch, after Jackson had given her the go ahead. "Both engines showing green."

"Copy that," echoed Price, then said, "I didn't bring my bathing suit along, unfortunately," replied Price, with a false pouting expression on her face.

"It is a good beach day," nodded Thatcher in response, as she gave the thumbs-up to Jackson, he gave her one back, then saluted, which she returned. "Why couldn't the Confederation wait until tomorrow to impound another boat?"

Along the flightline, their flights' callsigns could be heard reporting in, and when there was a moment of silence, Thatcher said smoothly, "29-3 Princess, reporting in." Then she turned to Price, and shrugged, "who knows, they have a horrible sense of timing, I could be laying out down at Round Bay right now."

"Well, business is business," replied Price, her tone a mixture between business and a grumble.

"Got that right, ready to ride the thunder?"

"Ready, Freddy," nodded Price, as Jackson stepped forward, to remove the chalks from in front of the front landing gear. The lead Bronco, piloted by their flight leader, Major Richard "Waxer" Billings, his aircraft situated right in front of her own, began to roll forward.

"Hold onto your panties, Pricey," said Thatcher, her smile unceasing, as she nudged the throttle forward, the Bronco slowly taxiing forward.

Edited February 7, 2011 by TheShammySocialist

[Lestari]

The deep stillness of the Atlantic Ocean was almost disconcerting at times. At times, one was hard pressed to realise that below the serene, rolling surface of blue was an entirely different world--one that sank unimaginable distances into deep trenches and dark, ominous caverns. From above, however, nothing of this vast secret universe could be seen--only the relative peace and quiet of the waters, which was about to be disturbed.

Slicing through the blue expanse, six battlecruisers, in a 1-3-2 fleet formation, ran almost silently over the water; on their hull, a black, intertwined star set against a backdrop of crimson red marked the fleet to be of the Federal Naval Forces. The route they were on was one that was usually used by commercial naval vessels moving between the Federatsiya Arkhangelsk and Brazil--a route that led close to the CNE/Atlantik Clique's little 'demarcation line'. Since the Federation was uninvolved in the conflicts between the CNE and Atlantik, there was no need for Arkhangelsk to fear any problems with either country as far as violating any agreements; however, given the CNE's naval practices, it would not be unusual for the Federation to be concerned over the security of commercial vessels both from Arkhangelsk and from their allies in Brazil.

Either way, it could be seen as a show of force from the Federation--a warning to the CNE that whatever it decided to pull with the Atlantik Clique, any movements against a Federation vessel would be responded to immediately--and with brutal force.

[TheShammySocialist]

"... looks like its going to be a soaker for you folks down in the Big Apple tomorrow. Sorry to say, beachgoers. That's a look at the weather, back to Susan and Mike in the newsroom."

The camera flicked back to the news desk, the big letters, "NENN" emblazoned on the front of it, under it was written "New England News Network."

"Not a good outlook for the weekend, eh Mike?" said the red-haired female newscaster, as she adjusted her notes.

"Not at all, Susan, now, we're going to take you live to the Boston waterfront, with Teddy Long, who now says that the Atlantik-flagged vessel [i]Bounder[/i] is being towed into the harbor as we speak. Teddy, you still with us down there?"

"Yes I am, Mike," said Long, as a younger newscaster with jet-black hair appeared on screen. "I'm standing here at the Boston Port Authority Impounding Zone with Rear Admiral Terrence Bull, as the [i]Bounder[/i] is towed into the good ole' port." The camera panned out to show an older gentleman in a white uniform, with a multitude of medals on his chest, and an officers' cap, standing next to Long.

"Thank you for allowing us access to this area, Admiral, I want to say, its a great honor to be able to witness yet another navigational blunder by an Atlantik-flagged vessel."

"Anytime sonny."

"Now, lets talk impact, NENN has learned that the Atlantik Clique government has been making overtures almost all morning to get legal counsel to its impounded crews. Their navy has also declared that the [i]Mapmaker[/i] was actually taken in their own waters, and there has yet to be any comment on this incident. Do you think that Thatcher is playing scared here, or is he legally in the right here?"

"I can't get into the mind of that man, Ted, but I do know this, that there boat," Bull indicated with a wide sweep of his arm towards the [i]Mapmaker[/i], docked nearby, "was in our own waters. The Atlantikian Navy can say whatever hogwash it wants, same goes to their leader as well. Thatcher has been denying us joint access to resources that should be rightfully ours to share with the Atlantikian people."

"Do you think these recent incidents will show the Atlantikian people that the Confederation is going to new lengths to show that a revised maritime boundary should be put into force?"

"I think the Atlantikian people have to understand that until it revolted fifteen years ago, Maine, and most of their half of the Gulf of Maine, was part of our country. After the loss of Maine, we lost lucrative fishing, and now oil drilling rights to those people in the north who encroached into Maine. We will impound any ship that so much goes one millimeter over our maritime border."

"What do you think of the Atlantikian Navy imposing a twenty nautical mile exclusion zone on their side of the maritime border?"

"Officially, we have no comment on it at this time. Personally, I believe that these recent events are souring the government's image to the north. I'm sure the Atlantikian Navy wouldn't like to suffer yet another damaging blow as the [i]Digby[/i] incident, especially if they would try to [i]stop[/i] us from lawfully impounding any more ships."

"I have also heard that the Confederation Navy is going to begin stopping ships out to see close to its demarcation line along major trade routes."

"Yes, Operation Watchtower, it was announced this morning. We believe that the Clique may have ships disguised as cargo ships that ply the waters off our coasts that could be used as surveillance ships. These ships, we also believe, could be designed to detect our open sea early-warning sonar net, which is lawful and part of our maritime defense. We will stop ships we believe to be part of this dangerous project as far as one hundred nautical miles from our borders."

"Will that include ships on the major shipping lanes?"

"If we believe them to be part of this devious program, of course."

"What a-."

The TV flipped off, and Burns said, "crock of beans," finishing the reporter's sentence, as he shook his head.

[b]1342 Hours, June 13[/b]
Presidential Offices, Redstone Building
Downtown Halifax

"That could put a dent in our economy," grumbled Marcus Bane, Head of Labor Affairs, Economic Development and Planning. He took a sip from his coffee, then looked over at Thatcher, sitting behind a Mahogany Desk, still looking at the TV, deep in thought.

"Ships bound for our ports aren't going to want to have to do navigational adjustments just so they don't get accused of being spies," continued Bane, his face a veil of frustration and anger. He was seated across from Thatcher, his dark hair interlaced with graying strands, a product of the demanding role he played.

"This is total bull, how in the name of blazes is that legal?" muttered Burns, stalking to a seat next to Bane, sitting down.

"They'll make it legal if it already isn't," murmured Thatcher, still in thought.

Hamilton, in his usual spot, near a window, finally broke his own silence, the others forgetting he had been there for the past ten minutes. "Even if [i]they[/i] make it legal, other countries aren't going to like it if there cargo vessels get stopped and searched. Time is money."

"Technically, if they have no valid reason to seize those ships, if only they suspect them of running surveillance, the crew has a reason to declare that the Confederation is engaging in piracy," noted Thatcher, Hamilton nodding slightly. As Thatcher finished his sentence, Burns' cell phone went off, and Thatcher went back to his pensive, thinking mood.

"Yeah, this is Burns," said Burns, pausing for a few seconds, listening, "yeah, I'll tell him." He let out a small scoff, "you got that right Judd." He snapped the phone shut, and looked over at Thatcher, the leader's head turned to him, his steely gaze on him.

"Judd got word from Minister Johnson," sighed Burns, pausing before he continued, "Confederation isn't budging, they're refusing to allow legal counsel or visits by embassy staff for the time being. They have, however, extended us an invitation to talk about the maritime border in the Gulf of Maine." As soon as the words left Burns' mouth, the temperature in the room seemed to raise, and the air inexplicably appeared to be thicker, despite the blasting Air-Conditioning.

"Cheeky buggers," grumbled Hamilton, finally breaking the minute of silence, folding his arms.

Thatcher closed his eyes and shook his head, as Burns said, "Judd also made a request, boss."

"What's that?" sighed Thatcher, giving an annoyed look at Burns.

"That you not shoot the bearer of bad news," his chief of staff replied.

"I would have shot Judd a long time ago if I wanted to."

Bane chuckled, "Sounds like the Confederation isn't the only cheeky bugger."

"So now, they're holding those crew hostage, in exchange for adjusting the maritime border? That's cute," murmured Thatcher, a slight tone of aggravation seeping into voice.

"Gotta love rocks and hard places," sighed Bane. "I'll see what I can do about this new 'Operation Watchtower', Sam." He stood up, and the two exchanged a handshake, and a curt nod. "I'll speak to the primary shipping lines, see what they say, and get back to you later."

"Thanks Marcus," nodded Sam, sitting back down once Bane had departed, as Burns shut the door gently.

"What do you wanna do Sham?" asked Hamilton, nursing his cup of coffee, that was probably cold by now. His gaze was on the President, who sat looking at the door, the silence in the room was overwhelming, he finally turned his head to Burns, who was standing near the unlit fireplace.

"Burns..."

"Sir?" responded the chief of staff almost immediately, turning from his gaze of an elegant portrait of a sloop entering Halifax Harbor that hung over the mantle.

"I want a press conference tonight, seven o'clock, all networks and radio stations. Make it happen."

Edited February 8, 2011 by TheShammySocialist

[Lestari]

[b]1400 hours, June 13
Palácio da Alvorada
Brasília, Brasil[/b]

President Isabelle Vieira received the news grimly. Nearby, Vice President Elias Evangelista, Director of the Chamber of Deputies Sergio de Ville, Director of the Council Andre Senna wore similar expressions. Vieira had known long that a feud had run between the CNE and the Atlantik Clique for many years--but to close off a route that was known to be a vital naval trade to all nations? She had certainly not expected the CNE to take such drastic measures. At one time Brazil had depended on that route to receive military hardware and equipment from the Arkhangelsk Federation; now, though Brazil was militarily becoming independent of foreign equipment, designing its own advanced hardware, the route remained important as a naval trade pathway between the two allies.

"Brazil will not stand for this," Vieira muttered angrily under her breath.

"When has the CNE cared for the opinions of other nations?" Evangelista scoffed in response. "They won't budge, and this will severely obstruct our economic progress. We have been on the rise politically and economically due to our ability to maintain a route with the Federation, but if that route is cut..."

"The Federation will not stand for this either," was Veiera's reply. "Novikov may not be doing much on the international political scene lately, but he will not stand idly. Let us not forget, Arkhangelsk depends on Brazil and that trade route for many of its components and resources that it cannot produce itself. The Federation would not be willing to allow the CNE to simply...toss that aside."

"Will Arkhangelsk be able to get CNE to budge?" Senna spoke with doubt in his voice. "Considering CNE is the premier power in North America, they may think this is a way to consolidate their own power. In such a case, the likelihood that New England will be willing to negotiate is doubtful."

Vieira shook her head. "I would not have expected CNE to pull something like this. Do they really expect to get away with it?"

"For long the CNE has seemed to think it can get away with much that is not its domain," de Ville added. "I do not think it will last long at this rate."


The announcement came at a time when Brazilian and Federal vessels were long already on their way through the route. The fleet of Averin-class battlecruisers remained at a distance from the established demarcation line itself; however, the ships, placed at an important 'crossroads' on the trade route, remained vigilant and on the alert as commercial vessels from both Brazil and Arkhangelsk passed through. The route they were taking, stopping in Northern Canada to refuel, required the commercial ships to pass dangerously near the border set by Operation Watchtower, of which the commercial vessels remained unknowing.

[TheShammySocialist]

[b]1443 Hours, June 13[/b]
ACS [i]Phantom[/i] SSA - 9, Atlantik Clique Exclusion Zone
Gulf of Maine

Lieutenant Commander Riley O'Neil put his binoculars up to his eyes again, scouring the horizon, his gaze turn skywards, as another flight patrol zipped by, flying low. The tactical strike fighters banked and peeled off to the east. The breeze was light that day, as he stood in the conning tower of the Attack Submarine [i]Phantom[/i]. He looked over to one of his officers, Lieutenant Marty Towers, who was looking out to the west with his own pair of binoculars.

"See anything out there Marty?" said O'Neil, wiping some sweat from his brow.

"Nothing, radar says there are CNE Patrol Craft on the other side of the maritime border, can't catch a glimpse of them though," replied Towers, as he let his binoculars hang around his neck again.

"We'll maintain course to the northwest for now, stay parallel with the maritime border," said O'Neil.

"They're certainly making a show of force up there," noted Towers, glancing upwards to see a flight of Interceptors pass by at higher altitude.

"Rattling the sabers, but I don't blame the ODS, two vessels impounded in one week? And one is confirmed to be in our territory? I wouldn't be too pleased either," responded O'Neil.

"Comm to Skipper, Comm to Skipper," came the call over the one-piece headset that O'Neil was wearing, the voice belonging to his executive officer, Lieutenant Inigo Bowers.

"Skipper, go ahead Comm," responded O'Neil.

"New orders from ODS, Riley - CNE NAVAL FORCES TO BEGIN POSSIBLE CARGO VESSEL INTERDICTION, STOP; SURVEILLANCE OF SITUATION CRITICAl, STOP; [i]PHANTOM[/i] TO PROCEED SOUTHEAST, STOP; PREDETERMINED COORDINATE PACKAGE WHISKEY-LIMA ZERO NINE ZERO AND REMAIN ON STATION, STOP. END OF TRANSMISSION."

"Got it Comm, prepare to dive, we're coming down," responded O'Neil, nodding at Towers, who began climbing down the ladder into the conning tower. O'Neil began scrambling down, followed lastly by a petty officer, Saunders, who had been on the conning tower with them. "Button her up."

"You got it, Skip," nodded Saunders, who quickly activated the automatic hatch lock, and then manually checked it, before climbing down into the Submarine proper.

The dim bridge was a flurry of activity, as the sub quickly began preparations for dive.

As soon as O'Neil's foot hit the bottom of the ladder, Bowers called out, "Skipper has the Comm!" An chorus of replies came, almost mechanical, acknowledging the change in status.

"We are a go, sir," said Master Chief Petty Officer Downes, the gruff and heavy-built dive officer.

"Diving officer, submerge the ship. Helmsman, bring us about, one-four-zero degrees, due southeast," called out O'Neil, putting on his baseball cap that had the Sub's Profile and Name Emblazoned on it.

"Aye Aye Sir!" yelled the two crewmen in unison, the diving officer adjusting the dive planes.

"Acknowledge the orders, Inigo, we're on our way," ordered O'Neil, his friend saluting. "Into the blue unknown, once again," he murmured, as the [i]Phantom[/i] plowed beneath a small swell, and was gone.

Edited February 8, 2011 by TheShammySocialist

[TheShammySocialist]

[b]1851 Hours, June 13th[/b]
Presidential Offices – Redstone Building
Downtown Halifax

“[i]All[/i] the shipping lines are protesting?” asked Thatcher, as he looked at the clock, then back at Bane, having just arrived. Only about ten minutes were left until his press conference, but he seemed cool and composed.

“Everything that isn’t flagged out of the Confederation,” noted Bane, drawing a scoff from Burns, who looked much more nervous, as he looked at them from a chair in the corner.

“Of course they’re not protesting,” piped up Watkins, who had shown up only a few minutes earlier then Bane, having spent his entire day over at the Turner building, trying to work with the Foreign Office. He was nursing a glass of scotch that he had poured the moment he stepped in the room; no one had said anything to him for it.

“The shipping lines are all screaming bloody murder, especially a lot of the merchant shipping lines running the transatlantic route, as they usually top off on fuel in Halifax, or deliver goods there,” responded Bane.

“One of our consulate personnel picked up a rumor off a friendly contact in the Confederation State Department, and sent it to us right before I came here,” noted Watkins, as he folded his arms.

“And that was?” asked Thatcher, after a pause in the room.

“I didn’t think the military approved of scuttlebutt.”

“Cut the crap, Judd,” snapped Thatcher, “I’ll take whatever news out of the Confederation I can get at the moment.”

“Alright, alright, the consulate officer shot us a note that the crew of the [i]Mapmaker[/i] could be facing espionage charges…”

"How in the hell are they going to pull that off?" said Thatcher, sitting up in his chair immediately.

"The sonar the [i]Mapmaker[/i] uses to map the underground landscape can also be used as a rudimentary form of underwater sonar buoy detection."

"You do know what the Confederation does to people charged with espionage, right?" said Thatcher.

"I know, Sam, they're probably going to throw down that card to put more pressure on us," replied Watkins, waving his scotch glass around, but looking rather discouraged, despite the twelve year old scotch he had been drinking.

Bane muttered an expletive under his breath, and shook his head.

“Judd, has there been any word from any other countries about this stop and seizure method that the Confederation could be using?” asked Thatcher, looking solemnly at Watkins, who swallowed the sip he had taken, and shook his head.

“Not really, a few protests here and there, a little rumbling, we’ll have to see how the next twenty-four hours go,” replied Watkins, just shrugging his shoulders.

“We’ll definitely see what happens in the next twenty-four hours when your speech hits the waves,” responded Burns, looking at Thatcher, with a nervous smile.

Thatcher didn’t respond, standing up and going over to the window, his eyes surveying the overview of Halifax Harbor, the only real military activity that was in view, was down at the naval base. Vehicles and personnel were dots at this distance, but their harried movement denoted something was going on. Other than that activity, it was business as usual, the late rush hour had reduced traffic to a crawl across the bridges to Dartmouth. Busses were running on some semblance of a schedule, there was little to show that the public were scared. They had felt the safest since the reigns of terror before his time in office, they were wary of the Confederation, editorials in the paper and interviews on the streets had shown that. This was a country that was built on order, on their confidence in the government, and affirming their safety, after suffering under the strongmen of the tyranny before.

The door opened, all eyes in the room looking over at the door, but Thatcher kept his back turned, as a female aide said softly, “Mr. President? They’re ready for you, sir.”

He nodded quietly, and turned around, and walked towards the door, stopping at his desk, briefly to pick up a book, then proceeded to the door. The young female aide held the door, as he, Watkins, Bane, and Burns all proceed out into the hallway, towards the grand staircase, that would take them to the entrance hallway of the building. The level of noise below couldn't be heard from his office, but it grew louder as he got to the staircase, took a breath, and started curtly down the stairs.

[center][b]*** *** ***[/b][/center]

Across the nation, many families were sitting down to supper, or clearing away dishes, some people were on the road home after work, some were just starting work. People were kicking back in their living rooms, or putting on their uniforms to begin the night shift at various places of employment. As the clock struck 19:00, across the nation, TV Stations blacked out, before the flag of the Atlantik Clique was shown waving across the screen, radio Stations Fizzled for a second, before both said in an automated voice, "we interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for a special Presidential statement, live from the Redstone."

On the TV, a podium was shown, the flag of the Atlantik Clique hanging over the front, the podium stood in front of the grand staircase that led to the upper offices of the Redstone Building. Behind the podium stood a row of curt individuals, both male and female, some in military uniform, some out, the President's cabinet. Also present, at one side, was Honorable People's Governor of Nova Scotia. All of them had grave, tired, or both looks on their faces, as they looked up at the stairs as Sam Thatcher descended the stairs. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, strolling confidently, holding a book in his hand he set upon the podium, camera flashes and shutters clicked. He adjusted his suit, as he looked around lobby, presumably packed, to the viewer.

"Good Evening, my fellow citizens of the Atlantik Clique, and neighbors abroad, I come before you tonight, to comment on, and tell you of the recent hostile events that have afflicted our honorable nation. I am afraid that once again, I stand before you, as I did two months ago, to comment on bad news, rather than the good. Twenty-three years ago, I stood at this very same podium, in this very same building, to announce to you that you were safe, you and your military had ousted the tyrannical 'Gottingen Junta' at that time."

"Look at this nation now, having added one more state, a state that overthrew its bonds of injustice to become a part of this great nation. We are a sovereign nation that staked it all on chance, a nation that declared it had had enough of living in fear of others. Twenty-three years ago, my late wife, seven months pregnant at the time, the wife of a respected officer of the Air Force, was arrested because she read this very book I hold in my hand now." He held aloft a simple blue book that he had grabbed off his desk. "She read and discussed with a few of her friends Jean-Jacques Rousseau's [i]Discourse on Inequality[/i] over a cup of tea, and that landed a soon-mother-to-be in jail."

"This government has brought you sovereignty, it has wiped away that fear of being arrested late at night, because you spoke against the government, because you, the people, entrusted me, and my group of mutineers with the reins of government. I stand at this podium to serve you, to make sure that you do not have to feel what my wife felt, to make sure that your sovereignty to basic rights as a human being, to live free of constraining bonds. To be able to think and say what you know to be true. It is those rights that we gave you, and our country has flourished, it rose out of the ashes like a phoenix, and look at where we are now."

"Our neighbors to the south, do not respect that history, do not respect what this nation has come to represent, they do not respect our sovereignty. Both vessels that were impounded in the past week, were impounded in our own waters, we have asked for the safe return of those crews, and if they hear this message, know that this government will do anything short of risking its sovereignty, for your return. If you can hear this message, I know, that you will understand. We asked to speak with our foreign nationals, yet the only response we get from the Confederation, is that they would like to hold talks over revising our maritime border, to gain access to resources that are ours to use."

"We spilled our own blood to quell the uprising in Maine, and it has rewarded us with its loyalty, and its dedication to the ideals we all hold true. We will not go against our own sovereignty, to be blackmailed, or have our sailors used as pawns!" declared Thatcher, his voice noticeably aggravated. "I will not stand idly by as ships bound for this country are searched and stopped, in an effort to wage an undeclared war against this nation's population. This nation lives by the sea, many of us have roots in the small coastal towns that dot our bays and inlets. Our seas, will not close to any nation, and we will not allow our inalienable right to access of goods through shipping."

"This nation will not stand for these underhanded tactics put forth by the Confederation of New England, nor any other nation who so chooses to engage in such petty tactics," he paused, and looked around the crowd of reporters and government officials in front of him. His eyes had a steely glint to them, but his composure was still calm, and collected. After a few moments, he continued, as a few camera shutters and flashes went off.

"It is the decision of the government of the Atlantik Clique, that any ship bound for the Atlantik Clique, approached by a vessel of the Confederation of New England, with the intent to intercept or board it, outside of its' territorial waters, will be assisted by any and all means available to the Armed Forces of the Atlantik Clique in that area. [i]If[/i] this requires the use of deadly force, it will be used in the defense of the economic interests of this nation," said Thatcher, the crowd of reporters whispering, shutters and flashes going off at a faster rate.

"The Atlantik Clique will also not accede to any maritime border adjustments for the release of its sailors, but it will continue to seek the safe return of those individuals. If these sailors, and their vessels, that we are now treating as hostages, are not returned within forty-eight hours, all cross-border trade with the Confederation of New England will cease, by order of this government. This embargo will continue until the Confederation returns both the crews and their vessels safely to the custody of the Atlantik Clique's Naval Forces."

"Thank you for your time this evening, and I hope that my next appearance will be made with much better tidings. Let us hope to look on a better dawn, tomorrow morning. Good night, and sleep without fear, without worry."

Edited February 9, 2011 by TheShammySocialist

[Lestari]

In the Federatsiya Arkhangelsk, citizens were almost always hard at work, rarely having time to idle about and watch television. When the announcement from Ivan Novikov arrived, however, it was taken in by all those available to hear it. The deep voice rumbled through workplaces, homes, even echoing through the bleak metal shells of criminal prison camps as the nation's scum and villainy toiled and worked.

"Ladies and gentlemen, brothers and sisters, people of our grand nation and those of nations abroad, it is my regret to make this announcement. On this day, in the early morning, the CNE seized three cargo ships moving between the Republic of Brazil and the Federatsiya Arkhangelsk. The three cargo ships were transporting goods and hardware between our two nations and possessed absolutely no offensive or surveillance capabilities."

"Two of the cargo ships belonged to the Brazilian government; the third belonged to Federal naval forces. At the time these cargo ships were passing near the demarcation line set between the CNE and the Atlantik Clique, there was no way for these ships to know of the announcement from the CNE about their new foreign policy. And yet they have been seized by CNE forces, and their crews are currently being held by the CNE military."

"This is a warning, from Brazil and from the Federation itself. The CNE will release the cargo ships and their crews. Both will be untouched. If neither of these are done, there will be severe consequences. The CNE can pull its little games with the Atlantik Clique--but Brazil and the Federation are not Atlantika. We will not stand idly and allow you to commit such illegal and cowardly crimes. The CNE has no business in the trade relations of the Federation and Brazil. This is your first, last, and only warning. Believe me, New England, you do not want to find out the consequences if you do not follow this warning."

Even as Novikov stated this, the fleet of battlecruisers had made a course, moving closer to CNE's naval territory line.

[TheShammySocialist]

[b]0425 Hours, June 14th, 2013[/b]
Gravesend

Thatcher had been woken at 0425 hours, by one of the military aides attached to his personal staff, had apologized profusely for waking him for a couple minutes, which had to be waved away as inconsequential by Thatcher. He stepped down the grand circular staircase that led into entrance hall of the presidential residence; a couple of the staff was running around, mess clerks getting an early breakfast ready. Standing in the entranceway was Hamilton, along with another officer, Admiral Rex Billings, the Naval Forces’ Chief of Operations, in the navy’s usual black uniform tunic.

Billings, much more then Hamilton, looked terribly exhausted, his face was strained, and dark circles under his eyes, his dark hair flecked with much more gray then Thatcher. He had been in the Naval Forces for a long time, and had been one of the few service chiefs to stay in his position for more than one term. Usually the service chiefs lasted for only a two year term at a service chief position; Billings was now on his third term as the Naval Forces’ leader. Under his leadership, the Navy had enacted a series of reforms, and new training programs that had enhanced performance, tactics, command and control, and combined arms operations.

“Sorry to wake y-,” started Hamilton, his tone apologetic, he looked as though he had not slept much that night either, Thatcher held up his hand which stopped Hamilton’s words.

“I don’t need apologies, Walt, part of the job,” said Thatcher, ambling down the stairs, as he tightened the belt on his evening robe. “The lieutenant told me it was urgent?”

“Yes sir, I got a transmission from the sub [i]Phantom[/i] about thirty minutes ago, and caught a helicopter out here with Hamilton,” noted Billings, as Thatcher hurriedly walked across the entrance hall, towards an elevator door. Billings and Hamilton both followed him quickly, as Thatcher punched the “down” button, the elevator making a “ding”, and the door opened.

“What happened?” asked Thatcher, as he stepped into the elevator, hitting the floor level ‘B5’, Hamilton and Billings stepped into the elevator with him.

“The Confederation boarded one of our container ships, looks like they’re going to impound it,” responded Hamilton, the door closing behind him.

“They also took control of two Brazilian-flagged ships, as well as one from the Federation of Archangel, and it looks like they’re also being towed towards Confederation waters,” added Billings. He sighed, and continued, “One of the Brazilian ships is already in Confederation waters, but our container ship is being towed in a convoy with the Federation and Brazilian ship.”

“How far are they from Confederation waters?” asked Thatcher, as the door opened, revealing a small command center, buzzing with activity.

“Fifty nautical miles,” replied Billings, as they stepped off the elevator, a guard at the door stiffly raising his assault rifle to ‘present-arms’ as the President and two officers went by.

“Morning sir,” said Commander Marcy Nellis, a petite middle-aged, brunette who ran the President’s war room. She stepped forward to greet him, and gave him a quick salute, like the service chiefs, she looked exhausted, but her usual bright and positive composure was unwavering.

“Marcy,” nodded Thatcher, “I thought Lieutenant Collins was to take over for you at midnight?”

“Collins will take over for me at noon, I was betting on this being an eventful night,” responded Nellis, as a Corporal set a tray of three cups of steaming coffee on a table next to the new arrivals to the war room. “Thank you Evans,” she said, as the corporal smiled, and departed quickly.

“Very well,” said Thatcher, thoughtfully. “What’s the situation?”

“I got a secure line with you to Lieutenant Commander Riley O’Neil on board the [i]Phantom[/i], I thought you’d rather take a direct briefing from him.”

“Of course, thank you, Marcy,” replied Thatcher, as they walked over to the ‘war table’ which was a high-resolution LED screen that showed, at the moment, a blank map of the region.

At various places around the table were phone sets, and Marcy looked over at a male officer who was overseeing communications. He looked back and responded, “Commander O’Neil is on secure line four, ma’am.”

Nellis nodded, and hit a button on the phone set, and said, “Commander O’Neil, you’re on speaker with President Thatcher.”
“Morning Commander,” said Thatcher.

“Good morning, Mr. President, it’s an honor sir, I wish we were speaking under better circumstances,” came the reply through the speaker.

“As do I Commander, give me a sitrep.”

“About forty minutes ago, a CNE patrol ship was able to force one of our container vessels to heave to, and boarded it with a party of fifteen sailors. They then took over control of the ship, which sent out a distress signal, before communications were shut down. They have joined a convoy of two other merchant vessels, which are being sailed under their own power towards Confederation waters,” reported O’Neil.

On the ‘war table’, symbols for three merchant ships appeared, as a technician stood nearby, punching in the approximate positions of the ships as reported on a keyboard.

“The two other vessels are flagged from the Republic of Brazil and Federation of Archangel, all of them boarded and crewed now by CNE sailors. They are being escorted by two Confederation patrol ships, and a [i]Noble[/i] class Heavy Corvette,” continued O’Neil, the positions of the Confederation ships now appearing on the ‘war table’.

“Alright, is there any sign of any other Confederation ships in the area?” asked Thatcher.

“No sir, but we have picked up some chatter, and there could be a task force of Confederation ships, strength unknown at this point, sailing to meet and increase the escort force surrounding the ships.”

“Any idea on where those vessels are, Riley?” asked Billings, breaking into the conversation.

“We believe that they are still about eight nautical miles away, more than two and a half hours away, sir,” responded O’Neil. “We are trailing the convoy at about half a nautical mile due northeast, running parallel with them.”

“Thank you, Commander, continue on your course for now, and await further orders,” said Thatcher.

“Will do sir, O’Neil out,” responded the sub commander, and the line went dead.

“What are our closest naval units?” asked Thatcher, turning to Billings.

“Task Squadron 26 proceeded from the Exclusion to that area last night, and has been on communications silence since; we relayed a message to them as soon as the merchant vessel was taken. They have since turned to pursue, and are twenty-five nautical miles to the southeast, and gaining,” responded Billings, nodding at the tech, and the ‘war table’ map adjusted to show the position of the squadron of six ships to the southeast of the convoy of impounded merchant ships.

“Three Corvettes, two frigates, and the destroyer [i]Blue Hill[/i], under the command of Captain Will Lee,” continued Billings, looking up at Thatcher now. “They have an MUH-60 Cormorant helicopter, plus LUH-45C light helicopters available. Boarding parties are available to move on command.”

“Air units?” asked Thatcher, looking at Hamilton.

“We have whatever is airborne and patrolling the border of the exclusion zone, but the tactical strike fighters are about to change shifts, and they are low on fuel, and refueling will take at least forty-five minutes total. The 29th Squadron’s 1st Flight is prepping to take off from Roseway right now, if they go supersonic, they’ll be able to reach the area in less than that,” responded Hamilton.

Thatcher leaned over the war table, his eyes looking over the situation, the indicators slowly moving, the convoy of impounded ships slowly moving towards Confederation waters. Billings and Hamilton looked at him, their tired faces full of apprehension. Many of the personnel in the war room were awaiting orders, and many were looking at the President
.
“We have to assume that those ships are not going to stop, Hamilton, I want those tactical strike fighters scrambled, now, make sure to have an escort for them as well. They will proceed to the area, at all speed. I want boarding parties in the air from Task Squadron 26, Billings,” said Thatcher, pausing for a moment, then continuing, “once the tactical strike fighters are in the area, the [i]Blue Hill[/i] will broadcast on open channels that the convoy must stop, and those vessels evacuated of all CNE personnel, and the crews given control, or else be considered hostile.”

“Yes sir,” responded Hamilton and Billings, and they went over to communications stations to relay the orders to the individual units.

“Marcy, I want a secure message transmitted to the Foreign Ministries of both the Republic of Brazil, and the Federation of Archangel.”

Five minutes later, an urgent message arrived in Brasilia and Arkhangelsk, which read.

[quote]ATLANTIK FORCES IN POSITION TO INTERCEPT BOARDED MERCHANT VESSEL CONVOY, STOP; TIME IS OF UTMOST IMPORTANCE, STOP; SAFETY OF MERCHANT CREWS PARAMOUNT, STOP; CNE NAVAL VESSELS AND PERSONNEL RESISTING ORDERS TO RELEASE BOARDED VESSELS WILL BE NEUTRALIZED, STOP; VESSELS OF REPUBLIC OF BRAZIL AND FEDERATION OF ARCHANGEL IF FREED OF CNE CONTROL TO BE RELEASED TO RESPECTIVE COUNTRIES UPON SAFE EXIT OF AREA, STOP.[/quote]

Edited February 9, 2011 by TheShammySocialist

[Lestari]

A quick comlink was set up between Brazil and Arkhangelsk, and within a few moments a reply was being sent back to the Atlantik Clique.

[quote]A fleet of battlecruisers under the control of the Federatsiya Arkhangelsk is present in the area and currently on a route to intercept the commercial vessels as well. In addition a smaller fleet from Brazil has been placed on alert to escort Brasilian vessels back when acquired.[/quote]

Six 'battlecruisers' (or heavy class missile cruisers) were significantly slower and less mobile than the Atlantik Clique's fleet, but the overwhelming power of their presence once they did arrive ensured that if the situation devolved into violence the CNE would be hard pressed to match the strength of the Averin-class until they received heavier reinforcements. The battlecruisers lacked air support beyond a couple of Mi-28 gunships, however. At the same time, a fleet of Nabuco-class destroyers launched from the nearest Brasilian port, intending to escort the Brasilian ships once they were acquired--through whatever means.

[TheShammySocialist]

[b]0448 Hours[/b]

Although first flight, 29th Tactical Strike had been expecting to depart on routine patrol, the minute the alarm buzzer signaling a scramble initiated, they were running from their prep room. Among them, Andrea Thatcher had been one of the first out the door, sprinting for her aircraft. The aircraft had been ready to go for the past half hour, despite that, the sudden urgency seemed to make the entire scene into chaos, as ground crews rushed around the aircraft, and pilots half-dived into their seats.

Within five minutes, the six TF-111H were in the air, and were about to cross over into the Gulf of Maine, as they passed the coastline, a voice crackled over the radio.

“29-1-1, 29-1-1, this is Cloudy Day, report in over.”

“Go ahead Cloudy Day, this is 29-1 Waxer, reporting in,” replied the flight leader, who the younger Thatcher flew as a wingman for.

“We got you on our scope now, and your feet are wet, we’re sending you scramble coordinates now, you are to proceed to those coordinates, at all haste, and prepare for attack runs if necessary,” replied the technician aboard the AWACS aircraft.

“Once on station, you’ll be taken over by the on-site mission leader, codename 'Sneaky',” continued the technician. “Good luck, Waxer, knock ‘em dead.”

“Copy that Cloudy Day, this is 29-1 Waxer, we’re gone,” replied the flight leader, who put the throttle down, followed quickly by the other five aircraft. “Time to destination, twenty minutes.”

[center][b]*** *** ***[/b][/center]

Six helicopters had left Task Squadron 26, as soon as the message had been received, heavily laden with a boarding party from the task squadron. The lead helicopter, and MUH-60 carried eight sailors, dressed in black, ready for combat, while three of the versatile light utility helicopters carried four similarly dressed sailors. The other two light helicopters, were configured with gun and missile pods, the six craft plowed through the early morning air, as they raced northwest.
In the lead helicopter, the lead boarding party peered between the duo of pilots in the cockpit.

“How we doing Richards?” asked the officer, patting the pilot on the left on the shoulder.

“We got at least a good fifteen minute ride here, hopefully the fighters will be on station and ready to assist,” replied the pilot.

“They better be, or we’re toast if they decide to start shooting at us,” replied the boarding party leader.

“Hold onto your helmet, Mac, we’re going to hit the deck.” The pilots of the helicopters put their craft into a dive towards the water, and then leveled out, the maneuver hopefully putting them under radar surveillance.

The boarding party leader turned back to his main assault team and opened his local commlink to the rest of the party, riding on the light helicopters, and nodded, “Remember boys and girls, this is a hostage rescue, don’t pop the first thing that moves. Intelligence has the crews being held in the mess halls at the moment, there is expected to be at least fifteen to twenty soldiers on board each ship. We sweep and clear all three ships once we have control of the bridge.”

“Aye aye, sir!” called out the members of the boarding party.

The sun’s first rays were starting to hit the horizon, the deep purple tint that were on the clouds were interlaced with red as the helicopters caught the first glimpses of ships’ lights to the northwest. As a couple of the pilots noted the visibility of the lights, the apprehension in their voices was evident.

While the helicopters had some offensive weaponry, if the strike fighters didn’t arrive on time, they were at the mercy of short-range anti-aircraft missiles from both the patrol ships and corvette. They also faced the mercy of the deck guns on all three vessels, as well as any handheld missile weapons that the CNE forces could bring to bear against them. The lights on the ships, and the time to begin the rescue, were drawing nearer, they could no longer see the lights of their own ships they had launched from, they were alone, for the moment, as they drew closer to uncertainty.