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09-09-2012, 08:28 AM | #31 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Everyone rose. The taller of the two presenters made his way to the woman.
“Even if I hadn’t heard your title, your accent tells me that you are a long way from home. What brings a baroness to this organization?” She raised an eyebrow. “Is that germane to the negotiations?” she asked. The man smiled. “So the song ‘Common People’ wasn’t written about you?” The Baroness frowned. “I hardly think that’s relevant. Tell me about your research teams, Mr McCullen.” “I hire based on background rather than education. I want encryptors who grew up working prime numbers in their heads while taking book on the track. I want engineers who grew up bending metal in backwater chop shops. I want geneticists who grew up manipulating rice with chopsticks. Those people have the skills to make cutting edge equipment.” The Baroness stopped walking and turned towards him. “And your design philosophy?” “Simple to produce, use, resupply and maintain; easily modifiable; lethal. And who have you been buying from to date?” The Baroness turned away. “We don’t discuss such dealings.” “The rumour is you were using Sutherland Munition Works. I haven’t seen Derek in ages.” “You said your banking arrangements are in Transylvania. Isn’t that distant from Scotland?” Destro smiled. “Banking is a global activity, my dear. As your own bankers are all too aware.” The hooded man joined them. “Mr McCullen, a word in private, if I may.” McCullen nodded towards the Baroness, and followed the cowled man to a private room. |
09-10-2012, 11:53 AM | #32 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Cobra Commander gestured towards a chair.
“I’m impressed with your armaments company. Your light tanks and utility vehicles have proven robust and simple to maintain and operate. Your air defence concepts are tailored for my work in Africa. McCullen rubbed a hand over his head. “What made you think the Congo was the place to put down roots?” Cobra Commander leaned forward. “Basing in the heart of Africa is simple. I can trade space for time, take advantage of the lack of local infrastructure, dominate the waterways and have dense air defences to deny enemy transport. It’s all based on Russian lessons. They defeated Charles XII because his force was too small and he lacked allies; they defeated Napoleon because his force was too large to sustain and his logistics couldn’t keep up; they defeated the Germans who lacked focus and whose forces overburdened the infrastructure.” McCullen ran his hand over the table. “But they were decisively conquered by the Mongols. In any event, do you confirm that you wish to enter into an agreement for development, construction, training and service support of an air defence system?” “I do.” McCullen leaned back in his chair. “Then I have a further proposal for you. Your logic for basing here is similar to one I have for expanding operations in Zomia. In both cases the environment favours the defender and deters foreign meddling – particularly American meddling. I have a number of prototype systems I’ve been developing, but I am looking for venture capital to expand my R&D and manufacturing capacity. Your return on investment would be through access to certain systems at cost.” Cobra Commander steepled his fingers. “Hmm. What kind of systems do you have in mind?” “Air support. I know you have access to certain airframes already, but those are vulnerable to combat air patrol missions, and are old. I can provide small, armed helicopters. We are also developing flying wings and rocket chairs for local air support. Those will benefit from expanded facilities in Zomia." Cobra Commander stood and walked to a window. “I have affiliates elsewhere in this continent, South America and northern Asia, but only one in the Golden Triangle. Perhaps your proposal has merit. And how have you been creating the market conditions?” “I have agents who provoke conflict. Inevitably the competition’s infrastructure gets damaged; I have excellent saboteurs, and I end up with complete access to all sides involved.” “I see.” Coba Commander turned back to face McCullen. “I have my own R&D facilities, but perhaps we can make this an even more fruitful partnership. I will provide venture capital for your Zomia operations in exchange for weapons at cost. I will also provide you access to my own R&D personnel and facilities, in exchange for access to your mercenary connections.” McCullen smiled. “’Now thrive the armourers.’” Some time later Cobra Commander sat before a video teleconference monitor. “Leverage McCullen’s expertise for our air arm. See if he can accelerate our Rattler project. Give him full access to rocketry and conventional weapons development. Keep him away from the biological and genetic work. Work out his web of companies and start taking them over." The twins at the other end of the line exchange broad grins. “With pleasure, Commander.” |
09-11-2012, 10:50 AM | #33 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Cobra Commander stood in front of ranks of raw recruits, finger in the air, preaching the Cobra philosophy.
“You have experienced a world of inequality and injustice. The injustice you have suffered has been largely due to the colour of your skin and the language you speak. The masks you wear erase the racial distinctions that have oppressed you. The Esperanto you have learned levels the language field. You are all equal now and free to advance based on your merits. It is time to mix military training with philosophical training. You will critique The Iron Heel to find the flaws in socialism. You will critique Atlas Shrugged to find the critique in capitalism. You will study The Wasp to learn the basics of insurgency.” Off to the side, a tall Australian man in brown fatigues leaned towards the Baroness. “As soon as the first round comes in they’ll all go back to mother tongues. It’ll be a dog’s breakfast the first couple of scraps. This language project is complete bollocks.” “Is that so,” she said. The Major pointed towards the obstacle course the recruits had run through prior to the parade. “And prancing through a jungle gym won’t turn anyone into a soldier.” “Well then, Maj Sebastian Bludd, Retired, perhaps we should hire you to put them through advanced training,” the Baroness whispered back. Major Bludd grinned. “You reckon? Darling, for 5 grand a day plus expenses I’ll put your toy soldiers through finishing school.” “I think your fee can be negotiated down.” “Well luv, you might be able to throw in something to sweeten the pot.” Baroness wrinkled her nose. “Don’t be a pig.” Major Bludd chuckled. “Well, I’ve fulfilled my contract to secure your facility until your own guards were ready. I’ll be off. You know where to reach me if you have any other jobs.” |
09-12-2012, 09:34 AM | #34 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Cobra Commander laid the tablet computer down on a folding metal table, got up from his chair, and started pacing with his hands behind his back.
“Our first cohorts were excellent material. Why are our subsequent troops of such lesser quality?” The Baroness adjusted her glasses. “Might I remind you, Commander, that you heavily mined those first cohorts for the technical Vipers and your Eels program, which in turn you’ve mined for your special tactics forces. We have few suitable mid-level leaders left to properly train and lead the subsequent recruits.” “So you’ve told me before, Baroness. Are you still pitching the Aussie as a solution?” The Baroness nodded. “Very well. I was considering offering him a contract for a command position, but perhaps we need him in training first. Bring him out.” A few days later, the Baroness sat beside Major Bludd in a Cape Town hotel bar. Major Bludd laid down a sheaf of legal documents, took a sip of wine, and turned to the Baroness. “Where do you recruit?” “Everywhere. We look for NINJAs. No Income, No Job, no Assets. Many countries produce technically skilled university graduates with no job prospects. Others have mechanical skills and a grudge. Others still just aren’t happy with ‘the system.’ We do well in places like Tin Can Island Port and Salalah Port.” Major Bludd nodded, and held the glass to the light. “You get many Yanks?” Baroness shook her head. “They aren’t the Berkeley revolutionaries of old. Other than the lawyers and accountants with skeletons in their closets we aren’t much interested in that pool, though we do get a trickle through one of our contacts – a motorcycle club turned to skip tracing.” She shook her head slightly and rolled her eyes. “Picture Dog meets Domino. Anyway, where do you recruit?” Maj Bludd put down his glass and leaned back in his chair. “For this job I’ve got a team of Fijians. Solid troops, fit as all else, and a great choir! Just have to remind them ‘Boula’ means something different in Swahili. I also have some Salvadorans on tap, and a few Indonesians. Brits, Frogs, South Africans and Russians are all tough fighters, but invariably have a foot in the domestic intelligence door. Can’t trust ‘em.” The Baroness stared out at the swimming pool. “We would like you to start in a week.” “So you accept my conditions?” “Yes. You get fresh troops who have only been through our basic language and fitness regime. You get carte blanche for selecting areas in which to train. And you get full control over selection of instructors throughout the program.” |
09-13-2012, 06:54 AM | #35 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Three days later he stood in a jungle clearing, a ring of recruits around him. He tossed a rugby ball in the air and looked around.
“Who’s got the biggest army in the world?” he asked. One of the recruits glanced left and right. “America?” he ventured. Maj Bludd gave out a short barking laugh. “They Yanks are big, they have lots of shiny toys, and they chuck their army everywhere, but they can be beaten, because they’re soft. Yanks are soft because their sports involve long stretches of standing around doing nothing. Not like rugby. Or Aussie rules.” He stared at the recruits. “Ruck up!” he shouted, and they scrambled to sling packs on their backs. “Time to play!” He tossed the ball into the gut of the recruit who had spoken. After a moment’s hesitation, other recruits tackled him to the ground, and the gruelling regimen began. Day blended into day as recruits marched, dug, mastered weapons, field craft and tactics under the vigilant eye of Major Bludd and his trainers. Taking advantage of the cover of the sound of heavy rain, recruits were stalking sentries, practicing silent killing techniques. One recruit stumbled on the approach, slipped in the mud and lost his knife. In desperation, he flung himself at the legs of the target, and the two wrestled in the mud. Major Bludd stopped a heavy boot on one wrist and grabbed the recruit by the neck. “You’ve been watching too much UFC nonsense. It’s useless for soldiers. Your job is to kill the enemy, not to get him to tap out while you roll around on the ground. You were trained by a boxer, so in this situation, break his jaw, take his knife, slit his throat, and move on. Never go to the ground if you can help it.” Field firing ranges grew in complexity from fire team to section to platoon to company, moving through grassland, jungles and villages. Recruits rotated through senior command appointments, demonstrating their leadership potential, or lack thereof. As one attack bogged down and the appointed platoon commander lost control, getting sucked into trying to destroy a machine gun position, the Major grabbed the recruit, flung him into a tree, and fixed his gaze with his eye. “You’re supposed to be a leader. You aren’t just a rifleman. Your job is to get forward where you can see and be seen, communicate a plan, and then commit your reserve at the right time. You can’t do that if you’re chucking grenades and knife fighting.” The recruit struggled to form his thoughts into words. “Never mind,” hissed the Major. “Get back in the ranks.” He glanced around and pointed at another recruit. “You’re now the platoon commander.” The newly elevated recruit started shouting fire control orders to a firebase and organising an assault team. “That’s how it’s done,” said the Major, a grim smile on his face. An hour later, Major Bludd blew a whistle to indicate time to consolidate. The recruits formed a defensive circle, with senior appointees running quickly to assign arcs and redistribute ammunition. Major Bludd wiped sweat from his face and looked at the filthy soldiers. “These field firing ranges are just shadow boxing. Time for some carefully selected ambushes to build your skills. Let’s start on some blue helmets.” |
09-14-2012, 09:51 AM | #36 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
McCullen and his chief arms designer landed their helicopter in the small clearing and were greeted by a vehicle escort which drove them through the jungle to a Cobra weapons development facility. Destro noted the camouflage and concealment protocols, and then turned to the engineer providing him the brief.
“I see that no one here wears the standard blue uniform.” “No,” said the engineer in heavily accented English. “We are all here under different recruitment programs. We all have specific science, technology, engineering and math backgrounds. You will find a mix of Guards, Televipers and Technovipers here.” “So your design facilities are here too?” asked McCullen. “Oh, well, no. I don’t actually know where the designers work. We never see them. This way please.” He led the pair into a large concrete test facility, where a pair of technicians studied diagnostics of a three-legged metal bubble with a clamshell canopy. “I understand you have been doing research into rocket planes. This test platform has let us work out some bugs in rocketry, hydraulic shock absorption, and gyroscopic stabilisers. It’s still damn dangerous to operate, though.” McCullen and Eisen exchanged sceptical looks. The engineer hurriedly moved along through a door into a larger space, filled with a variety of rockets and missiles in various states of completeness. Eisen walked the line, touching them and naming each. “SA18, SA300, Sunburn, Club-K, Storm Shadow, Starstreak, Common Anti-Air Modular Missile, BrahMos.” McCullen stared at the engineer. “Where did you acquire these? These typically are not on the open market, and I imagine there are any number of intelligence services trying to find them.” The engineer shrugged. “I don’t know. They arrive and we reverse engineer them. If they are useful to you, tell me.” He directed them through another hall to a hangar filled with aircraft. “We acquired these scrap A-10s under a DOD contract for refurbishment. But the Air Force actually wasn’t interested in pursuing the project, so we kept them and modified them. We had to make do with smaller engines, hence three for redundancy. Shifting two to the wings makes them a bit more vulnerable to ground fire and slows the re-arming turnaround time, and we’re still tinkering to eliminate gun gas ingestion. I’m not convinced the cupola gun was a good idea, but there it is. Less obvious, we’ve replaced the landing gear with a tougher ‘farm tractor’ style to allow rough runway operation.” McCullen raised an eyebrow. “Well now, that is very interesting. I would be curious to see the paperwork behind that transaction, and the specs and results from your tests. And what other surprises do you have out here.” The engineer shifted nervously. “We have a few aircraft sections from SR-71, M-21, and a complete D-21 drone, but other than materials research we aren’t doing anything with them. We have a few telecommunications projects, and some human sciences work in diving, but most military hardware is bought off the shelf. I’m afraid we’re counting on you to fill that niche. Elsewhere we have a maritime research facility. Perhaps you have companies or interests that might benefit from collaboration in that domain.” McCullen and Eisen exchanged glances, and McCullen shook his head. “We should be on our way. Thank you for the tour. We will be in touch regarding specific areas for collaboration.” The engineer handed them data sticks with information on the projects they had seen. They remained silent on the trip back to the Destro Systems helicopter, protected by a small team of McCullen’s personal security guards. Once aboard, McCullen turned to Eisen. “You should be getting back to Kinshasa to oversee the Ares operations, but first, your thoughts.” “Those designers would be more effective if they got their hands dirty on the factory floor and the testing ranges.” “I agree. But I also think we’re being set up. There isn’t much there of benefit to us. The missiles are a trap for selling us out to the alphabet soup of intelligence agencies, and most of the work is derivative of other designs. I suspect the real aim lies elsewhere.” He rubbed his chin. “They asked about maritime research. I wonder if they’re aware of Argent Corporation.” “Perhaps we should reveal it and have the Eels build the next rig. We might save considerably on construction costs as a result.” McCullen laughed. “That’s not a bad idea.” He passed the data sticks to Eisen. “Print everything off on a standalone, including all document metadata, and have the techs analyse everything in here for viruses, malware and so on.” |
09-16-2012, 07:05 AM | #37 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
The Baroness raised Major Bludd on a secure frequency.
“What are you thinking, attacking UN patrols?” “These troops need blooding in controlled circumstances. It gives them confidence in the drills and separates the swimmers from the floaters.” The Baroness sighed. “It also draws unnecessary attention.” Major Bludd laughed. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot. No one cares about those peacekeepers. No one ever made a strategic point by killing a Bangladeshi corporal, so no one will investigate.” “If you want live practice there are some rival gangs working smuggling routes to and from the main river. I’ll give you some details. You can use them for training targets.” Major Bludd licked his lips. “Well then dearie, I think I might want to adjust my fees to ensure I get a percentage of whatever you are being paid to eliminate someone’s opposition out there.” The Baroness laughed. “Once you have dealt with the smugglers, pull back to the forward logistics hub. We are rotating through a battalion group doing final training before deployment elsewhere.” |
09-17-2012, 08:46 AM | #38 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
The Baroness closed her file of Pacific Ocean shipping activities and answered her ringing sat phone.
“What kind of bloody useless intelligence operation are you running here?!” shouted Major Bludd. The Baroness recoiled at the anger, but quickly composed herself. “Explain yourself,” she said. “We baited your so-called smugglers, and ran into a very well armed and highly disciplined force. Our cameras captured some of the fight, though not enough to tell me who we were up against. No one local, though. So – who the hell is operating out here?” “Send me the footage.” “Already done, luv, through one of your Tely-Vipers. We’ve broken contact and pulled back closer to the logistics hub, but you better start telling your air wing commander to have his planes in the air for cover.” The Baroness ended the connection with a disgusted hiss. She sat, tapping a nail against her teeth, concerned. Then she started searching databases and drawing up a list of contacts in whom to make inquiries. Some time later she sat across from an angry Cobra Commander. “Who is conducting military operations here?” “We’re working on that” the Baroness replied. “We believe they’re Anglosphere. I’ve already confirmed that neither the French nor the Belgians have any SOF or intelligence operatives here. The Brits’ assets are all accounted for, as are the Aussies and South Africans. I’m still rounding up the last few American and Israeli units. It may be a private company hired by a mining interest.” Cobra Commander studied a map of the reported contact. “They can’t be conventional, as we’d have seen their logistical footprint by now.” “I agree,” said the Baroness. “I suspect they’re some kind of ad hoc organization. Strangely, none of the embassies are aware of this mission, and neither is AFRICOM. Whoever they are, they’re as clandestine as it gets. Tele-Vipers are focussing radio intercept efforts in that region, and we are moving the current Jungle Viper and Eel courses to the area for increased ground reconnaissance.” Cobra Commander pushed the map away. “Keep at it. Find out who they are and what they want. Then I can give them a suitable target to chase to get them away from us.” “The swamp forest seems like an excellent dead end,” mused the Baroness. “Mmm. How is the final combined arms exercise looking for 3rd Battalion?” “Good. Close reconnaissance is moving into position as we speak, and the staff planning is well underway.” “Reassign Bludd and his men to supervise the assaults. Once complete, transfer that battalion to Burma, cut the Eels and Jungle Vipers back to the 4th Battalion, and Bludd and his men can go on their leave.” |
09-18-2012, 10:43 AM | #39 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Having dismissed the Baroness, Cobra Commander pushed the distractions of local minor conflicts from his mind and turned to larger projects. He was due an update on a specific intermediate project, and activated the appropriate encrypted communication application on his tablet. Within moments he was looking at the twins, one seated behind a desk in their Singapore office, and the other from a ship.
“How is the island coming along?” he asked. “Nicely,” replied Tomax. “The seasteading principles are working well. We’re ahead of schedule on materials due to better than anticipated salvage operations of ships floating off Mumbai, while a couple of others passing through the Malacca Straits have been “lost to piracy.” But the insurance claims were most satisfactory.” He and Xamot grinned. “A lot of salvaged steel is growing calcium carbonate, and we have a couple of small patches already growing vegetation. We’re pushing booms out to mitigate wave frequency. We’ve had to chase off a couple of fishing boats, and a couple more ‘donated’ boats to the cause. We’ll soon be splicing into the main undersea cables, and then you’ll have your own nation complete with global banking and data systems.” “Good,” said Cobra Commander, nodding. “Your chief of security out there is an . . . odd character,” said Tomax. “He came highly recommended. I had a hard time tracking him down though.” “Who recommended him?” “Zartan. They met in northern Australia.” “I don’t think his accent is Australian.” “No. He’s from Florida. He’d moved to Mali by the time was looking for him, and was living in Bamako. He called it a pilgrimage.” “Ah,” said Tomax. Well, we’ll soon have the docks completed for fast attack boats. We’re still testing the hydrofoils, and those new torpedo sleds will help too.” “When will the docks be ready for larger craft?” “Two months,” said Tomax, consulting a report. “We will start the Cobra Island International Ship and Corporate Registry and the Cobra Shipping Corporation as a means of generating additional revenue.” “Status for air operations?” asked the Commander. “Preparation of runway sub-grade will start in four months. It will be another three months to get the runway, aprons, alternate landing pads, lighting and the fuel bunker in place, provided the contract for runway matting proceeds as projected. At that time we can start air operations. Rattlers, Harriers and helicopters only. We’re anxious to get air defences in place before construction starts, though. “We are currently training the initial air defence operators,” said Cobra Commander, nodding, “and will relocate them as soon as the docks are completed. Any other issues?” “Well,” said Xamot, “some of the more lucrative shipping targets are going to be diverted away from the Malacca Straits due to development of a northern corridor.” “So what do you want me to do?” “We want to sabotage infrastructure projects,” said Tomax. “The Cai Mep-Thi seaport in Vietnam, Sihanoukville port in Cambodia and Dawei seaport in Burma,” said Xamot. Cobra Commander pressed his palms together. “Provide me the cost-benefit analysis. If it’s truly advantageous then we’ll subcontract Firefly.” He ended the transmission, leaned back in his chair, and reached out for a globe on the corner of the desk. He idly spun it while reflecting on the projects underway. There was still so much to do . . . |
09-19-2012, 09:02 AM | #40 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
The Baroness uploaded a file to the Commander’s tablet.
“We have gathered enough intelligence on those commandos to determine that they are American. But they are not from any organised command, which is a puzzle we continue to try to solve. They have chartered an air company of former military personnel, and, interestingly, they are driving some of McCullen’s vehicles.” Cobra Commander reviewed the document and associated imagery. “Americans conducting a very black operation, and buying locally. From McCullen, no less. Someone is breaking the rules.” “Yes,” said the Baroness as she sat down. Cobra Commander began pacing and stared at the ceiling, recalling something. “‘I believe if we had, and would, keep our dirty, bloody, dollar-crooked fingers out of the business of these nations so full of depressed, exploited people, they will arrive at a solution of their own. That they design and want. That they fight and work for... and not the American style, which they don't want. Not one crammed down their throats by the Americans.’” He turned to the Baroness. “Know who said that?” “No,” said the Baroness, crossing her legs and looking bored. “From 'The Ugly American,' perhaps?” “Good guess, but no. General Shoup, Commandant of the Marne Corps, and a Medal of Honor winner said that,” replied the Commander, sitting across from her. “It seems that no one paid attention to him.” “Do you believe they know who we are?” asked the Commander, scanning the report. “No. American intelligence analysis is too coloured by national biases, and they have too few analysts who have life anywhere other than America, or the little Americas they export. As a whole they do feeble analysis, of the ‘I never knew Arabia until I read Lawrence’ sort.” “And yet here they are, in our backyard.” said Cobra Commander, “Well, in addition to the deception plan in the Congolian Swamp Forest, let’s send them after one of McCullen’s plants to teach him a lesson. Pull Bludd back. He can handle that task. The forces in place will have to conceal themselves until we figure out who these snooping forces are.” With that he waved his hand to dismiss the Baroness. |
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