The HAPPY CAT War

Krekopian General Newspaper, April 19th 2013, Headline: The Battlefield-Zoo - where animals clash for their country!

Apollon, April 19th, 2013, Headline: Animal cruelty during absurd Happy Cat War!

Illion Courier, April 19th, 2013, Headline: Ocelots versus Lynxes versus Lamas! "I take a machine gun!", says General.

Thera Daily, April 19th, 2013, Headline: Where are our battle-animals! They better be cool!

Achinos Newspaper, April 19th, 2013, Headline: The new swimming suits of the Female Army Academy Swimming Team - now with 20% lesser cloth!

Slowly, Maximos put the sheet down, which was handed to him by his head-secretary, Miss Cecilia Kalogeropoulou. She was the sweet angle of his office, always having cookies, coffee and a good advice for the guards with problems.
Sadly, she didn't like to give advice to Maximos in political matters.
"I don't know, Sir, but the most appealing headline is the one from the Achinos Newspaper.", she said with a crooked smile.
Miximos leaned back. "Get me General Papagos, I need to talk to her about the 26th Night Division. And General Dovas from the 8th Infantry Division. And Sanja, of course!"
"And much coffee, much cookies and many, many, many crayons!", the woman added as she went outside.
"Cecilia, what would I do without you?", the President asked before the doors closed. "Indeed... what would I do without you...?"

Recently, the Federal Army raised the 4th Army with the VII. and the VIII. Army Corps, all in all six Divisions - the so called Night Divisions. They were not only specialized in fighting during the night, but also trained for every other not-so-nice task a soldier could meet.
Mountains, rivers, deserts, everything.
The 26th Night Division, nicknamed Luna, was the Research and Development Division, tasked with inventing the most fearsome killing machines for Army, Navy and Air Force. Their most important project were an old legend invented new: Hoplites.
Mountain Infantry was light infantry, motorized and mechanizised Infantry were medium infantry and the Hoplites were supposed to become heavy infantry, with power suits and everything else a scifi-fan could ask for. Sad thing was, that the suits were still in development and bloody expensive, unlike the heavy APCs/light tanks and other weaponry.
Maximos would ask one thing: Could the suits, the Hoplites and maybe some other nice toys from the 26th be ready for deployment during the Happy Cat War?

[Location: Outside Bolidorean waters, Vecerian fleet; Time: 14:00 Vecerian time]

---

The massive carriers slowly moved through the water, accompanied by several, odd-looking surfaced submarines. The ultimatum's deadline was over, and the Vecerian fleet finally arrived at their designated positions, after about two days of constant travel. The weather was fine, better than the last few days. A perfect day for a blockade.

Inside one of the Jate'kara CAAS, the situation was quite relaxed and calm. Cooks cooked, Scriptors wrote reports and the navigational staff was looking for the perfect positions to block ... something. Unlike the Kyr'am or other smaller subs, armed with the usual weaponry of assorted surface-anti-ship cannons, the CAAS was only armed with hundreds of torpedoes and missiles, and thus meant to stay below the water line. Most of it's crew cabins were empty at the moment, as only a few dozen personnel had nothing to do. Trevor Rome and his team were one of them. They were royal marines, members of one of the lesser known Vecerian branches, as their usual tasks were defending their designated vessels in case of boardings or during landings. And boarding attacks rarely happened to submarines. "Maaan, it's really boring in here." The tall Vecerian sighed and tossed a small ball at one of his comrades. "I mean, I've signed up for this shit because I needed the money, but reaaally? Blockades? That's like, the most boring form of showing a nation your bare ass ..." One of his companions, a red-haired female, giggled and sighed. "Not my problem that you signed up for that Spammer role. Should've taken something useful, like me. LC is fun, especially on a large ship like this." Trevor glared at the female, but eventually sighed. "Yeah yeah, I know. But it's too late for that. At least I'll be useful if we ever get attacked." Lisa, the female, pouted and stuck her tongue out at her friend. "If," she giggled, "never forget that 'if'."

Eventually, the first ships from Phartan could be seen on the vessel's long-range radars, and Vecerian radio controllers immediately sent a message to them, indicating that they were allies.

Anna Hegedûs, the Minister of Agricuture for the Free Land of Pulik, was the lucky recipient of the phone call. The receptionist said the caller was some low-level functionary from the Sultanate of Fenburg. He wanted to know if Pulik had any sheepdogs. Her personal secretary listened intently to the one-sided conversation as the Minister spoke into the phone.

"This is Minister Hegedûs. How may I help you?"

...

"Yes, the people of the Free Land of Pulik have many sheepdogs. We also have many sheep, if that is useful to know."

...

"Goat-men? We do have pulik that herd goats, and men that keep goats, but we call them goatherds, not goat-men. But yes, pulik can work goats."

The two women glanced over at a photo on the office wall showing a puli herding goats.



...

"Half goat, half man? Are you serious?!!"

...

"So if I understand this correctly, you would like to borrow 20 million sheepdogs so that you can send goat-men into every country of the International Western Union to end, once and for all, a war about a stolen cat?!! Is this some April Fool's joke?"

...

"You are crazy, sir! Good-bye!"

With that, Hegedûs hung up the phone, lowered her glasses, and looked over at her secretary. "What a nutter!" she muttered.

"Yes," replied the secretary. "I think those are the folks that nuked their own nation just to destroy the environment."

"Well, now they want to borrow our dogs for a fight over a cat. Such nonsense!" retorted the Minister. "We'll having nothing to do with that, thank you very much!"

It had taken all hands to load the massive "special cargo" onto the circular concrete pad in the middle of the Bahia de Cochinos. The extra men had proved useful as the pallet, some two meters in height and width, and a meter and a half in depth, was over the load limit of the boom aboard the Mujere. But they had wrestled it aboard and centered it on the pad. There it had remained, in its green plastic bubble shrink-wrap and protective plastic while the welding crew fashioned a base strong enough to support it.

This morning the man in the Panama hat had removed the protective layers, and the big rectangular box-shaped apparatus glistened in the sun, its stainless steel unblemished from its rough treatment across the waters to its final destination. On the side facing the distant sea, the welders, their welding tools since exchanged for screw drivers and wrenches, were fastening gleaming stainless steel tubes on the metal panel. Earlier glimpses had shown that the other side contained black plastic knobs, a few gauges, and two panels of dark frosted glass spanning the device with metallic handles a-fixed above them.

Anyone interested would have noted that the tubes pointed outwards and upwards in an arc from the otherwise featureless rear panel of stainless steel. A keener observer might note that the projecting ends of the tubes would also form an arc from the center of the box, had they been able to see it in profile. The tubes had come from one of the original pallets that had been on shore when the trucks had first arrived.

The man in the Panama hat seemed very pleased now, and glanced upwards towards where one of the tubes was pointing. Then he frowned...

"Hey," he asked one of the welders, "What is that?" He pointed to a spot above the horizon, to the southeast.

Ricardo, the captain of the Mujere, who had stuck around because, quite frankly, he and his crew had nothing else to do, looked seaward towards where he knew the MV Molitev, the Vizindolfian collier, lay at anchor.

There, just above the horizon, was a large yellow and orange balloon. They all stared incomprehensibly at it when a yellow and green balloon appeared just above the horizon to its left. "A balloon!" Ricardo exclaimed.

They watched in astonishment as balloon after balloon appeared over the horizon. And they were getting larger, drifting northwest towards their platform, up the Bahia de Cochinos. "Look!" exclaimed one of the welders. "A cow!"

"And there's Noah's Ark!" cried another fellow. "And a little doggy!"

It was when Ricardo saw Sponge Bob Square Pants that he knew they needed to alert others. He grabbed the radio mike off its mount on the cabin roof and pressed the transmit button. It was already on channel sixteen, the watch frequency.

"Garda Girón, Garda Girón, Garda Girón, this is Mujere."

"Mujere, this is Coast Guard Station Girón."

"Girón, Mujere located in Bahia de Cochinos, Cayo Guano bearing one niner zero magnetic eight miles. We have numerous hot air balloons bearing one three zero to one four five magnetic estimated distance twelve to fifteen miles drifting north west to north northwest. Estimate sixty plus hot air balloons from the sea crossing into Bolidor. Do you copy?"

"Mujere, Girón. Say again."

"Girón, this is Mujere. We are located in the Bahia de Cochinos. We have Cayo Guano on bearing one niner zero magnetic at eight miles. There are about sixty to eighty hot air balloons, bearing one three zero to one five zero magnetic. They are about twelve to fifteen miles distant drifting north west to north northwest. I repeat. About sixty to eight hot air balloons are entering the Republic from the sea!"

"Mujere, Girón copies sixty to eighty hot air balloons entering the Republic of Bolidor from seaward, drifting north west to north northwest over the mouth of the Bahia de Cochinos, approximately twelve to fifteen miles from your position, given as bearing zero one zero magnetic from Cayo Guano at eight miles. Can you approach and make further observations?"

"Girón, Mujere can do. The hot air balloons appear to be coming from a spot where the Vizindolfian freighter MV Molitev," Ricardo paused, grabbing a marked up chart, "is at anchor, bearing one one zero magnetic from Cayo Guano distance eighteen to twenty miles. We will approach and report what we see."

"Coast Guard Station Girón standing by for further."

"Mujere out."

Ricardo whistled loudly to his crew, "Get up, you lazy bastards! We're casting off!" Poking his head out the window, he shouted towards the fellows on the platform. "Jefe, cast off that line, and make it damn quick!"

The line cast off, the diesel rumbling to life, the tug Mujere backed away from the isolated men on the platform, then turned as smartly as a tug can and proceeded south south east towards the mouth of the Bahia de Cochinos.

The balloons were growing ever larger overhead...

There were days when Chief Straussman wished he hadn't dropped out of culinary school to go to Harvard University, and this was one of those days. Although the actor, Javier, was a fine stand in for El Presidente, he was unable to make a single contribution to the defense of the Republic. Chief Straussman briefly considered shooting the imposter, but then reconsidered, realizing how difficult it would be to get a new El Presidente in the span of a few hours. The thought of bringing the real El Presidente back from the countryside occurred to him, but he dismissed it, realizing that the danger of spies and assassins was far too great. He was accustomed to thinking of such things, as they were things he had done himself far too frequently in the past.

Instead he was hunched over a map of Bolidor's southern coasts, considering General Nunez's assessment of likely landing zones. The chart showed that there were six bays that were likely landing zones, their promontories extending into the seas off the Hallon Ocean like a stunted hand. From west to east, he poured over the familiar names: Bahia del Ovejas, Bahia de Pollos, Bahia de Capras, Bahia de Cochinos, Bahia de Conejos and Bahia de Vacas.

Most of that convoluted shore had only the thinnest strand of beachfront before yielding to thick Bolidorean jungles. There were occasional tracks leading from the interior to the beaches, but they were often muddy, their ruts rain-soaked, and nearly impassable. Yet the generals felt these were the likely places that an enemy would infiltrate forces ashore. It was merely a matter of deciding which of the six bays to defend.

Clearly the furthest to the west, Ovejas and Pollos, would have to be defended. They both had towns and villages along the shoreline and were the main tourist draws on Bolidor's southern shores. And indeed, the Bolidorean Army was actively patrolling both bays, with other squads hidden in the foliage just off the beaches. There was no sense reinforcing those already strong defenses.

And Bahia de Vacas had a small military garrison permanently stationed there to intercept smugglers and others who might approach from sea along Bolidor's eastern frontier. They would serve as an adequate tripwire for anything larger than a brigade, and could do quite nicely against a smaller force.

That left three more bays to defend, and enough forces to take care of just one without depleting units needed elsewhere. So he had to make a choice. Capras, Cochinos, or Conejos. He mulled over once again what he had learned of the three bays.

"So Capras is calm with good roads but very sticky, muddy beaches; Cochinos has good sand beaches and placid waters but no really serviceable roads to the interior; and Conejos has hard beaches and a good road but the surf would pound the hell out of anyone trying to land by sea, correct?" the Chief asked.

"That is correct, Chief Straussman," replied one of the generals. "Of course, a significant force could always come ashore anywhere, and probably at several points, by several methods, at the same time. We cannot cover that."

Straussman glared at him. "Yes, but let us assume it will be Alunyans for the moment. They are not so signficant, so they must choose." He pondered the maps again. Then he made his decision.

"Put the remaining troops on the peninsula between Bahia de Capras and Bahia de Cochinos, here, north of Punta Capra." He pointed to a spot just above Cayo Guano at the west entrance to the Bahia de Cochinos. "They can, with luck, guard Capras and Cochinos from there."

"And what of the Bahia de Conejos? If they land there, the beaches are firm and the road leads quickly inland. It would be easy for a force that lands there to flank us here," Nunez pointed, "or here."

"We will let the sea take care of them," Chief Straussman replied. "If they can survive those fearsome breakers, then they will be spending their time recuperating on that beach. Put a lookout there if you must, with a radio, and tell the damn fool to be quiet unless he really sees something. We can always use that road ourselves to come down to the beach and mop them up if we have to."

With that, Straussman dismissed the general staff and returned to other pressing matters.

Like the crew of a real freighter would do, the crew of the Mystikotita stood on the deck and watched as the baloons passed the other freighter, the Molitev.
Captain Florina, as well as half a dozen of her men, were not among them. They made sure, that the Naval Intelligence got the pictures. Who uses hot air baloons anyway...?, the officer thought. Gods, when we are back home I need to buy enough drinks for this whole gang here onboard just because of today!
"Helena, Votsis called - he wants us to move and to scout the Bolidorean shores for, I quote, 'anything that looks like troops can land on'.", her radioman tore her out of her thoughts. When nobody listened, the fourty men and six women of the crew were talking to each other with first names, even nicknames sometimes, their Captain was no exception. That was the price to pay when you play a little freighter.
"Tell him to let us stay here and to send the Siopi.", Florina replied, "We are watching something big and Jonas can use a little walk!" The men grinned. "A put some pictures with it! Let the eggheads look at it!"

More or less one hundred Nautical miles away, the freighter Navicella swam, it's crew bored to death with wathing birds - in the name of science, because the mission of the schience ship Tauros had been to watch said birds, but she was called to surrender and to make haste in reaching the next neutral or friendly port.
When looking at the fact, that they used a radar for it, which costs as much as other countries pay for whole ships, one could guess, that it wasn't a civilian ship. Her actual name was FNS Siopi and her flag was just a little trick, because the "Sultanate of Kyrenaia" was just a random idea of some SciFi-author, who was the best author of the century until the next one came.
Captain Jonas Florina, grand-cousin of Captain Helena Florina, didn't bother that much with it, it was just a book and a joke by the guys in Naval Intelligence (or the logistical department, who were to dumb to go to the next flag store and by a random flag). What really bothered him were his new orders.
"Who in the name of all hells do they think we are?!", he yelled and the bridge crew smirked. "Does our beautiful little ship with it's new paint look like bloody cruise ship?!"
"What's wrong, Sir?", one of his man asked, "Do you watch birds with a radar some people would kill for?"
"Many people would kill for this thing, but that's not the point!", the Captain replied. Unlike his grand-cousin, he liked to enforce discipline into the hearts and minds of his men and the one woman onboard. "The point is, that the Mystikotita wants us to do their dirty work in, I quote, 'searching the beaches of Bolidor for landing beaches so that we know, where one could possibly land troops at and maybe know when and where to respond when Alunya and allies might try a landing.'"
"Sounds to me more like 'Drive a little bit up and down and search for a spot to land when things really get messy.'", a sailor said.
"Nah, SPEAR doesn't do things like that!", another said, "Invading a country because of a cat!"
A third one replied: "There were already wars because of lesser things!"
Siopi's Captain put his hands over his face - an animal battlefield zoo, his grand-cousin convincing an Admiral over and over again to rearrange his forces, and who was supposed to look after the birds?!

As Maximos put the newspaper away, he glanced around the room. Present were Cecilia, Sanja, General Papagos and General Dovas. All over his desk were crayons, papers with crude sketches looking like a five-year-old drew them. small remains of cookies and empty mugs of coffe.
"Are we the ones supposed to be the dumb ones now?" He pointed at the headline of the IWU Sentinel, freshly bought from the little shop at the Main Railwaystation, where half of Krekopia bought the newspaper.
"Seems like it.", Salta stated and smiled. "So what now?"
She hoped, that this would prevent her from leading her troops into combat, because her boys and girls were dear to her. Most of them were old enough to be her own son or daughter, which made a command in combat even more difficult for her.
"Simple.", Maximos stated. "We will wait for the course plotted by our allies and SPEAR, will wait until then and... does anyone care for a glass of Oinos?"
He wasn't that surprised to see many hands go up, even Cecilia's.

"Uhm, Helena?", her radar officer shouted. "Those GROSSian vessels don't look very friendly to me!"
"What are they doing?", the Captain asked back.
The officer checked his screens once more. "It seems they are approaching the Molitev, but not for an attack."
"Five Drachmas on them escorting her!", a sailor yelled. "And five more that they think we are hostile to them!"
That was something that clearly worried Florina. "Radioman, contact anything that looks remotely like a flagship, tell them who we are, what we are, the real story, and that our orders indicate we are still siding with SPEAR, but are willing to raise a white flag if they want! And tell them we are unarmed!"
"Shouldn't we not blowe our cover?", the first officer asked.
"Better we blow our cover then the GROSSians blowing us up, don't you think?", Florina snapped back. "Oh, and contact Votsis, we maybe need a clear statement on where Herodas is standing!"
"Understood, Helena!", the radioman began with his work.

"I AM GOING TO FIRE THAT RETARDED SON OF A PILE OF...!", Chancelor Zahariadis yelled in complete rage.
"Sir, Ladies are present.", his chief advisor calmed him down. "What should we do?"
"Tell the Green Party to fire Demertzis, ask the President to make a clear statement on our position in this mess and... and... and ask Triantafyllidis for new elections after this mess is over.", the Chancellor replied. "Everything that could go wrong, went wrong and I want to have the people and the international community to trust me."
Triantafyllidis as head of the Bouleuomai was the only one able to call for elections, but only in the moment he was asked to.
"And get me... get me a bottle of Oinos...", the Chancellor ended his orders. Field Marshal Salta, who was present with the head of the PR-staff, Lieutenant General Sophia Zervas, couldn't help but to have compassion with the Social Democrat. "Anyone else wants a drink?"

"My dear ladies and gentlemen.", Maximos said. To both his sides were other high-ranked politicians - the Chancellor, the vice-chancellor, the President of the Bouleuomai, the leader of the opposition, the six prime ministers and the supreme mayor of Krekorpia.
"Today... it seems like everything went wrong. We have a signal of one of our ships indicating that our friends in the GROSS Independency think we are on Bolidor's side now. They come to this conclusion by an unfortunately formulated statement of Foreign Minister and vice-Chancellor Demertzis in front of the SPEAR-council... were he actually didn't have to say a thing. General Glaukos is reporting, that he is trying his best in controlling the damage this statement caused.
Once and for all times: Herodas is on the side of SPEAR. We will do anything to secure peace. We will wait for the decision of the SPEAR-council in this matter.
The statement, saying that we should stop Alunyan supplies and reinforcements for their bridgehead, is still standing - they would be aggressive forces trying to land in a foreign country, breaking the peace. We still hope for a peaceful solution.
In addition to that, the Chancellor asked the President of the Bouleuomai for new elections. This proposal was granted. I hereby ask the parties to relay the preelection until everything is solved.
Thank you very much, no questions, have a nice day."

Sancho Panza was having bad dreams. He had been rousted from his bed at midnight by the Bolidorean secret police and a shy fellow from the Army. He supposed it was only natural, as he was the sole park ranger for Punta Conejo Nacional Parque. Still, he rarely had visitors. Though the park had great beaches and wonderful surf, the Republic of Bolidor, as a banana republic, was not a typical destination for tourists, and Bolidoreans preferred sipping a banana beer in a dark, cool bar to lying about on the beach under the hot Bolidorean sun.

The secret police left him in no doubt of his current task. He was to go down to the beach with the radio transceiver they gave him, stay there and report anything unusual. A sticker on the radio gave him the call sign "Alpha Tango" and it was preset to channel eleven so all he would have to do is transmit, give his call sign, and report what he saw. And with that, they had left.

He gathered his camping supplies and loaded them upon his donkey, then called his dog Rocinante to accompany him. The trio then made the long walk on the paved road down to the beach. There he had gathered driftwood, started a fire, and with his guitar, he sang to the mangy yellow dog.

Sanza thought briefly about testing the radio, but then decided he had better not. The secret policemen had been adamant that he was only to use the radio to report anything unusual. He had nodded, afraid to ask them why, or even what they might consider unusual. Probably an escaped criminal, he thought to himself. Bolidor had plenty of those, many of them innocents like himself.

So he drank some Punas from his thermos, opened a few bottles of Musa Head banana beer, made some S'Mores and roasted his weenie. The sausage was still in his hand when he passed out on his back on the hard beach sand, the hungry dog then taking the remnants of the charred wiener shamelessly from him.

He had weird dreams of a half dozen tuna boats out beyond the reef, followed by strange delusions of men and camels surfing together on big boards down equally huge pipelines of water. A nagging thought occured to him that he ought to report this on the radio, until a moment of clarity squashed the silly idea, with thoughts of prison awaiting those who report bad dreams. The dog licked his hand again and whimpered while the donkey shifted his hooves nervously.

Sancho Panza, dead drunk, did not notice.

((OOC: Iloistan, you can't just see on of my subs, especially if you don't have an active search going on for it... especially not with it sitting on the bottom of a Bolidorian harbor, and especially not since it's not your old timey Los Angeles-class or Kilo, where a single active ping will cause it to show instanly. What makes that fair that it's so difficult to find is that my sub is pretty much immobile and can't do anything without announcing itself like a vegan (in general) save for HF comms.))

Admiral Adams, from aboard his flagship, looked started. "Say again, petty officer?"
"Uh, balloons, sir. Alunya appears to be invading by... balloons."

"I.." his hands dropped to his sides with a soft "slap." He rubbed his temples hard. "I swear. These guys are going to kill themselves off faster than each other. Talk about unconventional warfare."

"Yes, sir. It does appear that Iloistan - for the most part - Gross, and Veceria seem to be going conventional."
"That's pronounced "GROSS, IT2."
"Are you certain sir? I thought it was Gross?"
"No, you have a gross misunderstanding of the way to pronounce GROSS."
"Aye sir." Someone sneezed and spread spittle and snot everywhere."Gross!"
"No, Petty Officer, GROSS."
"I know sir, I was just saying "gross," to BM2 over there for not covering his nose when he sneezed.
"Petty Officer, this is no time for games, and do not by any means see how BM2's improper manners have to do with a nation or courtesy of how to properly pronounce it."

---

It all seemed so pointless. War seemed inevitable. Over a cat. Why couldn't Alunya have just accepted the freaking money? What was there to do? Well, if Pharthan were to join the mix, this war would be done right, and neither Bolidor nor Iloistan would be able to say a word before Bolidor was defenseless, but as a part of SPEAR, and one of it's premier members, Pharthan wasn't supposed to go off just obliterating militaries all willy-nilly.
The Last Centurion and it's six cohorts placed itself between the GROSS forces and the Bolidorian waters and parked themselves there, and hailed the GROSS fleet. "This is the PNV Last Centurion. Please state your intentions."

--

Admiral Adams tapped his fingers slowly along the display in front of him, successfully. Tap tap tap tap.
"With Veceria, Pharthan, and Herodas working together, I think we might have gathered enough to stop this war." Tap tap tap tap. "Problem being that we actually have to do something to stop them. We can't do any more than park our ships around Bolidor and fire at anyone who attempts to ram them." Tap tap tap tap. "But those Alunyan balloons. The freaking balloons."
"Sir, we could always do a few fly-bys. Freak them out a little."
"But that puts us over Bolidorian territory."
"Then we fire at anyone who attempts to shoot at our aircraft."
"Which only makes this a three-way war. As much as I love a good three-way, that's not happening."
"Just a suggestion, sir."
Tap tap tap tap. If Admiral Adams had his war, they'd pull the Warhorse off patrol, have it launch a thousand-missile strike on Bolidor, and all float away. But they couldn't do that. Pharthan wasn't put it's stance that way. Neither side was backing down, an it appeared the only way out of it was to destroy Bolidor or just have everyone turn their backs to the entire thing, but that left Iloistan on Bolidor's side, and that alliance was too much to risk. How to play this out nicely?

-----

On top of one of the Kyr'am submarines, Praetor Dexter Romanov watched the balloons through binoculars. The sky was quite clear, the colorful things easily visible from his position. "Those Alunyans can't be serious. Balloons? Especially shaped like that?" He looked to one of the other Vecerians standing atop the vessel, who grinned and asked: "Should we shoot them down? It's not like we have those FLAKs for nothing." Dexter shook his head. "Nah. The commander said we should leave them be. I guess those Bolidoreans can handle that themselves." He turned around, facing the Phartan navy just some hundred meters away from them, and looked through his binoculars again. "Nice ships they have. Hope we'll see them in action." The other Vecerians nodded in agreement, though some looked a bit boring.

On board the Morut-class carrier next to the smaller submarine, the situation was at least as relaxed, if not more. The jets, drones and helicopters were ready, as were their pilots. Everything looked fresh and clean. The Vecerians were ready.

A good number of countries have keen intelligence services, and several of them presumably picked up the unencrypted broadcast on a channel known to be used on a regular basis by the Royal Alunyan Army. It came from a remote area deep in the Bolidoran jungle, some where north of the geographical center of the country. Analysts would presumably work throughout the night to better pinpoint the location, but by then whomever was transmitting would have moved on. More important was the content of the message itself:

“Meǿw mæɨu méoω mȑıÿaǫ mǟèǚ ɱaĩyɇŵ. Mǝœω mɨéȗ mŕáÿeǽŵ mŷaœ míȓȧow ɱrăȭ mȩö mŗǣĩų miåŏ. Mĕú mîâeȗ ɱɍŷæɵ mȅów mēŏw mǎiȯ mȅoŵ mŗįɏǝû mǻǭ.”


Even though it was in the clear, in some sense it wasn't clear at all..

While radio intercepts were always good intelligence fodder, yet other nations have ears in the water. These may be intelligence trawlers with towed sonar arrays; stealthy submarines beneath thermal and salinity layers picking through convergence zones where sounds are refracted back towards the surface through the increasing, though still small, changes of water density that come with depth and pressure; or through passive acoustic sonar nets placed upon the seabed. Although shallow waters, like the crashing and grinding at the edges of the ice pack, tended to make these underwater listening devices less effective, the common layman would be astounded at the sensitivity and processing power available to a modern navy. An integrated system could often pick out even commercial vessels known to have frequented the blue water seas and perhaps identify them by name and home port.

But all too often old wooden trawlers, and even a few steel ones, were simply noted in databases as a neutral contact, its sound spectrum duly noted, and stamped as being at a given date, time and place. The seas are full of such vessels, and the names of such vessels, or even their country of registry, often remains unknown or at best only guessed at. It isn't the system's fault -- a small nonthreatening neutral often isn't worth the interest and effort to match to a registry name on a first or even second contact.

So when some two to three hundred small ships started turning screws for all they were worth, just south of the Dunnen Banks eighty miles southwest of Punta Puna in Bolidor, the sonar operators and their computers must have taken notice. Adding to the cacophony beneath the waves was an admixture of depth finders, fish finders, and a handful of active sonars, the latter mainly of an anti-mine type available commercially. Heavy splashes at the surface might or might not have been heard, but absent was the higher pitched whines of torpedo impellers. A few of the more capable sonar systems might have picked out a few identifying ship's propellers, but the feedback from the databases would likely only identify them as probable Alunyan deep sea fishing trawlers, based upon the few previous times and places that they had been detected before.

Radio direction finding above the surface of the sea would also have located most of the Alunyan armada in the same location. The radio traffic, mainly in Mrao, the native language of Alunya, was clearly full of excitement and desperation. A few snippets of English and Italian could be heard, and those could readily be translated as jabbering about "Fish in the water!" Whatever might that mean, that might mean...

If the Alunyan armada had been maintaining radio silence for days to disguise its location, it was now stepping over its own transmissions in what sounded like a degree of panic...

Colonel Santorino stood in front of the haphazardly sprawled out Bolidorean jungle ranger lying at his feet on the hot sand of Playa Conejo. The embers in the fellow's fire had long since died out, though it had been useful when they had surfed ashore. Now the oversize surfboards were safely tucked away in a ravine a hundred meters inland, covered with jungle undergrowth. Santorino now had the task of awakening the sotted chap before him.

Interested, his men and his llamas crowded around him. One soldier calmed what had been a braying donkey, and some others fed a mangy yellow dog. Both belonged to the drunk.

All in all, the regiment had made it safely ashore. Four of the elite troopers had suffered minor cuts and bruises in the heavy surf, and one llama, Sue, had injured her leg. The men would be walking wounded -- hell, they would all be walking. The llamas carried the supplies.

Santorino noted that the chap had a radio. Probably a coast watcher. Well, the polite thing to do would be to wake him, but what to do afterward was more problematic. His regiment had no means to take or keep prisoners...

Reporter: " Meanwhile, in the capital, around three to four thousand people are estimated to be taking part in an anti-war demonstration in response to the recent development of an Alunyan invasion of Bolidor, in was is known colloquially as 'The Happy Cat War,' a reference to the cat being held in the presidential palace of Bolidor. The Prime Minister announced economic sanctions on both nations in response to what he described as, "A chain reaction of idiocies and overreactions."

PM de Jong: "We need nations committed to stability, not committed to compromising securities and starting wars over house pets."

Reporter: Alunyan communications are still cut off, and Aardenlanders are still debating whether this is a technological failure, outside meddling, or inside meddling."



OOC: Alunya, I need to know if you are getting your TGs or not. You aren't ignoring me, are you?

*On the coast of Bolidor. Lord of Marshalls Darrel Havok to Field Marshall Ryan Devon at Field Command.*

Devon: Sir, just got the reports from zone 12, all digging has ceased and the area is all clear, the entire coast is secured for now.
Havok: Good......Good, finally we can have some peace.
Devon: All those subterranean tunnels we dug really seem like a waste, but yeah I'm definitely glad we are back down to Tier 3 Alert.
Runner: Report from the front sir! *hands intel*
Havok: Whats this..........BALLOONS!!!!!!
Devon: What is it sir?
Havok: The Alyunians are invading with hot air balloons! Inform all Field Marshalls at once that we at Tier 6 Alert. This cold war has finally decided to get hot.
Devon: Looks like we're going to use the holes after all. *Leaves to contact other Field Marshalls.*
Havok: Dammit, they might just fly right over our front lines..........*looks up*.....what the hell.....Spongebob. They're already here.
*At that moment, Spongebob was nailed by a missile. The only balloon to be successfully shot down.*
Devon: *returns* Shit!!! Sir, the message is out, but there's more. Gross Independency is fast approaching the northern coast.
Havok: Shit, this areas compromised, we're leaving immediately for the tunnels, in fact, get the message out that I'm ordering everyone into the tunnels. We may just have the upperhand today.

*USG-Chimera off the coast of Bolidor. Lord of Admirals James Varen to Admiral Staff.*
Staff 1: Sir!!! We just received reports that Alyuna has launched an invasion on Bolidor.
Varen: How the hell did they do that? I thought we controlled their regional waters. How did they do it.
Staff 2: It appears one of their ships somehow skirted past the blockade, not sure how, and has commenced launching Hot Air Balloons.
Varen: Balloons?
Staff 2: Yes, Balloons.
Varen: Well lets get some F-25 Raptors up there and shoot them down!
Staff 3: All we have in the area currently is a squad of the Bolidorean Pilots. Should we send them?
Varen: Where the hell are our other pilots?
Staff 3: Not sure?
Varen: Fine send the Bolidoreans.
Staff 4: Sir! the Balloons have already passed over the shore line and have begun landing.......Sir, Gross Independency has somehow also crossed the Spear Blockade with several ships.
Varen: Move to intercept!
Staff 1: Dammit! They've also reached the coast, I hope our land forces have taken cover in the tunnels or they are in for some serious shit since we were at Tier 3 Alert.
Varen: There's nothing we can currently do for ground forces, but like hell am I going to leave their ships afloat! Contact all Submarine captains in the region. We'll sink every goddamn one of their vessels. How could this happen.

*A few Bolidorean Raptor Pilots*

Pilot 1: Balloons in sight! Switch to guns, missiles are unnecessary.
Pilot 2: How do I do that again......this button?
*Clicks button and is then ejected from F-25 Raptor.*
Pilot 3: Bravo is down! I think they are firing at us!
Pilot 1: Shit! Eject!
*Clicks button and fires 2 missiles. One narrowly misses the Beagle but nails Spongebob. Other nails Pilot 3.
Pilot 1: Oops........oh crap I'm out of fuel.
*Crashes*

*Ocelot Strike Force on the fringe of Bolidorean Jungle next to the shoreline. Commander Echo Meowschwitz watching incoming Balloons while the rest of the team awaits orders.*

He sat there and watched with no fear, fascinated by the balloons. Then he noticed several incoming boats and boards in the surf. As being only an Ocelot, he had no clue exactly what they were, but he knew they were danger from his extensive training. 2 more Ocelots approached his sides. He turned to them and said, "Meow meow meow, meow? meow meow! Meow." The entire force then proceeded into the jungle, knowing it was their best chance for survival. They were not afraid. They were born for this.

As Echo retreated into the dark undergrowth, he paused and looked back at the barley visible shoreline. He saw llamas and lynxes. They had been among several animals that he had been trained to hate and kill as a cub. He ordered the team to spread out into the upper reaches of the trees and in the brush, awaiting the perfect moment to strike. Echo upholstered his sawed off shotgun and waited within the brush, perfectly concealed.

*Back at the shore line. Sgt. Roebuck to his squad inside a spiderhole.*

Corporal Bivik: Sarg when are were going to attack, the suspense is killing me.
Roebuck: Sssshhh......you want to give away our fucking position.
*Voices could be heard approaching above ground. Their holes were completely concealed. They weren't going to be found anytime soon unless someone made a sound. The suspense could have been cut with a knife. Roebuck watched his wrist-link, awaiting the order to break cover. He suspected they would remain in cover until the Mako's began sinking the enemy ships.

To be continued........

Gallup Times Headline:
Senator Reitt caught in another Sex Scandal!

tucked away on the bottem of page 6:
Gallup stays out of War; President Ark Condemns Aluyna.

El Presidente Alphonse Simms knew his Chief of the Secret Police, Roberto, was no fool. The man had, after all, graduated summa cum laude from Harvard, though rumors were that he had twisted a few arms for those honors. Still, if Roberto said he was to stay inside the plantation house because of spy satellites, then he was going to stay inside. Besides taking along Rimshot, he had only enough time to pack a few clothes and some DVDs. Roberto had suggested that he take whatever movies he wanted. But El Presidente, vain as he was, had decided to secretly swap disks from the popular films with those containing his all time best speeches.

So he was propped up on the bed in the second floor master suite, watching himself opening a hospital, then a museum, then a sewage plant, and then an all inclusive tourist resort. He watched himself address troops, the police, the Bolidorean people, and even his much beloved Presidential marching band. Alphonse Simms, he admitted to himself, sure knew how to give a speech.

The whole time he gently stroked the very happy cat resting on his lap. The purrs were very soothing, and Rimshot kneaded his left kneecap in utter bliss. Life was good for El Presidente and his cat.

It was then, deep inside the Republic of Bolidor on one of the many banana plantations operated by the Bolidorean Banana Corporation, that a big yellow balloon crashed into the plantation house, its basket and four Alunya soldiers crashing through the second floor bay window. El Presidente was very startled to find himself face to face with four Alunyan soldiers, who ignored the pajama-clad man on the bed and proceeded to wrestle the balloon's suspension lines through the frame of the shattered window.

Though most of the view was crowded by the balloon basket and crew now in his bedroom, Alphonse Simms could see other balloons touching down only slightly less haphazardly in the pasture that occupied most of the rest of the riverine island.

"Who are you?" El Presidente asked incredulously.

"So sorry, sir," replied one of the soldiers grasping at the shrouds. "We're with the 5112 Aerial (untethered) Recon Company of the Kingdom of Alunya. We're only going to be here a day or two, I assure you. We'll be off to Musa to capture a cat as soon as we get organized. So very sorry to trouble you."

"No trouble, no trouble at all," El Presidente said hastily. "Here, let me help you. I'm Jack Noah, and this here is my cat, uh, Rumship."

"That would be most appreciated, Mr. Noah. Have you got a place where we can store our balloons, to keep them out of sight?"

"Of course, of course. We've got equipment sheds and such. Now, Rumship, stop rubbing up against my legs for a moment, my dear little kitty. You are such a happy cat." And with that, Mr. Jack Noah began aiding and abetting the sworn enemies of the Republic of Bolidor.

Sancho Panza awoke to a very green world. As he shook off the fog of too many Punas and Musa Head beers, is dawned on him that he was buried under banana leaves. He tossed them aside and found himself alone on Playa Conejo, which was just as well. Because he also discovered that he was buck naked.

No clothes. No embers in the firepit nearby. No mangy yellow dog Rocinante. No trustworthy donkey Hoe-Tay. No Bolidorean Army radio. He jumped up in surprise and panic at that very last thought. Bolidoreans have gone to prison for much lesser offenses.

It was then that he noticed the unusual imprint in the hard-packed sand near his feet.

Camel toe.

With that the Bolidorean forest ranger began to run north up the beach towards the road that led inland to his ranger station. His panic rose as he gathered in the plethora of boot prints and camel toe impressions in the sand, all leading in the very same direction. He swore and picked up his pace.

In the distance he heard an ocelot howling and thought, incredulously, that it sounded very much like cat laughter...

Roberto Straussman, Chief of the Bolidorean Secret Police, was a little tense. First it was a coast guard report and then an army patrol report of hot air balloons drifting into the Republic. Then the tug Mujere had spotted the MV Molitev, flying the Vizindolfian flag, under escort of the GROSS Independency Navy, sailing south out of Bolidorean waters.

The very same tug also had spotted several tuna boats sailing out of the Bahia de Conejos, and they each sported unusual rails along their sides running aft. A runner had been sent to meet the Mujere when she returned to Girón to retrieve the photographs her captain had taken. The general staff surmised that the Alunyans had mined Bahia de Conejos, but that made little sense since the surf there precluded any harbors from being built, and thus any ship traffic from entering the bay. Besides, the coast watcher they had monitoring the beach had not called in to report anything unusual, and mining the bay would have been very unusual indeed.

His own department's listening posts had detected a radio transmission, in the clear, from the jungle north of Bolidor's center, but it was in that confounded cat language. Still, it was an indication that Bolidor had been invaded. More pleasing were the transcripts of the English and Italian from an Alunyan fleet in the vicinity of the Dunnen Banks. There was clearly panic and a great deal of talk about fish in the water. His intelligence experts felt reasonably sure that someone must have fired torpedoes upon Bolidor's enemies, but one dissenter held to her belief that Alunyan fishing captains were surprised to find so many fish in that location. Dissenting in Bolidor could be very dangerous indeed.

But his greatest concern was with the amphibious landing force that the Plebius Imperioum of GROSS Independency had put ashore on the west side of Bahia de Cochinos. Only hours before he had advised the general staff to put the remaining forces at their disposal on the peninsula between Bahia de Capras and Bahia de Cochinos. Now those very forces were outnumbered and outflanked. Something would have to be done about that.

And of course, his older brother, El Jefe, had selected that very bay for one of his hare-brained "special projects." With luck, the fool had likely been captured or killed by Bolidor's enemies. Roberto smiled maliciously at the thought; his older brother had always been Mama's favorite son. How the idiot ever survived the predicaments he found himself in was always a source of astonishment and outrage to the Chief of the Bolidorean Secret Police.

"Who have we got left that we can throw at these guys?" Straussman directed the question to General Nunez.

"Sir," stammered the general, sensing Roberto's volatile mood. "We've got the Plumbers and Pipefitters Union Local 666, the Bolidorean Professional Golfer's Association, and of course El Presidente's Own, the 404th Presidential Honor Guard Marching Band."

Straussman glowered. "Perfect. Send them all down to Punta Capra immediately."

Not wishing to ascertain whether sarcasm was implied, Nunez responded crisply, "Yes, sir. Right away sir." The general motioned for the staff to follow him out of the meeting room.

"And Nunez," shouted Straussman, "Round up every damn driver in the Republic. I want them all on their way to Punta Cabra."

"Yes, sir!" With that, the general staff departed.

Straussman then turned to Carlito, his aide-de-camp. "Now what I need from you is to go find my drug-running brother-in-law on the west coast of Bahia de Vacas. Don't go through that inept little military garrison we have on the other side of the bay. But do find out if he still has any of those narco subs he uses for smuggling. Report back to me as soon as you can."

The last remaining item on his agenda this morning concerned the Vizindolfian freighter MV Molitev and her sister ships. Certainly the Vizindolfian authorities would send a replacement crew to pilot the vessel back to their waters. Two, he thought, can play that game, and his team already had the advantage of having stolen a cat from under the noses of those haughty Alunyans.

Straussman dialed the number of a known member of the Bolidorean underworld who was undoubtedly the Republic's best expert forger. "Sebastian, this is Roberto. I need three dozen passports, sans names and photos, and on short notice." He paused to listen to the forger's price and questions. "Yes, that will be fine. The Republic of Vizindolf. And visa stamps for the Kingdom of Alunya. Thanks."

The man in the Panama hat was incredulous. First, the balloons had sailed overhead. Then Ricardo and his tugboat had left the Bahia de Cochinos but had not returned. Then a vast landing force flying the flags of the Plebeius Imperioum of GROSS Independency had offloaded into their landing craft at the mouth of the bay. At that sight, his welders and the handful of men with him on the platform had jumped into the launch and headed for their beachfront encampment on the eastern shore. He was left alone to face a veritable armada of warships.

The guns then opened up, and he could hear the shells scream overhead as they found their targets on the beaches on the west side of the bay. He had watched in morbid fascination as two columns of landing craft headed straight for him, the one line to the east preceding the one to the west of his position. He waved at the marines, or maybe it was solddiers, as they sailed past his left. When the column to his right neared the paltform, both lines smartly turned west, towards a thoroughly churned up four-mile stretch of beach.

He thought it odd that they should choose to land there. The road was on the other side of the bay. The land rose steeply where they were, and the jungle was thick and pinched in on the beach both to the north and south, towards Punta Capra. It was a pretty beach, or at least it had been until occupied by 140,000 foreign enemy troops. But it didn't lead to anywhere, or at least not anywhere useful. It was a very odd place to land, but then maybe its unexpectedness was the very reason for landing there.

He, for one, appreciated the unexpected. His own project was equally unexpected. At first he was dismayed that all his help had fled. But then he was giddy that the soldiers, or marines, had only waved in passing and left him alone. In fact, it seemed that they had used his little platform as a rallying point on their way to invade the beach. Well, if he left them alone, maybe they would leave him alone.

So while he kept an eye on them, he had taken to fastening the fiberglass panels in place over the structural steel tubing. If he was more orderly, he would have resisted the temptation to paint each panel as he placed it. But the happenstance of circumstances left him feeling a bit more carefree, and he interspersed installation with painting in various shades of green. But it was truly beginning to take shape.

His only concern was how he was going to get firewood. He was all alone, without a launch...

Vincente Contreras was a bit perplexed. A contingent of the Bolidorean Secret Police had arrived at the South Musa Golf and Country Club that afternoon and asked to speak to "whomever was in charge." And that was himself, the club's manager, one Mr. Vincente Contreras.

Their request had been equally unusual. Park vehicles and equipment on the greens and fairways, but not too closely. Gather all the staff and fetch lost golf balls from everywhere -- the bushes, the trees, the ravines, the ponds, even the practice range. Every golf ball, regardless of condition. And then the police had confiscated every club in the club's pro shop. And all the tees. Then they told him to close the golf course "for the duration." Duration of what?

The few semi-pros who served as instructors with the club had been pulled aside. They were told that they were involuntarily volunteering for "special service" with the Bolidorean Army. An army truck had pulled up, and the fellows were handcuffed and loaded into the back. Contreras was grateful that he had gone into a hospitality program in college, and had never once given thought to playing serious golf. Otherwise, he might end up where they might end up -- prison, or worse.

So Contreras had e-mailed a few of his colleagues at other courses around the country. Something was definitely up. The secret police had swept through their courses too, confiscating balls and clubs, and rounding up the better golfers. Surely the Republic did not consider golfers to pose a danger to national security, he hoped. This would not be a boon for business...

Chief Straussman strode into El Presidente's office in the Presidential Palace in the heart of Musa, the Republic of Bolidor.

"Get off your big ass, you lazy sod," the Chief snarled at El Presidente. "I need you to give a speech!'

Javier, the hapless stand-in for one Alphonse Simms, was taken aback. "You know I don't give speeches. I'm not eloquent. It's not like I went to acting school."

Straussman lowered his face to within centimeters of the former janitor's face. "You will be giving a speech," growled the chief, "Or I will skin your mother in front of your very eyes."

Javier looked into the secret policeman's eyes and realized that Roberto meant every word he was saying. "Yes, of course, I will give a speech. What will I be speaking about?"

At that Straussman resumed his fully erect pose. "You, mi Presidente, will be rallying the Bolidorean people to the defense of the Republic. You will be speaking from the Presidential balcony, and you will address the Plumbers and Pipefitters Union, your own infamously famous Presidential Honor Guard Marching Band, and the Bolidorean Professional Golfers' Association. And you will convince them and everyone else to throw the dastardly and evil forces of the Plebium Imperium of GROSS Independency off the western beaches of the Bahia de Cochinos. And you will remind your marching band, in private, to tie their damn shoes so that they do not trip as they head off to battle."

"Oh," Javier blinked. "Is that all? I thought you wanted me to give a serious speech."

Straussman turned sharply towards the feckless impersonator and towered over him, spittle flying as he enunciated very clearly. "You will give this speech, as it is the most important speech in your life! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!!"

"Si," El Presidente quivered, "Very clear."

"Good, " Straussman calmly replied, straightening up once more. "You will find old speeches in the DVD cabinet over there. Review them, and I will come back tonight to hear your speech and critique it. Try to stay true to character, if you please."

"Yes, sir," replied the president of the Republic of Bolidor. With that, Straussman gave a formal nod and a sinister smile, then turned and let himself out through the heavy mahogany double doors, closing them behind him.

"What a psychotic!" Javier whispered under his breath.

"I heard that," echoed the Chief's voice from the other side of the doors, the click of his footsteps on the hallway tiles receding in the distance.

"And why on earth would the enemy forces land on that beach?" Javier muttered to himself. "It doesn't lead to anywhere!"

The Ocelots Augmentations had made them trained killers, but it also seemed to have had other effects that made them seem more sentient. In this particular case it was their ability to laugh.

*Edge of the Jungle. Ocelot Scouts decided to play a prank. After the true size of the llama guard was discovered, the Ocelots had decided it was best to lay low for awhile and just follow the guards.*

Scouts Cosmo and Venera had a keen sense of humor. Earlier the Strike Force had followed the Llama Guard until the guard had found a strange drunk man with animals. After several minutes the guard left the drunk man unharmed, but left with his animals. They had been ordered to keep watch on the area in case more passed through. During their boredom of waiting, they decided to mess with the unconscious man. With great stealth they proceed to steal his clothing. They got a huge kick out of it as the watched him run haplessly in the nude and Cosmo actually let out a strange cat laugh.

The MV Musa Concordia, one of the many ships of the Bolidorean Banana Company, was proceeding cautiously eastward with a load of refrigerated TEUs carrying bananas and plantains. Although the Republic of Bolidor had yet to declare war, which was probably a mere oversight by the authorities in the Presidential Palace back in Musa, the fact remained that there was on ongoing conflict. The chatter at the port in Girón was that the enemy had landed at the Bahia de Cochinos. The Musa Concordia was now rounding Punta Capra and upon clearing Cayo Guano would be in full sight of anyone within the Bahia de Cochinos. The crew on the bridge was very nervous, and understandably so.

Captain Ortiz kept his binoculars to his eyes as he scanned the horizon. There, to starboard, was a massive fleet of blue water warships of the navy of the Plebium Imperium of GROSS Independency. And to port, once the ship cleared Cayo Guano, he could see the landing force -- on what, he thought, was the wrong beach. Unless, of course, those enemy naval officers knew something more about his own country than he did, which on second reflection was not so unlikely after all. The Bolidorean secret police often kept many secrets.

But it was clear that a massive invasion was well underway. He noted an odd little platform in the bay, with a strange curved shape in its center, about as big as a small house, but unlike any hut or dome he had ever seen before. He assumed it must be some installation by the enemy fleet. Ortiz realized he and his crew were in a bad spot, but he decided to be bold and press on as if nothing was amiss.

"Helmsman, make for Punta Cochina. Signal engines full speed ahead," the captain barked.

"Aye sir," the helmswoman replied, ignoring the sexist slight. "Full speed." She turned the vessel slightly to starboard, and as the engines responded, the MV Musa Concordia picked up steam and headed for a point just south of Punta Cochino.

They were halfway across, cutting through the resupply shipping to the beachhead, when a lookout on the bridge called out, "Sailing vessel dead ahead, rounding Punta Cochino."

Ortiz raised his binoculars. It was an Alunyan warship, one of two, her sails eased and on a broad reach, headed towards the MV Musa Concordia. Concerning the Alunyan naval vessels, he had been given clear instructions. He was to avoid mine layers and their mines, and when possible outrun the Royal Alunyan Navy warships, but if he felt it practical, he could also just run them down with the far larger bulk of his own vessel. He decided, with the closing speed he now had, that he would do the latter.

"Helmsman, two points to starboard. That's an Alunyan warship out there, we'll let her think we're passing per the rules, but I want you to prepare to make a hard turn to port and reduce the engines. We're going to cut her in half," the captain announced.

This is exciting, the helmswoman thought, forgetting the inherent sexism. "Aye, captain," she responded, and brought the reefer ship a bit more to starboard...

Captain Laura Giacomotto had been dismayed with the punitive expedition so far. When they had finally cleared the fog bank and made their way north to the rallying point, they had failed to find the RANS Sea Lion. They had idled offshore of neutral waters for a couple of days, but no sign of the great fifty-four gun frigate could be found. So to keep the morale of her own crew from dwelling upon the possible loss of the flagship with all hands on board, Captain Giacomotto decided that the RANS Sea Tigress would find and strike the enemy on her own.

But they had found nothing at all. Not a fishing ship, a merchant marine vessel, nor a man (or woman) of war. Perhaps, she mused, as they crossed the mouth of another empty bay, this one the Bahia de Conejos, everyone had decided to heed the declared wartime exclusionary zone, including the Bolidoreans. This would make landing the Royal Llama Guard, which was sailing on different fishing vessels as a small flotilla, that much easier.

Her reverie was interrupted when the look-out above in the crow's nest called out, "Enemy ship off the port bow!" Giacomotto raised her spyglass and gasped as she took in the magnified size of the 22,000 ton refrigerated container freighter, the MV Musa Concordia. It was clearly a Bolidorean ship, and she had orders to attack and sink all such vessels.

"Beat general quarters! Man the port guns!" she cried. Immediately her officers cried forth with strings of their own commands, clearing decks, readying the cannons, and preparing for battle. Likewise, the Royal Marines mustered on deck, prepared either to board the enemy vessel if the occasion arose, or to repel boarders should it prove necessary. Through it all, the ship's drummer beat out a variety of tattoos, all signalling the actions to be taken by certain sailors and gunners.

"We'll make a bit to starboard," the captain yelled to the helmsman, "And pass port-to-port per maritime convention. Let her think nothing is amiss. We might get an easy broadside."

One of the gunners wisecracked, "Given the breadth of that banana boat's side, I cannot see how we'll miss!" The rest of his gun crew laughed nervously...

Captain Ortiz and the officers aboard the MV Musa Concordia were a bit perplexed that the enemy warship, which they had now identified as the twenty-four gun corvette RANS Sea Tigress was closing with them. Ortiz would order a bit more starboard so that he would have room to make the hard turn to port and cut the miniscule little day sailer in half, but the enemy was not cooperating. The sailing vessel would just make further to port herself, closing the distance. And he was surprised by how fast the little ship sailed.

"It's a museum ship," offered the first mate, Ramirez. "She's got clean lines, no barnacles, and the wind is stronger than we can sense up here in this enclosed bridge," he added. The officer pointed to a wind speed gauge, corrected for the MV Musa Concordia's own speed.

"Damn," muttered the captain. "Engines half speed. And if necessary, we'll take her bow to bowsprit. Sound the collision alarm."

But the Alunyan corvette responded quicker than his massive ship could, and neatly swung a bit to starboard, her port guns squarely aimed at the massive hull of his freighter...

Captain Giacomotto was still unsure of her crew and how they might perform in actual combat. But the helmsman heeded her course corrections as they came back to port, and the sailmaster had the crew in the shrouds adjusting the trim perfectly. Even the gunners were ready. Perhaps the big merchantman thought he could sail right past her, but when he made one more adjustment to starboard, she ordered the Sea Tigress to starboard as well.

A pregnant pause as the two vessels started to slide past each other, then "FIRE!"

Twelve cannons of the Sea Tigress roared in unison, and as close as they were, with the laden merchant vessel towering above the corvette, all twelve cannonballs found their marks.

They left dents in the steel plating of the MV Musa Concordia as they harmlessly bounced back into the sea.

Captain Giacomotto swore. "Reload all guns, port and starboard! And be damn quick about it, boys!"

The crew aboard the MV Musa Concordia were stunned at the ferocity of the attack. They could see the smoke issue forth from the little corvette's guns, and briefly lost sight of the Alunyan warship. The resounding crash of cannonballs against the hull of the merchant man was deafening.

But not fatal. Not even close.

Gathering his wits, Captain Ortiz belatedly order a hard turn to port, hoping to cut the old wooden warship in half. But his delay in issuing the order, the massive inertia of the freighter, and the speed of the RANS Sea Tigress under sail meant that the MV Musa Concordia would miss her target.

In fact, she was not even close.

What the merchantman found instead was the rapidly decreasing shallows of the beachfront just west of Punta Conejo. There she ran aground.

There was a mad scramble aboard the decks of the RANS Sea Tigress as the crew prepared for a second volley. On the poop deck, Captain Giacomotto and her officers kept keen spyglasses on the barely wounded MV Musa Concordia. Her sudden swing to port, which would bring her in behind the Sea Tigress was an unexpected move. Seeing that the merchantman would now be upwind, and was in any event presumably faster, Captain Giacomotto called for the corvette to be turned into the wind.

But she hadn't been specific, and so the helmsman turned hard to starboard, as the warship was already turning that way, and the vessel soon found herself swinging across the wind as she came about. It was the wrong way to turn, as lines parted and the masts shook as booms swung violently with the change in wind direction. The sail master threw up his hands in despair.

Now in irons, the Sea Tigress found herself wallowing toward the very same beach on the eastern side of the Bahia de Cochinos as had captured and now held fast the MV Musa Concordia.

The Sea Tigress ran aground, her starboard guns aimed squarely at the bow of the merchant vessel, but alas, too far away for the cannons.

OOC: Alunya, please tell me why you aren't responding.

*Sgt Roebuck and company in the hole awaiting orders.*

Sgt Roebuck: *looks at his wrist link (its like a pipboy.)* Shit, they can't send in the subs. Too many mines.
Cpl Gantar: Dammit....
Cpl Bivik: Now what sarg?

Roebuck thought to himself. As far as they knew, Iloistani forces outnumbered Gross Forces 2:1. Then there was the fact that no real deaths had occurred yet. Then he thought of an ingenious plan that could end this conflict with minimal deaths for both sides. He sent his plan to Command via wrist link. They approved and also informed him that Bolidorean forces were planning to "bombard" the beach. They would make their move after it was complete.

Roebuck: Bolidor's going to "bomb" the beach. We are going to..........after the bombardment. Get your bananas ready men.

To be continued......

((Iloi... again, about "knowing" things at random, be careful. You're talking about just randomly knowing about the raid.
Getting an inside agent into SPEAR would not be difficult by any means. Getting an inside agent into Pharthan's Lone Wolves and the only singular conversation between the SPEAR Officials, which involved no one but them and their personal body guards, who, at least on Pharthan's side are also Lone Wolves, or the agent is on the sub callsigned Phantom Home (for the raid... which is again, also about as impossible as it gets, seeing as the background check for subs is Secret clearance and -everybody- knows -everybody- on a sub, which means they'd have to be a extreme-deep-undercover agent that just so happened to wind up on this sub by sheer luck. Not plausible.))



The sixteen men of Phantom Team finally caught up with their quarry. It had by no means been easy and had required a certain amount of creativity and intellect to pull off, as well as a number of near misses, but the four groups of four had managed to finally track down the Bolidorian Secret Bunker. Problem was, they were no where near it. They could see it, but they were a considerable distance off. If they were going to pull this one off, they were going to need to get crafty. How to approach a location that was supposed to be secret? Well, the best lies had a hint of truth to them...

They did have one idea. Fortunately, their survelliance gear could be rigged to look like they were a camera crew...
Now they just needed some bananas.

-------

PNV The Last Centurion

The blockade force made a surprising move, all at once - with rather impressive coordination, but it was quite apparent they didn't practice it often. The Last Centurion and her sister ships, along with their destroyer escorts and helicopter-destroyer, all of a sudden turned inland towards Bolidor, crossing into Bolidorian waters. They did so sharply and abruptly, as their azipods allowed for lateral maneuvers that made them essentially massive stunt-boats. The Last Centurion leading the way, circled closely by a full two squadrons of F/A-53 Shrikes and another two squadrons of their Thorn UCAV pairmates, made their way to intercept the GROSS Fleet. The surprisingly fast battlecruisers and destroyers - every one of them nuclear powered - began to make their way inbetween the GROSS ships and the shore, those that had not yet crossed into too-shallow draft for the ships to wade into. They rapidly turned, placing Bolidor on their left and the GROSS ships on their right - starboard side. By international maritime law, the GROSS ships would have to maneuver to avoid collision.
They had one more trick up their sleeve. Each of the vessels launched ten of their RHIB boats, which began to set up a picket inbetween the gaps between the ships.

"GROSS Vessels, you are to proceed no further. You are to return to international waters, with the exception of extraction vessels and aircraft for your soldiers. You rmen are ill-advised to enter into combat, and any vessel determined to be on a collision course with a SPEAR asset will be fired upon."

A similar message was sent by the now six squdrons of fighters in the air - who were keen to stay within the range of the squadron of vessels below. "Iloistan aircraft, you are to turn about to international airspace immediately and cease firing upon the Alunyan balloons." The Thorn UCAVs began an intercept course to start to "guide" the Iloistan fighters away from the balloons and to wreak general chaos - nonviolently, of course, within the Iloistanian ranks.

'

El Presidente Rallies Troops!
by Victor Radriguez, War Correspondent
The Musa Musings

On Sun., April 28th, El Presidente Alphonse Simms spoke from the balcony of the Presidential Palace to rally the troops and the people of Bolidor. The speech was in response to the recent invasion of the Bahia de Cochinos by troops of the Plebium Imperium of GROSS Independency, and to a lesser extent elsewhere, the incursions by the despised Kingdom of Alunya.

The speech, given to a vast crowd in Plaza de la Revolucion, was directed to three newly formed brigades to take the fight to Bolidor's enemies. The brigades were drawn from members of the Plumbers and Pipefitters Union; the Boldoran Professional Golfers' Association; and the 404th Presidential Honor Guard Marching Band. El President addressed portions of his remarks to each unit.

El Presidente's speech is produced here in its entirety.


The always popular El Presidente prepares to give a speech to the Bolidorean people.

“My fellow Bolidoreans...”

“I, your Presidente, come before you today, as one of you. You are like my brothers and my sisters, my fathers and my mothers, my nieces and my nephews, my sons and my daughters, my aunts and my uncles, my grandfathers and my grandmothers, my cousins and my friends. You are my people.”

“And we, the people of Bolidor, our land blessed with bananas and plantains, have every right, nay, every reason, to aspire to happiness. And having found it, we must seize the day, or the cat, as the case may warrant, to achieve the happiness that our great nation so deserves. We must aspire to greater things for the progress of our homeland.”

“We must feed cats, and pet cats, and play with cats. We must provide clean drinking water for cats, and trim cat claws, and brush cats’ teeth, and comb cat coats. We must clean cat ears and apply anti-flea medications between cats’ shoulder blades. We must buy cat toys and replace cat scratching posts and sofas and chairs and drapes and rugs and carpets. We must take cats to veterinarians and inoculate cats against cat diseases. And we must clean out cat litter boxes many, many times. These are the things we must aspire to do.”

“We choose to steal cats. We choose to steal cats in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too.”

“We will dream the impossible dream.”

“We will fight the unbeatable foe.”

“We will bear the unbearable sorrow.”

“We will run where the brave dare not go.”

“We will wrong the unwritable right.”

“We will love pure and chaste and all that.”

“We will try when our arms are too weary...”

“To reach the unreachable cat.”

“Remember, my fellow Bolidoreans, Mama always said life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

“And so it is that we ask ourselves, ‘What is best in life?’ It is to crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women.”

“So here before us stand three groups of our bravest citizens to aid us in our quest.”

“To the Plumbers and Pipefitters Union Local 666, the finest men and women ever to wield a monkey wrench, we salute you!”

“Be brave, and elbow the enemy into the sea. Flush them away like a bad dream. Smack them down with a Lead Pipe like Professor Plum in the Billiard Room. Throw out the baby with the bathwater, if that is what it takes, and for good measure throw the kitchen sink at them too!! Be brazen when brazing, and solder on, our bravest pipefitting soldiers, solder on to victory!”

“And to you, the professional golfers of the Bolidorean Professional Golfers’ Association, the finest professional golfers to ever professionally golf in all of Bolidor, we salute you!”

“Be brave, and putt the fear of Bolidor into the hearts of our enemies. Take an iron to their heads. Give them the wedge where the sun doesn’t shine. Drive them away, let the enemy fade from your swing. Sink them, and when you pull, put a hole in one. You are our aces, our eagles, our birdies and even our bogeymen. Your ways are always fair, so swing away, our bravest golfing soldiers, swing away!”



El Presidente, in a private moment after the speech, reminds the 404th Presidential Honor Guard Marching Band to tie their shoes before going off to battle.


“And to my own, the 404th Presidential Honor Guard Marching Band, the best band to ever play and march at nearly the same time, we salute you!”

“Be brave, and blow out the enemy’s eardrums. Trom your bones and trump your pets. Flautists, make flautas of our enemies with your little tinny pipes. And drummers, drum the enemy into the sea. Snare them and beat them senseless. Piccolos -- pickle them! Sousa them with sound, and give them a tuba of something they’ll never forget. Make it clare on their nets that Bolidor is the brassy boss, the woodwind wizards, the percussion perfectionists. But please refrain from any sax on the phone as this is not a dirty war. Play our enemies like a two-bit penny whistle and blast them away, our bravest marching band of brothers, blast them away!

“”And remember, each and every one of you, that there’s no crying in baseball!”

“Thank you, and God bless Bolidor!”

"I thought," said Chief Straussman of the Bolidorean Secret Police through gritted teeth, "That I said you were to stay true to character. What the hell was that?!!"

Javier, the stand-in for the real El Presidente (or as real as any of them were), shrugged. "I studied the speeches you told me to. One was an actual speech of John F. Kennedy, but the others were movies. I figured I would use those rather than bother you. You seemed so busy lately."

"Let me guess," snorted Roberto. "The Man from La Mancha, and Forrest Gump."

"And Conan the Barbarian and A League of Their Own," smiled Javier, pleased that he could, in a pinch, give a speech. "It went rather well -- I think they liked it."

Straussman snarled, "They had better like your speeches. For their own sake."

The whine of chain saws could be heard on Punta Capra, the peninsula that separated the Bahia de Capras from the Bahia de Cochinos. Below were 140,000 enemy troops on a small four-mile crescent of beach.

Above them loomed the tropical jungle of Bolidor. It was a lumpy, uneven carpet of green. The canopy here had several layers. And unlike a temperate forest where all the trees were pretty much the same height, here there were emergents, the tallest specimens of their kind, poking far above the rest. Elsewhere, when an ancient tree had fallen, it took down others in its path, and thus there were dips in the forest canopy where they had fallen. But all was a verdant green, entangled with vines.

As the chainsaws finished at one location, one of the emergents would come crashing down, its crown pointed to the beach where the troops of the Plebium Imperium of GROSS Independency were crammed together. The resulting gap in the jungle canopy, for the moment, provided a space from which projectiles could be rained upon the beachhead. And that is precisely what the Bolidoreans manning the saws intended.

As the saws hacked away at the stumps in an effort to reduce their heights, other soldiers trekked downhill through the jungle from the ridgeline. They carried plywood, lumber, and reams of artificial grass. Over each stump, stagehands erected a wooden stage. They measured and leveled the wooden platforms carefully. Bolidor's best would soon be standing upon these elevated tees, drivers and irons in hand, prepared to launch golf ball after golf ball upon the heads of the vast enemy army below them.

One of the ramifications of having an army which cannot be trusted with bullets, for fear of a coup d'etat, is that one often does not have enough bullets (or firing pins) on hand when a pressing need arises. And thus it came to be that the Army of the Republic of Bolidor had to call upon the Bolidorean Professional Golfers' Association for a bit of, ah, assistance, in repelling an invasion of Bolidorean shores.

As you know, you go to war with the army you have, not the army you might want or wish to have at a later time.

Fore!

*On the beach. Roebuck and company in the hole.*

Roebuck: Get ready. Draw Ban....*DINK!*

At that moment a volley of a few thousand golf balls took flight. Then there was a long silence and then the beginning panic of Gross Independencey troops. And the rain of death came down(No one actually died, but their were a couple concussions). The screams of agony erupted above the hole as they were pelted with golf balls. Clinking sounds could be heard all around as the balls struck the rocks. And then it stopped. At that moment Roebuck let out the scream "CHARGE!!* and rushed out the opening of the hole along with every other solider under the beach. Their roar was deafening and destroyed any sense of coherency that the Gross troops still had. Roebuck then proceeded to begin beating down the nearest Gross troop that he could find with the dual bananas that he wielded. Then the Iloistan troops realized this was unnecessary as the golf balls had been far more effective than they had possibly hoped for. Many Gross troops just immediately surrendered, most were covered with welts and the look of utter defeat on their faces. Iloistani forces actually began to feel some sympathy for the Gross troops. With no one dead and plenty of Bananas on the beach, command made the call to have beer airlifted in since both sides needed a break from this ridiculous Happy Cat War and the International holiday of Banana and Golf Day was born.