I'll have a post up today or Wednesday.
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Most Recent Posts
I would suggest, and only because it is why I am not offering to join, that 17 is a tad young for a pirate captain, male or female. Pirates are hardly the type just follow anyone, let alone a pretty lady who they would probably prefer to rape. Just saying. Basic "human" nature still applies.
You had me up until stats. If you decide to get rid of those, let me know, and I would happily take up the crusade for freedom of all peoples!
A good old fashioned kill everything? Colour me interested.
Hey gang, I chatted with Byrd and he no longer has time to run this RP. I don't have any solid plan for it as it wasn't my baby to begin with and I don't want to do it a disservice.
As a result, I am going to make the executive decision to shut it down. I apologize and would like to thank all of you who invested time and effort.
Cheers!
As a result, I am going to make the executive decision to shut it down. I apologize and would like to thank all of you who invested time and effort.
Cheers!
In
Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
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Mid September, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico
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Luis Casillas heard the roar of the PBY Catalina flying boat before he saw it. The heavy engines made a drone like no other and he turned, shadowing his eyes, looking to the East and was able to make out the aircraft against the rising sun. It was just beginning its descent after clearing the mountains and he could feel his pulse began to quicken.
He glanced around for the hundredth time to ensure everything was perfect. A small American jeep, freshly cleaned, was waiting at the end of the wooden pier he stood on. A driver, dressed in immaculate white, was standing patiently next to the jeep, offset by the fat customs official with stained tie and bulging buttons. Luis grimaced but there was nothing else he could do. He had already spent a fortune greasing the palms of the local government to get the land grants he wanted. He had the land, the plan, the location, now he needed the investor.
The plane roared overhead and he felt the buffeting wind of the huge engines. He smiled to himself as the customs officers hat went flying and the man had to waddle after it. Several small children were waving frantically at the plane and he was relieved to see smiles on the faces that looked out of the aircraft windows. So far so good.
The plane did a wide sweeping turn and he was aware of a man with a camera snapping photos of the village and he felt his heart skip a beat. The village itself was small with an airport that could handle DC-3's and a poorly maintained road through the jungle to connect it to the rest of Mexico. It looked like any other Mexican village with white washed houses and dark tile roof tops. Stray dogs ran freely in the dirt streets and half naked children pursued them with abandon. He was thankful that the state government had at least installed sewer systems in the past year.
There were already a half dozen hotels in the area that serviced mostly American guests looking for a getaway. Tourism was alive and well in the area but not in the way Luis had in mind. He envisioned something else, a resort, where guests could find anything they wanted, and not have to wander the dirty streets and see naked children. A resort where a guest paid their entire fee up front, one that included their airfare, their hotel, and restaurants. He had come up with the idea while reading about cruises when he was a younger man.
The Catalina finally came around and leveled out, bearing down on the small port. The huge hull sliced into the gently rolling swells of the Pacific Ocean, sending up a huge spray of water that burst against the propeller blades. The aircraft settled into the water, slowing so that bow pushed up a large wake that rolled away to rock the small fishing boats plying the waves.
Luis swallowed nervously and tugged at his white jacket again. He had dressed as he had seen white men dress in National Geographic, in white pants and jacket, though he wore a cowboy hat to shade his olive skin. He had never actually met his guest, only heard of him and read about him. It had simply been luck that Henry Cornell was in the United States when Luis reached out to him. The man could hardly travel without attracting attention. The American media had been all over his visit and the investment's be been making throughout the States.
The roar of the Catalinas engines died away to nothing as the aircraft coasted into the jetty, two crewmen expertly leaping from the aircraft with lines in hand, securing it to the jetty with the assistance of several local men. The door of the airplane opened, Luis swallowed and stepped forward.
The first person off the plane stopped him in his tracks. It was a blonde woman, hair tied back in a severe bun, with a pair of dark sunglasses and a semi-automatic pistol on her hip. She was followed immediately by a towering blonde man who was clearly her brother, dressed in the same khaki shorts and collared shirt, matching firearm and sunglasses.
"Mr. Casillas?" The woman asked him and he nodded, mumbling his response before quickly clearing his throat.
"Yes, that's me." He held out a hand which she ignored, turning instead to gesture at the plane.
The man who stepped off the plane was as tall as his bodyguard, sporting a casual polo shirt, pants, tall leather boots, and a brown hilted six shooter revolver. He too wore a pair of dark sunglasses but where the blondes ignored Luis, he smiled and stepped quickly across the dock to accept Luis's hand.
"You must be Luis." They shook hands. "Henry. So this is Puerto Vallarta eh?"
Luis nodded, still nervous.
"Nice spot. I see you met Tom and Brittany." He gestured at the two blondes. Tom was speaking with the customs officer who was looking very much like he wanted to be anywhere else at that moment. "They keep an eye on me when I'm abroad."
Luis could only nod at that and resisted the urge to slap himself to refocus.
"Yes, they were very polite."
"Ha. Yes, that is one way of putting it." Henry snorted dryly. "Polite." He chuckled again.
"Did you have anything you wanted to see first?" Luis managed to get himself back on track and gestured toward the waiting jeep.
"Yes, let's take a roll around town." Henry made for the jeep and Luis hurried after him. His head was hurting. They both spoke English, but their accents were so different it was all he could do to keep up with the conversation.
"Here, take off." Henry was speaking to the driver of the jeep as he climbed into the drivers seat. Tom and Brittany swung themselves into the rear two seats and Luis was forced to jump into the passenger seat. This was not going as he had planned.
For the next thirty minutes they cruised the small town and Luis, despite his earlier misgivings, found himself warming to the Rhodesian. The man might have been wealthy but other than his silent bodyguards he looked like any other gringo in town. They drove past hotels with fading plaster, the local police station, a large church, numerous restaurants and bars, along the waterfront and past the airport. Dust whipped up around them everywhere they went but Henry hardly seemed to mind. They spoke very little during this time and it wasn't until Luis had guided Henry north of the city to a small clay brick building that sat on the side of the bumpy mule track that they parked the vehicle.
Henry climbed out of the jeep to stretch his back. The two blondes had also climbed out and stood like golden sentinels just out of earshot, heads constantly moving as they scanned the brush and the roadway.
"Okay, so there are already a bunch of hotels, restaurants, bars, drunk white folk and plenty of poor Mexicans. Why am I here, Luis?"
"Well, Henry," Luis blushed slightly. Henry had insisted on being called by his first name. "I have a plan that combines all of those into one package, if you will. Please, step into my office." He gestured to the small brick building.
Henry nodded, no sign of amusement at the building being called an office. He pulled off his sunglasses and stepped through the small door. Inside, the building was a single room with tables lining every wall. The two prettiest girls in the village had been hired to wait with prepared tequila and lemonade, along with water and some snacks. They hurried forward as Luis followed Henry inside.
They drained their drinks, the blondes taking only water, before Luis gestured to the large prints on the wall. He had a friend in civil planning for Mexico City who had helped him with the plans since he wanted as few people to know about the idea as possible.
The plans showed a sprawling resort with pools, guest rooms broken down into separate buildings, a main lobby, and manicured grounds sprawling right out to the white sand beaches currently hidden by the hot airless jungle. For three hours the two men talked as Henry bent over the plans, his hands folded behind his back. The two Mexican girls were quite forgotten as they stared at Tom in amazement, he was undoubtedly the biggest man they had ever seen.
At length Luis fell silent. There was nothing more he could say. Henry was still staring down at the plans in front of him and for a long moment he said nothing. Then he began nodding slowly.
"Alright Luis. I like it. I will invest in your project." He held up his hand before Luis could say anything. "But, that said, I have some conditions. You can agree to them right now, or I leave and you never see me again. You agree, and you're on that plane with me back to Mexico City and get things sorted out before I leave for Africa a week today."
"What conditions would those be?" Luis had no choice and he knew it. Henry knew it.
"First off, I own 80% of this project right now. You get 20% as managing partner. Two, I will be sending a site manager from a construction firm I own in New York, he will oversee everything. Three, you will have to handle the local side of things. I don't speak Spanish. But," He stepped closer to Luis. "If you fuck me..." He tapped his pistol and Luis swallowed, then nodded.
"We both know I don't have a choice, Henry. It's a deal." They shook hands and Henry's smile returned in a flash.
"Excellent! To the plane!" He seemed jovial and relaxed. Luis felt the tension go out of him. He had an investor. He just needed to make it a reality.
Roderick was sitting in the mud, his back to the smithy wall, staring at the body of Father Gerwig in front of him with a detached curiosity. It was not as though he hadn't seen death before, there were enough rampaging Beastmen, Greenskins, and Sigmar knew what else, coming and going to leave a trail of death across the land. Life in Lorch was cheap, as it always had been for the race of Man.
None of that made a difference at that moment, however, as the light rain ran down Roderick's shaved head, collecting on his eyebrows before dripping down onto his cheeks like tears. He did not cry tears of his own. He had never known his parents and Father Gerwig had never treated him as anything other than a servant to clean the Church while the old man got pissed. He never shed a real tear in his life.
A cannonball trundled by overhead, vanishing beyond the rear walls, presumably to splash down in the river somewhere in the distance. The Church alone had burned, though the mortar that fired as irregularly as the cannon had managed to smash the rooves in on a pair of smaller buildings.
Men crouched in the rain on the walltop and Roderick raised his gaze toward them. They were pitiful things, the fear in their eyes masked by bad jokes and insults screamed across the walls. Everyone pretended not to see when a men had to piss, or vomitted in fear. It was as human as anything else that had happened that day. It made it all the more ridiculous that their enemies were Men when there were so many other enemies to fight.
The Blackbird had remained on the walls and her dressed was drenched now, clinging to her body like a man to a broken spare in a great storm. Her cloak was thrown back over one shoulder and she was busy cranking the handle on her crossbow while every man who could see her stared in open desire. There was no arguing that she a stunning girl.
Shouts from further down the wall brought everyone to their feet, the half dozen handgunners unwrapping the cloth and leather covers from their flints. It seemed that the enemy was coming at last. Roderick didn't know what to do.
The Book of Sigmar and the silver wrapped hammer lay in his lap and he idly traced the engravings on the books cover as he watched the Blackbird take aim with her crossbow, close her eyes, and squeeze the trigger. A roar of approval came from the defenders, she had scored a hit.
"Priest!" Sergeant Hoeffler's voice sounded from the wall and Roderick blinked up at him. "Kindly escort the lady to the Keep."
The Blackbird gave a last wave to the cheering defenders, blew them a kiss, and then quickly descended the stonesteps, her dress trailing in the mud. The Sergeant had always insisted she return to the keep during an assault. Her death would do more damage than good to the garrison morale and none of the defenders begrudged her the safety of the main fortress.
"I don't need your help." The voice was cold as ice when Roderick extended his hand to help her through the mud. She brushed past him, her upper lip drawn back in what might have been a snarl. "I am sure I can manage without the help of a man who has no balls."
Roderick stood dumbfounded in the mud as he watched her walk away, her hips swaying as she went. Someone in the village had started a rumour that all Priests of Sigmar were gelded when they joined the Order and it seemed that rumour easily extended to him. To be fair, he had never given anyone any reason to think otherwise.
A guardsman at the keep entrance bowed as the Blackbird entered and she offered him a dazzling smile. For some reason that made Roderick angry. It was not an emotion he was familiar with as he had been a mild mannered youth, taken into the clergy when he had nothing left, and now he was being treated like scum for no reason other than an accident of birth.
The rage inside of him began to grow and he picked up the silver hammer, slinging the heavy Book over his shoulder by its dull grey chain. He wanted to hit something and it seemed that the enemy intended to oblige him.
None of that made a difference at that moment, however, as the light rain ran down Roderick's shaved head, collecting on his eyebrows before dripping down onto his cheeks like tears. He did not cry tears of his own. He had never known his parents and Father Gerwig had never treated him as anything other than a servant to clean the Church while the old man got pissed. He never shed a real tear in his life.
A cannonball trundled by overhead, vanishing beyond the rear walls, presumably to splash down in the river somewhere in the distance. The Church alone had burned, though the mortar that fired as irregularly as the cannon had managed to smash the rooves in on a pair of smaller buildings.
Men crouched in the rain on the walltop and Roderick raised his gaze toward them. They were pitiful things, the fear in their eyes masked by bad jokes and insults screamed across the walls. Everyone pretended not to see when a men had to piss, or vomitted in fear. It was as human as anything else that had happened that day. It made it all the more ridiculous that their enemies were Men when there were so many other enemies to fight.
The Blackbird had remained on the walls and her dressed was drenched now, clinging to her body like a man to a broken spare in a great storm. Her cloak was thrown back over one shoulder and she was busy cranking the handle on her crossbow while every man who could see her stared in open desire. There was no arguing that she a stunning girl.
Shouts from further down the wall brought everyone to their feet, the half dozen handgunners unwrapping the cloth and leather covers from their flints. It seemed that the enemy was coming at last. Roderick didn't know what to do.
The Book of Sigmar and the silver wrapped hammer lay in his lap and he idly traced the engravings on the books cover as he watched the Blackbird take aim with her crossbow, close her eyes, and squeeze the trigger. A roar of approval came from the defenders, she had scored a hit.
"Priest!" Sergeant Hoeffler's voice sounded from the wall and Roderick blinked up at him. "Kindly escort the lady to the Keep."
The Blackbird gave a last wave to the cheering defenders, blew them a kiss, and then quickly descended the stonesteps, her dress trailing in the mud. The Sergeant had always insisted she return to the keep during an assault. Her death would do more damage than good to the garrison morale and none of the defenders begrudged her the safety of the main fortress.
"I don't need your help." The voice was cold as ice when Roderick extended his hand to help her through the mud. She brushed past him, her upper lip drawn back in what might have been a snarl. "I am sure I can manage without the help of a man who has no balls."
Roderick stood dumbfounded in the mud as he watched her walk away, her hips swaying as she went. Someone in the village had started a rumour that all Priests of Sigmar were gelded when they joined the Order and it seemed that rumour easily extended to him. To be fair, he had never given anyone any reason to think otherwise.
A guardsman at the keep entrance bowed as the Blackbird entered and she offered him a dazzling smile. For some reason that made Roderick angry. It was not an emotion he was familiar with as he had been a mild mannered youth, taken into the clergy when he had nothing left, and now he was being treated like scum for no reason other than an accident of birth.
The rage inside of him began to grow and he picked up the silver hammer, slinging the heavy Book over his shoulder by its dull grey chain. He wanted to hit something and it seemed that the enemy intended to oblige him.
I also just returned from Mexico.
Gone for a week with zero contact.
In
Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
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Mid September, Salisbury
------------------------------
The headquarters building of the Rhodesian Security Force was a long, low, two storey structure made of reinforced concrete covered over with brown stucco and crowned with a collection of tribal "beehive" style rooves. Tucked back into the forest outside of Salisbury it served as the nerve centre for the RSF as well as the base for all Rhodesian artillery, engineer, and armoured car units.
On the west end, overlooking a fast moving creek and shaded heavily with massive Croton trees, was an open-to-air conference room, all of the windows removable and replaced with screens during the warmer months. A tray of glasses and a silver jug of water, moisture beading its sides, sat in the middle of a large wooden table carved from a single tree. Twenty tall backed, yet comfortable looking chairs, were set around the table but today only four of them were occupied.
At the head of the table sat General Thomas Bennet, the head of Rhodesia's security forces. To his right sat Byron Starr, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and President Patrick Chapell. To his left, back to the view, was General John Clarkson, Head of Military Intelligence. The tabletop in front of him was covered in various files showing pictures, written reports, and columns of numbers. Each other man had a smaller folder in front of him, open to the pages being discussed.
"Generally put, gentlemen, Africa is a bloody shit show right now." He was gesturing to a photo of bodies tumbled into an open grave. "The Spanish aren't even bothering to try and hide the bodies in Algeria. Ten of thousands dead. They even deployed gas against civilians."
The others nodded. All of them had seen the photos appearing around the world of the massacres in Algeria perpetrated by Spanish troops. There was plenty of ire and indignation but there wasn't a single power out there who wanted to go toe to toe with the Spanish right now. Rhodesia had been watching to see what sort of counter-insurgency measures the Spanish might have but it seemed the Spanish solved that problem by killing literally everyone they could find. Effective, immorale perhaps, and not at all a good idea for the Rhodesians.
"Closer to home we have good news, and bad news," Clarkson continued. "The insurgency in our area has taken a real hit since we drove the last of the terrorists back into Zambia. The disappearance of Andrew Walls has helped as well..."
He grit his teeth as he said the words. The entire Rhodesian security apparatus was still looking for the damn man but he had vanished like a ghost. The last confirmed sighting of him had been at the cave in the Highlands but the agent they had on the inside did not know where he had gone. It was infuriating. Clarkson had at least managed to have the mans assets frozen overseas and gotten the American FBI to agree to keep an eye out for Walls should he try to return to America.
"Having command of the skies has been the real saving grace. The communists did get their hands on a couple of locally made bi-planes that they used to run messages and drop guns over the border. The RhAF caught them last week and shot them down. Both pilots jumped and fell without parachutes."
"Any word on the terrorists who blew up the bus downtown?" Chappell asked, breaking in on the conversation.
"Yes. I had a phone conversation with Don Prescott his morning by phone, he is currently down along the South African border. It seems some of the local police down there got a tip that two men had been building "road blasting devices" in their cow shed. One of the neighbours heard of the bombing and thought it was weird they were building those sort of things in a barn so he told his priest, who told his wife, who talked to the wife of a police officer."
"Community policing at its finest." Said Starr and a ripple of laughter went around the table.
"Unfortunately," Clarkson continued after a long drink of water. "It seems they were receiving direction from someone else. So we've got the bombers, the bombs, some extra material, but we don't know who was running them. Prescott assured me that he and the RSB are on it."
"That's something at least." Chappell said and leaned back in his chair. The bombings had been a real scare in the capital and he had been doing everything in his power to spin the story as an attack on Rhodesians, regardless of colour, and their way of life. It had targeted a bus mostly frequented by whites but a number of blacks, including several children, had also been on board at the time of the explosion. It was to bad for them, but for him it had been a PR win.
"That's the end of the good news." Clarkson finished as he turned over the next page in his report. Behind him a pair of bright green hummingbirds went hurtling past chirping loudly, breaking in on the solemn little group.
"Well fuck..." Chappell muttered as he lifted the corner of his file to see how many pages remained. "I thought that was the bad news. Just can't catch a break can we?"
"Well on the bright side, most of the bad news doesn't involve us, yet." Clarkson had flipped his page and the other men followed suit. The South African flag featured in the top corner and the very first picture showed white police officers firing into a crowd of striking black miners.
"Our neighbours to the south making great choices, once again." Starr muttered angrily under his breath. For months he had been working with his South African compatriot, trying to make the man understand that if they kept treating the blacks as little better than slaves it was only a matter of time before you had a race war on your hands. You didn't need a doctorate in history to see how that was going to end.
"That's right, Minister. The latest riots ended only after the police opened fire on the crowd. It's led to more attacks on whites out and about alone, not to mention another terrorist bombing in Joeburg. We're doing all we can at the border to prevent the radicals from moving north. Thankfully, our policy of carrot and stick, rather than just stick, has most concerned parties willing to turn over trouble makers in return for cold hard cash."
"We've detained 23 this month alone trying to cross the border," Bennet took up the narrative. All things in relation to the security of the country, including the police, fell under his command. "Some were nobodies and a vengeful someone just wanted to make their lives hell and make some money off of us. Six of them however are what we could plainly call "bad-dudes". Since they're not Rhodesians, we turned them back over to the SA Secret Police and I doubt we'll see them again anytime soon."
Nods went around the table. The one thing the two white states had in common was their ability to make people "disappear". Rhodesia tended to be quite conservative when it came to "ghosting" its own citizens but had no qualms about getting rid of someone elses.
"The situation seems as volatile as ever, though there has been a drop in refugees coming from SA. I think their own military has something to do with that. They've been concerned about "brain drain" up our way as anyone with the means to apply to our refugee program has been doing so whenever they can."
"Okay, well keep me in the loop then. We're still in talks to buy the Kruger National Park off of them. They're strapped for cash and getting desperate." Starr interjected and scribbled some notes on the paper in front of him.
"Can do." Bennet responded, making some notes of his own.
"Now, the real gong show." Clarkson had flipped through the pages covering South Africa and stopped with half the file still unexplored. "Ethiopia."
"If ever there was a cluster fuck in Africa..." Bennet breathed out a sigh of exasperation.
"And that, my friends, is saying something." Clarkson responded as he leaned back in his chair and looked up at the exposed wooden beams that rose above his head. This was one he had been reviewing most of all recently since the destabilization of the Empire would affect them all.
"The crux of the situation is a civil war, and the Imperial family is not winning it right now. They've got various forces tearing them apart all over the place and an ineffective leader in that Sahle character. He's more interested in chasing girls than running an Empire. I'm not sure either way if his number one guy, Desta Getachew, is a snake trying to get rich, or a snake trying to take down the Emperor. We've had an agent watching him for some time now but I wouldn't be happy putting money on either side of that bet right now."
"The rest of the Imperial family is not in a better state at all. Yaqob, the younger brother, is in China getting his head filled with Communist nonsense I am sure. If something were to even to happen to Sahle, it would probably be in our best interest to try and ensure Yaqob never returns home at all." He didn't elaborate but everyone at the table knew what he meant.
"The sister, Taytu, was last seen in Spain but god knows where she went. The current police state over there is making it hella difficult for our agents to operate at all. One was arrested last week and we only managed to secure his release after a personal phone call from me. That was an interesting conversation to be sure."
"Of all the threats currently facing the Imperial government up there, Ras Hassan is possible the most dangerous. He's smart, tactically clever, and very motivated. I think things are heating up with him and I wouldn't be surprised to see him lay a kicking on the Imperial forces soon."
"That brings us to a question, do we offer to help the Ethiopians?"
No one asked "why". They all knew that if Ethiopia collapsed, Rhodesia would be quite alone in Eastern Africa. It was a stretch to call Ethiopia and Rhodesia "friends", but they were certainly the most stable countries in Africa. Or they had been. It was strange to think of Rhodesia as an island of calm on a continent gone mad.
"General, have we got any resources we could spare?" Chappell glanced at Bennet who didn't have to look at his notes to know the answer.
"Artillery and aircraft only. Our ground forces are fully engaged in hunting what remains of the Communists through the mountains. We're still using a few helicopters for insertion jobs but the majority of our aircraft are resting and repairing. The artillery has been training with their new 155mm howitzers and would love to try them out. They missed out on the brush war due to lack of roads." He paused and then shook his head slightly as if to clear it. "Any units we deploy will require our own troops to protect them as well. So we would have to deploy some troops there."
"The Navy is also still available and chomping at the bit to do something. We don't have any big ships like the Ethiopians but our fast destroyers are good for close in supporting fire and coastal bombardment."
"So, in effect, we would provide a small expeditionary force in support of artillery and aircraft?" Starr asked, writing down a few more notes. "And some Naval assets if needed?"
"Yes."
"Any of the Selous Scouts available?" Starr asked with a glance at Bennet, who shook his head.
"Negative. They're operating abroad at the moment." That was polite speak for "killing people in other countries". The Selous Scouts often jumped over the border into Ostafrika, Zambia, and even South Africa, to hit at terrorist camps.
"Great, thank you. The next time I speak with their ambassador I will hint at help being there if they need it."
"That works." Bennet said with a nod. "What's next?"
"The Congo I reckon." Clarkson said with a resigned sigh. "Onward and upward."
Mid September, Salisbury
------------------------------
The headquarters building of the Rhodesian Security Force was a long, low, two storey structure made of reinforced concrete covered over with brown stucco and crowned with a collection of tribal "beehive" style rooves. Tucked back into the forest outside of Salisbury it served as the nerve centre for the RSF as well as the base for all Rhodesian artillery, engineer, and armoured car units.
On the west end, overlooking a fast moving creek and shaded heavily with massive Croton trees, was an open-to-air conference room, all of the windows removable and replaced with screens during the warmer months. A tray of glasses and a silver jug of water, moisture beading its sides, sat in the middle of a large wooden table carved from a single tree. Twenty tall backed, yet comfortable looking chairs, were set around the table but today only four of them were occupied.
At the head of the table sat General Thomas Bennet, the head of Rhodesia's security forces. To his right sat Byron Starr, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and President Patrick Chapell. To his left, back to the view, was General John Clarkson, Head of Military Intelligence. The tabletop in front of him was covered in various files showing pictures, written reports, and columns of numbers. Each other man had a smaller folder in front of him, open to the pages being discussed.
"Generally put, gentlemen, Africa is a bloody shit show right now." He was gesturing to a photo of bodies tumbled into an open grave. "The Spanish aren't even bothering to try and hide the bodies in Algeria. Ten of thousands dead. They even deployed gas against civilians."
The others nodded. All of them had seen the photos appearing around the world of the massacres in Algeria perpetrated by Spanish troops. There was plenty of ire and indignation but there wasn't a single power out there who wanted to go toe to toe with the Spanish right now. Rhodesia had been watching to see what sort of counter-insurgency measures the Spanish might have but it seemed the Spanish solved that problem by killing literally everyone they could find. Effective, immorale perhaps, and not at all a good idea for the Rhodesians.
"Closer to home we have good news, and bad news," Clarkson continued. "The insurgency in our area has taken a real hit since we drove the last of the terrorists back into Zambia. The disappearance of Andrew Walls has helped as well..."
He grit his teeth as he said the words. The entire Rhodesian security apparatus was still looking for the damn man but he had vanished like a ghost. The last confirmed sighting of him had been at the cave in the Highlands but the agent they had on the inside did not know where he had gone. It was infuriating. Clarkson had at least managed to have the mans assets frozen overseas and gotten the American FBI to agree to keep an eye out for Walls should he try to return to America.
"Having command of the skies has been the real saving grace. The communists did get their hands on a couple of locally made bi-planes that they used to run messages and drop guns over the border. The RhAF caught them last week and shot them down. Both pilots jumped and fell without parachutes."
"Any word on the terrorists who blew up the bus downtown?" Chappell asked, breaking in on the conversation.
"Yes. I had a phone conversation with Don Prescott his morning by phone, he is currently down along the South African border. It seems some of the local police down there got a tip that two men had been building "road blasting devices" in their cow shed. One of the neighbours heard of the bombing and thought it was weird they were building those sort of things in a barn so he told his priest, who told his wife, who talked to the wife of a police officer."
"Community policing at its finest." Said Starr and a ripple of laughter went around the table.
"Unfortunately," Clarkson continued after a long drink of water. "It seems they were receiving direction from someone else. So we've got the bombers, the bombs, some extra material, but we don't know who was running them. Prescott assured me that he and the RSB are on it."
"That's something at least." Chappell said and leaned back in his chair. The bombings had been a real scare in the capital and he had been doing everything in his power to spin the story as an attack on Rhodesians, regardless of colour, and their way of life. It had targeted a bus mostly frequented by whites but a number of blacks, including several children, had also been on board at the time of the explosion. It was to bad for them, but for him it had been a PR win.
"That's the end of the good news." Clarkson finished as he turned over the next page in his report. Behind him a pair of bright green hummingbirds went hurtling past chirping loudly, breaking in on the solemn little group.
"Well fuck..." Chappell muttered as he lifted the corner of his file to see how many pages remained. "I thought that was the bad news. Just can't catch a break can we?"
"Well on the bright side, most of the bad news doesn't involve us, yet." Clarkson had flipped his page and the other men followed suit. The South African flag featured in the top corner and the very first picture showed white police officers firing into a crowd of striking black miners.
"Our neighbours to the south making great choices, once again." Starr muttered angrily under his breath. For months he had been working with his South African compatriot, trying to make the man understand that if they kept treating the blacks as little better than slaves it was only a matter of time before you had a race war on your hands. You didn't need a doctorate in history to see how that was going to end.
"That's right, Minister. The latest riots ended only after the police opened fire on the crowd. It's led to more attacks on whites out and about alone, not to mention another terrorist bombing in Joeburg. We're doing all we can at the border to prevent the radicals from moving north. Thankfully, our policy of carrot and stick, rather than just stick, has most concerned parties willing to turn over trouble makers in return for cold hard cash."
"We've detained 23 this month alone trying to cross the border," Bennet took up the narrative. All things in relation to the security of the country, including the police, fell under his command. "Some were nobodies and a vengeful someone just wanted to make their lives hell and make some money off of us. Six of them however are what we could plainly call "bad-dudes". Since they're not Rhodesians, we turned them back over to the SA Secret Police and I doubt we'll see them again anytime soon."
Nods went around the table. The one thing the two white states had in common was their ability to make people "disappear". Rhodesia tended to be quite conservative when it came to "ghosting" its own citizens but had no qualms about getting rid of someone elses.
"The situation seems as volatile as ever, though there has been a drop in refugees coming from SA. I think their own military has something to do with that. They've been concerned about "brain drain" up our way as anyone with the means to apply to our refugee program has been doing so whenever they can."
"Okay, well keep me in the loop then. We're still in talks to buy the Kruger National Park off of them. They're strapped for cash and getting desperate." Starr interjected and scribbled some notes on the paper in front of him.
"Can do." Bennet responded, making some notes of his own.
"Now, the real gong show." Clarkson had flipped through the pages covering South Africa and stopped with half the file still unexplored. "Ethiopia."
"If ever there was a cluster fuck in Africa..." Bennet breathed out a sigh of exasperation.
"And that, my friends, is saying something." Clarkson responded as he leaned back in his chair and looked up at the exposed wooden beams that rose above his head. This was one he had been reviewing most of all recently since the destabilization of the Empire would affect them all.
"The crux of the situation is a civil war, and the Imperial family is not winning it right now. They've got various forces tearing them apart all over the place and an ineffective leader in that Sahle character. He's more interested in chasing girls than running an Empire. I'm not sure either way if his number one guy, Desta Getachew, is a snake trying to get rich, or a snake trying to take down the Emperor. We've had an agent watching him for some time now but I wouldn't be happy putting money on either side of that bet right now."
"The rest of the Imperial family is not in a better state at all. Yaqob, the younger brother, is in China getting his head filled with Communist nonsense I am sure. If something were to even to happen to Sahle, it would probably be in our best interest to try and ensure Yaqob never returns home at all." He didn't elaborate but everyone at the table knew what he meant.
"The sister, Taytu, was last seen in Spain but god knows where she went. The current police state over there is making it hella difficult for our agents to operate at all. One was arrested last week and we only managed to secure his release after a personal phone call from me. That was an interesting conversation to be sure."
"Of all the threats currently facing the Imperial government up there, Ras Hassan is possible the most dangerous. He's smart, tactically clever, and very motivated. I think things are heating up with him and I wouldn't be surprised to see him lay a kicking on the Imperial forces soon."
"That brings us to a question, do we offer to help the Ethiopians?"
No one asked "why". They all knew that if Ethiopia collapsed, Rhodesia would be quite alone in Eastern Africa. It was a stretch to call Ethiopia and Rhodesia "friends", but they were certainly the most stable countries in Africa. Or they had been. It was strange to think of Rhodesia as an island of calm on a continent gone mad.
"General, have we got any resources we could spare?" Chappell glanced at Bennet who didn't have to look at his notes to know the answer.
"Artillery and aircraft only. Our ground forces are fully engaged in hunting what remains of the Communists through the mountains. We're still using a few helicopters for insertion jobs but the majority of our aircraft are resting and repairing. The artillery has been training with their new 155mm howitzers and would love to try them out. They missed out on the brush war due to lack of roads." He paused and then shook his head slightly as if to clear it. "Any units we deploy will require our own troops to protect them as well. So we would have to deploy some troops there."
"The Navy is also still available and chomping at the bit to do something. We don't have any big ships like the Ethiopians but our fast destroyers are good for close in supporting fire and coastal bombardment."
"So, in effect, we would provide a small expeditionary force in support of artillery and aircraft?" Starr asked, writing down a few more notes. "And some Naval assets if needed?"
"Yes."
"Any of the Selous Scouts available?" Starr asked with a glance at Bennet, who shook his head.
"Negative. They're operating abroad at the moment." That was polite speak for "killing people in other countries". The Selous Scouts often jumped over the border into Ostafrika, Zambia, and even South Africa, to hit at terrorist camps.
"Great, thank you. The next time I speak with their ambassador I will hint at help being there if they need it."
"That works." Bennet said with a nod. "What's next?"
"The Congo I reckon." Clarkson said with a resigned sigh. "Onward and upward."
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