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Merchants & Menaces; Events of the West coast of North America
Topic Started: Mar 7 2011, 01:02 AM (835 Views)
Drake
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Prime Minister’s Office, Parliament Hill, Ottawa

William Mackenzie King, Prime Minister of Canada and leader of the Liberal Party sat at his desk as he drank his morning tea. On his desk lay the latest news of lost ships in the Pacific, and the list had been growing alarmingly over the past months. He glanced at the attached report, with en except from a Deseret press release denying that Deseret has anything to do with the piracy (See International news post #11). King thought it was quite peculiar that no allegations had officially been made, but that this Quorum of Deseret was denying having anything to do with these events. Besides that suspicious fact was also the level of detail offered, King read “gangs of armed marauders, probably operating out of Lawless California, have taken to seizing large cargo vessels, and offloading their cargo into small fishing trawlers and lifeboats and smuggling it to be resold on the Black Market in Pasadena and San Fransisco.”

How could this Quorom possible know this when those ships were registered in Canada, and King himself didn’t know what was happening to them? Truly peculiar, these merchant ships were disappearing off the West coast of Canada and America without a trace. There have been no serious storms and no survivors. No legitimate reason for these ships to missing other than some violent event, like piracy.

There was a knock on the door “Enter, enter”, it was General Simms, Second in Command of the Canadian Military Intelligence Agency. He walked in and sat down in front of King removing his hat and laying it on the desk. “So General I trust you have read the same reports I have. What is your take on the situation?” “Minister my opinion is that Deseret is behind the piracy. This problem has been in constant growth since 1935 when they were cut off so to speak. Also consider the cargo these ships carry, explosives, ammunition, dried goods. If I were fighting a guerilla war, it would be these supplies I would target.” Simms finished by tapping his finger in the report. “I thought as much General, that is my opinion too. However I don’t happen to see any solution at hand.”

Simms leaned back for a moment and tented his fingers. He considered possible options; it was he after all who was in charge of gathering information about this piracy situation. Leaning forward he said, “Minister, we have 76 long range submarines in the Pacific ocean. I would suggest we use them for gathering information. Have our submarines follow merchants with typically targeted cargos. I am no seaman but from reports I have read I know the average speed of a merchant is about 7 knots. Our submarines can do 10 knots submerged. Submarines can follow submerged during the say, and surfaced at night. If these pirates attack, the submarines can provide assistance maybe, if not they can at least gather some intelligence on the situation and find out why these merchants are disappearing without a trace.”

The Minister, like the General leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of tea and sighing deeply he responded, “General I don’t like the idea of getting the military involved. It could blow up into a major international incident, but, given the gravity of the situation I will approve of this. I will call a meeting of the Naval High Command, please have a proposal in writing by Friday. I am sure it will be approved, but we have to follow the proper channels. That will be all Simms”, “Thank you minister I shall have the proposal for you by Friday, good day minister.”
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Drake
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70km off the coast of Washington State – International waters
Captain Turcot aboard the FCS Tempest a Nanowin class submarine


“Lieutenant make your speed eight knots”
“Aye Captain, engine room increase speed to eight knots”

Captain Turcot, skipper of the FCS Tempest was following the merchant ship Kamm. He had been ordered to stalk the merchant and remain undetected. It was believe by Naval High Command that this merchant would be the victim of piracy while heading south past California to the Panama Canal. This was Turcot’s second sortie tailing behind a merchant

Turcot was an excellent seaman, maneuvering his boat to within 500 metres of the Kamm. From here he could dive to a safe depth and follow the merchant on sonar. Oxygen wouldn’t be a problem; they had plenty and could easily use the snorkel. It was battery power, running the engines this hard underwater would drain the batteries quickly. He might have to run the diesel engines underwater. It meant that exhaust bubbles would make their presence more obvious to the merchant. Turcot doubted though that poorly trained merchant sailors would spot such a thing.

“Lieutenant continue on your course. Hydrophone operator call course corrections as necessary, keep us right on the merchant’s stern“
“Aye Captain”
“Aye Skip!”

They followed the merchant for hours, till the second watch took over. Captain Turcot was asleep in his bunk when hush whispers disturbed him. “Captain, Captain, wake up Captain”. Turcot awoke and stood up nodding at the crewman who woke him. Entering the command room Turcot was briefed by his Lieutenant.

“Captain, we have two contacts, moving fast and closing on the merchant. The merchant is making slow turns.”
“Go to periscope depth, get the watch officer and his crew together, get them armed and ready to man the deck guns.”

The boat angled upward slightly and the periscope was raised, a moment later Turcot was looking though it, searching for the contacts. The periscope broke the water and he spotted the offending sound contacts, two boats, a steam tug and a fishing trawler coming up the Kamm’s port side. Turcot used the periscope camera to take photos of the boats as they approached the Kamm. The men aboard were defiantly armed.

“Lieutenant increase to flank speed and prepare to blow ballast”
“Skipper!” came the voice of the watch officer, “I have my men armed and ready in all respects!”
“Good work chief, when we surface you and your men get up to the bridge, man the guns and prepare to open fire, if they shoot then shoot back, don’t wait for my order, and be careful of the merchant crew”
”Aye Skip”

Turcot operated the periscope for no more than a minute before he yelled, “Lieutenant, blow ballast!” The boat reacted violently and surfaced in a bloom of water. It crashed back down and leveled out. The watch officer and his men hastened to climb up to the bridge and man the guns. Moments later all the men were on the bridge and the guns were ready, threatening the pirates. Turcot joined them on the bridge. The Tempest was about 100m off the port side of the Kamm, trapping the pirates between the merchant and the Tempest.

Turcot using his binoculars watches as the pirates scurried about aboard their boats. Some the men had been climbing ropes up the side of the ships. The merchant sailors were throwing barrels and other such things down on the pirates.

Turcot used a loud speaker to command the pirate’s surrender. The pirates continued to scramble and one of them opened fire bouncing rounds off the steel hull of the Tempest. Turcot’s men, armed with Lanchester SMGs and Vickers machineguns opened first in response, raking the wooden boats with lead. It was a massacre, Turcot screamed for a cease fire and his men obeyed, all was now still aboard the pirate vessels.

Turcot’s men collected documents and papers from the dead of the boats, and took pictures of their faces and cloths. They took two prisoners, wounded men who had survived. After collecting evidence Turcot send the merchant on its way, they were mighty happy that the Tempest showed up when it did. Turcot had the two pirate ships destroyed with the deck gun. He plotted a course for Vancouver Harbour. He needed to debrief his superiors and show them what evidence he collected.

Edited by Drake, Mar 8 2011, 12:38 AM.
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Vextra
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SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH
SALT PALACE


Sitting in his office, quietly filling in reports, was Prophet-President Abnaxas Whitman. In his secular capacity as President, he had an Office here in the Salt Palace on Temple Square. In his capacity as Prophet, he had luxurious quarters reserved for him at the Temple of the Latter Day Saints of Jesus Christ. In practice, he spent most of his time behind a desk.

Abnaxas was not a madman, dictator, hero, general, or any of the things. Many on meeting him for the first time had mistaken him for a Secretary or Clerk. He was mild mannered, in his advancing years, and wore spectacles. He was exceptionally kind to Children and animals, and was always polite and even-tempered.

He was also at the heart of America's most prolific web of international terrorism, arms-smuggling, and constant peace and war time raids and operations. His mission, like those who came before him, was to keep Deseret a Land of Peace in a Sea of Chaos. The Chaos was as important as the Peace, for it kept the infidels and defilers at bay.

A polite knock at the heavy oaken doors reminded him he had a meeting today.
"Please, come in." He said politely.

A man in a dark khaki uniform came in, with the distinctive collar-lapels of the Nauvoo Brethren, the Elite of Deseret's millitary. It was none other than General Oryeon Stout, the man the Yankees called "The Butcher of Idaho" for his relentlessly successful guerilla campaigns which had seen much heretic blood spilled in atonement.

"Sir, I hesitate to call on you like this during such a nice day..." The general mumbled. He too was a nice man, and his children were friends with Whitman's. He also greatly enjoyed his work as a professional terrorist organiser and guerilla.

"No, please, Oryeon, you know we are friends. Sit. What have you to report?"

"Sir, I regret to inform you that we've lost contact with one of our Accquisitions Teams. They were due to report in via shortwave radio to our Post in Eureka, but we've heard nothing." The general looked abashed. It had been him who had insisted that "International Accquisition" would work as a policy. And it had, for nearly a year now.

Abnaxas sighed. "Well, General, it is a mighty sad thing. You are sure they are dead, or fallen into the hands of the enemy?" Whitman was already silently praying for the brave boys who had given themselves to try and accquire what Deseret needed, by means foul or fair.

"Absolutely, sir. I trained those boys well. They wouldn't get themselves in a fix and not tell us. They must have gone down fighting."

"Very well. Have you initiated Recovery process?"

"Already done, sir. All remaining Teams are returning to their Holdouts in California and Seqouya. Within a few weeks theyll be back within our borders, false identities and all."

"Excellent work, General. We should also begin planning contigencies, in case of a resumption of hostilities."

"I've reactivated the 1st Armoured Car Corps. In truth sir, they're still beat up from the Last Battle we fought at Pocatello." It was almost cyclical the way Deseret operated. In peacetime, bands of armed horsemen would raid farmsteads, wreck railroads, and keep the borders of Deseret chaotic and soaked in blood. In wartime, the Army would attack federal outposts and sack towns. The aim was always to fight with efficency- Suprise, cover of darkness, and to minimise the cost of battle as much as possible, whilst maximising enemy damage and obtainment of their millitary resources. Despite everything, Deseret was a bleeding state, and had been for 30 years. Its close ties with Free California, obtainment of Loans from abroad, and untill-recently supply lines from Canada had helped keep it alive. It had even enjoyed a brief period of "tolerance" with the US, in the late 10s and most of the 20s. The Tolerance Days were over. Now it was back to the cycle of ceasefires, massacres, and buildups.

But now, something different threatened the safety of Deseret. Yankees they knew well, and despised. They could and did kill yankees by the score, with every trick and trap they could muster. But International Raiding...in truth, Whitman was worried that, as landlocked as Deseret was, it would not survive a War with another Power.
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Drake
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McGuire Army base - 100 km North of Vancouver
Major Imles – Green room A6, level B12

Major Imles was making his final preparations in green room A6. Green room A6 was the final chamber on this, the bottom most floor of the McGuire Army base. It was called a green room because all of the walls, the ceiling and the floor were all painted a dark shade of green. Blood doesn’t show well on dark green.

Imles checked the gas pressure on the two tall tanks in front of him, good, a full tank of oxygen, and beside it a full tank of acetylene. On the table before him were pliers, hammers, various knives and scalpels, hand saws, and other instruments of the kind. In the centre of the room were two chairs with various restraints built into them. A single light hung from the ceiling, illuminating the whole of the room in a white and green glow.

He heard his guests being brought down the hallway, good, he was ready for them. The large solid steel door slammed open and four soldiers dragging two squirming men came through. The two men were deposited in the restraining chairs. These two men had black bags over their heads, and their cloths were bloody. One had bandages around his arm. The other man had a whole in his white cotton shirt which was covered in blood. Imles guessed these men were still wearing the same clothes they were found in, well less their uniforms. Both men were wearing white cotton shirts and boxers, well, one whole piece cotton shirt and boxer.

These men were the prisoners brought back by the submarine FCS Tempest after it rescued a merchant under attack from pirates. Evidently these men were pirates, It was known they were mormon by how they dress however their allegiance was still suspect. It was Imles’s job to find this information out, and he had many tools to help him with this task.

The bags were ripped off the men’s heads. Imles approached his table and selected a scalpel, he then approached one of the men.

“Let’s begin then shall we”
Edited by Drake, Mar 9 2011, 02:42 PM.
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Canadian Military High Command
William Mackenzie King with his Generals


King sat at the head of a long table, his Generals and high commanders all present. He had just finished reading Major Imles report. He laid down the paper and swallowed, thinking of the infamous Major Imles. King thought that the use of such tactics was beyond reproach, but he couldn’t argue with the results. The report implicated Deseret and their Nauvoo Brethren, elite soldiers, totally devout, and experts in all matters of warfare. King thought carefully about what this meant, Deseret had committed an Act of War upon Canada. King sat silently, deep in thought as his Generals looked on.

To King’s left was Lt. General Strum the Commander-in-Chief of the Federal Canadian Air Force. Just beyond Strum and his staff sat General Brigs commander-in-Chief of the Federal Canadian Army. To King’s right was Admiral Piers, Commander-in-Chief of the Federal Canadian Navy. All of King’s men were assembled, all here to discuss the Deseret question.

Still remaining silent, the commanders all waited for King to speak. King lowered his head to level with those at the table, refocusing on the situation at hand, “Gentlemen, what are we going to do about this?”

The men looked tentatively at each other, then Brigs spoke up “Sir our response is clear, Deseret deliberately committed an act of war, we are at WAR Sir”

“I concur” said Piers, “Deseret has been sponsoring attacks on our merchant marina for years. It is my belief that attacks have increased recently due to their cease-fire with the United States. They are trying to replenish their supplies and equipment before they continue their endless war.”

Strum chimed in “I agree with both men. Deseret has been through countless cease-fires with America, and this one will be no different. Their reputation is shot, their word counts for nothing and their denouncement of involvement in piracy was as good as admitting their guilt.”

There as a general consensus of agreement between all those present.

King, “Well gentlemen I would agree that we can’t let this go unanswered. What are our options then?”

Brigs, “We need to hit them back, we can’t just let this settle, there needs to be justice.”

King, “Brigs, while I appreciate courage and stalwart soldiers, I fear that such a response would be a touch hasty on our part. What if instead we respond by pushing the mormon presence out of California. We destroy their capability to be offensive in the Pacific?”

Piers, “I think that is reasonable. It occurs to me that they must have sympathizer villages in California, as well as a network of smugglers. I believe these elements should be out first targets”

Strum, “Agreed, then once our flanks are secure we can make the push into Deseret if need be. “

Brigs, “If we enter Deseret proper the Americans aren’t going to be happy. They might see it as an invasion into the US. Considering those delusional SOBs believe Deseret is sovereign US soil. Also I would like to add that right now, Deseret military tactics are mostly hit and run, ambushes and the like, we can deal with this. If we invade their country, every one of those bible-thumping mormons are going to fight us, and casualties will rise. The ones that don’t have guns will feed and house the ones who do. It would be a disaster.”

King, “Such an invasion is out of the question. We have no legitimacy in such an act. I believe that if we can remove California as an avenue for mormon aggression we can disable Deseret’s ability to strike us at sea. That is, at the moment, all we can hope for. Well, is everyone in agreement then?”

The Generals and their staffs all seemed to agree, Canada could not overstep its bounds. Not with such powerful and volatile variable like America involved.

King, “Gentlemen I shall leave the strategy making to you all. We still need to take this in front of the House, however I have no doubt they will pass a resolution of war, not when this evidence reaches the spot light.”

Brigs, “Sir I believe we should start mobilizing now, nothing large scale, but if we start now we can save time and confusion later.”

King, “Very well I leave this matter in your capable hands General Brigs.”
Edited by Drake, Mar 11 2011, 03:57 PM.
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PORT ORFORD, SOUTHERN CASCADIA


The Longboats came ashore not long after dawn broke, and the Tide was High. The Nauvoo Brethren quickly dragged their boats ashore, onto the harsh, cold pacific beaches, ignoring the cold and the stiffness of their seaspray-soaked muscles, working quickly to conceal the boats in makeshift dugouts covered with sand-coloured blankets. Despite being a US Town, mormon sympathisers were waiting nearby with Horses, which the Nauvoo would take and ride hard to Crescent City, where they would get fresh mounts and supplies, and be able to contact the rest of the network, and tell them to shut up shop and head to the Temple in Sacramento.

From there, assuming no further actions were taken by the enemy, they would lie low for three months, before returning to their lives and secret involvement in the International Mormon Network.
"Gideon. Ill News?" asked the horse-handler waiting for them. The names they all used at all times were fake names chosen from Biblical books. They adhered to a rigid decentralised cell structure, maximising secrecy and dispersal across the Pacific Coast, with a few central enclaves where they could rely on the local populace for open support.

Sacramento was the largest such enclave, and Headquarters of the Church of Latter Day Saints in Northern California. It had made a roaring trade during the Gold Rush, converting those whose lives were ruined by gold fever and givine them a second chance. Ever since it had only become more powerful, and was one of the larger factions in the more lawless North, as opposed to the fairly tightly controlled Hispanic South, albeit tightly controlled by cartels and warlords.

"Aye. We're Folding everything up. Get your boys ready." replied Gideon sturnly, blinking away fatigue. They had been at sea for nearly 3 weeks, before having to scuttle their radio ship and row for shore. The whole Operation was being Folded. They'd run drills of doing this before, but nothing on this scale or this seriousness. It would be very hard to unfold this operation after it was all over. But something in Operative Gideon's gut told him that it wouldn't be over soon. A storm was coming, and it would ravage this mostly godless and lawless land.

They quickly mounted their horses, securing their rifles and provisions. "A Storm's coming, Brother. If I were you, I'd make tracks deep into Oregon and forget about manning the watchfires here." said Gideon, not unkindly, to the sympathiser.
"With all due respect, Gideon, but I swore an Oath same as you. I wait here and watch, and I send word of what comes, even if it kills me." the sympathiser replied, his eyes shining with loyalty to the LDS cause.

As they spurred their horses south, to cross the border into California and head to Crescent City, they had no idea of the chaos they would leave in their trail, as they raced against their own fatigue and time to Fold up all the Cells from Crescent to Sacramento ahead of the Oncoming Storm.

Back in Port Orford, the sympathiser climbed the steep winding steps of his home in the local Lighthouse, where his wife waited with 2 Trapdoor Springfields. He took one without a word, and went to sit by the window, and watch the ships. He had a small radio set in the basement, and that would be the only Warning they would ever get.


Edited by Vextra, Mar 12 2011, 02:46 AM.
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William Mackenzie King in the House of Commons

William Mackenzie King stood solemnly in at the podium. The House of Commons and its members all sit before him. All of them knowing full well what he is about to announce. The podium was filled with microphones, Kings speech would be broadcast throughout Canada over the radio. King placed his glasses carefully on his face and looked down to his prepared speech.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Representatives, and my fellow Canadians.” King read his speech carefully, he had practiced it for many hours that morning, but he was not prepared for the true gravity of the news he was bringing to his people. It became so that he couldn’t stop, he had memorized the speech and now his he was delivering it without thinking, like he was on automatic. He felt the dryness of his mouth as he spoke the words, “We have been violently and deliberately attacked…” He continued taking a deep breath, his lips trembling a little. “… a declaration of war against the Divine Republic of Deseret” He felt his heart quicken, far more so than it had been. It was done now, the world would know, and there was no going back. He continued “… as I speak to you know, our soldiers are already mobilizing for combat…” King continued, and finished anti-climactically. Even still all the people before him cheered and applauded wildly. He knew that before the war was over, everyone here would seriously reconsider how they voted. Would they regret it?
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


General Graham at Vancouver Harbour
Personally overseeing his men as they load and boat transport ships


Graham stopped for a moment to listen to King’s speech as it was broadcast over the harbour’s loud speakers. When King finished the men were cheering. Young men they were, inexperienced in warfare but eager for it non-the-less. Graham smiled as he shared a few minutes of comradely with his men, forgetting his stars and being just another eager soul. Soon enough he was back at task, getting his men moving and working efficiently. They all had high spirits, men were laughing and smiling as they cleaned their rifles, or helped load shells aboard the boats. Graham wondered how many of those smiles were real, how many of these brave men truly understood the glory that lay before them?

Graham continued to encourage his men as he made his way back to his flagship the battlecruiser FCS Algonquin. He wasn’t in command of the ship, more just a passenger, but from there he would command. He visited the captain on the bridge, looking for an update. The Algonquin would be sailing before dark. The rest of the task force would be sailing by the day after tomorrow.

From the bridge Graham could look out into the harbour and to the waters beyond. Before Graham was assembled the 1st ever Canadian Expeditionary Army. There were three full divisions of mismatched infantry, drawn up from all over Canada, about 200 tanks and tank-destroyers, 2400 trucks and light armoured vehicles, 6000 guns and self-propelled artillery pieces. This force was going to spearhead the assault into California. It was their objective to capture deep water ports and secure the northern coast. From there men and supplies could flow easily into the Free State and Canadian forces could drive the mormon presence out.

Graham’s first target was Crescent City. It had a large deep water port perfect for off-loading tanks and other heavy equipment. It also has, at least according to intelligence reports, a large mormom population, likely sympathetic to Deseret and it’s causes. Capturing Crescent City would be a large blow against the momrom presence in California, and would act as a beach-head for Canadian forces.

Within a few days the Expeditionary force will form into an armada and sail for Crescent City. Graham couldn’t wait; his ambitions for glory were going to finally come to fruition. “Only a few more days” he said to himself, the Captain turned and asked, “Excuse me general?” “I said magnificent isn’t it?” “Yes quite.”
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As Gideon's Men rode hard for Crescent City, the news of a decleration of War against Deseret spread ahead of them like wildfire, as newsreaders on radios spread the historic news, and a cable from the Canadian Government was delivered via their Embassy in Toronto to their Government in Salt Lake City.

It was early evening by the time they reached Crescent City, their horses ridden bloody and fatigued. They were a bedraggled lot, greeted by a large posse of worried looking mormon locals, mostly farmhands and a smattering of local weavers and factory workers.
"Your folks will have to leave. We won't turn you in, but we won't shelter you none either." said a bold, moustached man who was acting as their leader.

Gideon snorted in contempt. "I dont know what your talking about, but we are our own men and we go where we please."
"You haven't heard? Canada has Declared War. On Deseret, of all things."
Gideon frowned, his heartbeat increasing. Sleep clawed at his fatigued senses, but he had to stay awake and focus. He still had to make contact, and continue the Folding. But if the news had already broken, would they already be Folding themselves? He decided he couldnt neglect his duty. He had to make sure.
"Take me to the Pastor. You know why. And don't think that your fancy neutrality will cut any slack with the Canucks, either. You're Mormons like us, whatever else you may say, and thats good enough for them." Gideon patted his six-iron, knowing things could turn ugly if he didnt get what he wanted from these people.
The man snarled. "Damn you and your blasted "friends". Fine, I'll take you to the Pastor, but leave everybody else out of your damn Crusades, y'hear?"

Gideon wearily nodded, too tired to argue otherwise. They'd be involved wether they wanted to or not, soon enough.

Night was falling as they slumped into the Church at the heart of Crescent City. The Preist tutted at the exhausted band of ruffians, but Gideon said a codeword into his ear and immediately beds, supplies, and fresh horses were sent for.
"No time for more than a change of remounts. We'll rest in the saddle. We have a long way to go." He explained, as he took a long sip from a waterskin. He had barely drunk since the morning, and his whole body was crying out for rest and replenishment.
"You ride your men and yourself too hard, Brother Gideon." the Preist advised sadly.
"Not hard enough. I need you to get these messages out. I assume you know who to contact about that." The Preist wasn't an active part of the Network per se, but he would know at least one or two people- like Gideon himself-involved, and would facilitate that they got the orders to Fold out, and either go dark or return to Deseret.

The preist turned away as Gideon wrote the letters and sealed them carefully. It was going to be a Race, and Gideon was already exhausted. He didn't know when the Canadians would attack, but he was sure it would be near here.
Gideon and his men allowed themselves a brief nap in the Temple tabernacle itself, possibly blasphemous but a dire necessity that he was sure the Angels would understand.

Before Dawn, they were awoken by the Preist. "I've done as you have asked. The letters are away. I wish you luck in your journey, Brothers." The preist smiled kindly, envious of these men selected to do God's most righteous work on earth. He was just a town preacher, to a small if dedicated laity, and he wished he'd been the right kind of man to go on such noble adventures.

Gideon yawned, and helped himself to trail rations. A hard breakfast, but they had a long way to go yet.
The sun was rising as they mounted their new horses, checking the packs and guns were secure. They'd be riding on a hard trail to Redwood and Trinidad next. It was dangerous, following the Coast, but necessary to be sure they got the word out to all the Cells, many of which Gideon didnt know the location of or any members. But it was his duty to find a way to spread the word.

As Gideon left, riding into Dawn's Light, the letters were sent out by young boys from the temple, to those known to be prominent in the Mormon community, to spread amongst those known to be in the Network. Though ordered to Fold, many instead began to gather arms- all manner of ageing rifles and rifled muskets and pistols were being collected and prepared, and many non-mormons also began to prepare themselves, as a mood of uncertainty settled on the City.

They didnt- for the most part- know alot about the Mormon Piracy issue, but they knew they were in the way of a Canadian Invasion of Deseret, and their lack of protection from a federal body made them ideal targets.

So they prepared.
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200km off the coast of California
Admiral Sanderson commander of the 1st Canadian Expeditionary Task Force steaming hard for Crescent City

Tuesday evening, approximately two days after Gideon left Crescent City

Admiral Sanderson was standing on the bridge of his flagship FCS Shining Sea. The one and only carrier in the whole task force. Admiral Sanderson’s armada consisted of four battlecruisers, one carrier, eight cruisers, 26 destroyers, and 30 destroyer escorts. There was also a large smattering of freighters and oilers, and troop transports. There were even 42 LCTs each carrying a squad of tanks or armoured cars to assist in the landings.

Sanderson’s armada had set sail two days ago in the early hours of Monday morning and they had already arrived in their area of operations. He had sent a pair of cruisers ahead to launch their scout plans, so he could get an idea of the Mormon defense. Those cruisers should be returning with recon photos by Wednesday night. He wasn’t expecting much of a resistance. However he wanted to make sure all his men and equipment got ashore in a timely fashion. It would require careful timing and co-ordination.

Thursday would be used to prepare for the assault and get the fleet into proper position. If all went to plan the 1st Expeditionary Fleet would make its final preparations in the late hours of Thursday night and the early hours of Friday morning. The Assault should begin at dawn on Friday morning.

Wednesday afternoon

One of the cruiser Captains had sent a scout plane ahead to deliver the photos. In the WAR room aboard the FCS Shining Sea Sanderson and Graham gathered their staffs. With the intelligence gathered by the cruiser scout planes on hand the men began to discuss their strategy.

To the north-west was a wide and shallow beach followed by mostly flat and firm ground inland. This was designated landing zone Violet. It was the perfect place to land tanks, armoured cars and other heavy equipment with LCTs. 1000 infantry would also land here to support the equipment.

To the south-east of the city was the harbour, and beyond, just adjacent to the harbour was a small beach perfect for landing men. This was designated landing zone Blue. 500 men would land here and move quickly into the harbour to seize it.

The harbour itself was the main objective of this landing. It was designated zone Red.

Zone green is an off shore zone designated for cruisers and destroyers to anchor and provide artillery support should it be needed.

The plan of attack was as follows. The assault on zones Violet and Blue would happen simultaneously just after dawn. Men from zone Blue will capture the harbour and hold it. Troop carriers should be entering the harbour no later than noon, and begin off-loading men and supplies immediately.

Men and equipment from zone Violet will move south east towards a small airstrip. They will seize the airstrip and move on to the city itself.

Men from zones Violet and Red will assault the city from the north and south respectively. These men will move street to street and house to house and clear the city of hostile forces. The operation should conclude by night fall. If fighting continues after night fall then ships from zone Green will provide constant illumination with 4” and 6” starbursts.

ROE: Men have permission to fire on any person, uniformed or otherwise, who is armed and displaying violent action or intent. Collateral damage is to be kept to a minimum, explosives and artillery will be reserved for emergency situations only.

Graham, “Hopefully and overwhelming show of force will break the spirit of those who are looking for a fight. Maybe the tanks and gun bristling ships will do the job.”

Sanderson, “We don’t want a blood-bath though. Alienating the local population will only increase casualties on both sides. You should say, hopefully they don’t call your bluff Graham.”

Graham, “Admiral, I never bluff.”

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Edited by Drake, Mar 13 2011, 06:30 PM.
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Drake
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1km West of Crescent City, altitude 900m
Lt. Peters fly a single-engine scout observation biplane
Ens. Wendell operating camera and rear gun

Wednesday morning, approximately 3 days after Gideon left Crescent City

“There she is Wendell, Crescent City in all her glory!”
“Are you sure? The Harbour doesn’t look quite right”
“Just wait till we get closer, you’ll see it”

It was morning, but the sun was already high in the sky, there was ample time for the scouts to get recon photos and return home.

The biplane was soaring at 900m above sea level at a speed of 130 knots. The aircraft quickly approached Crescent City, as they did so Peters began to descend. It was his and Wendell’s job to get the close up shot, from only about 100m off the ground. There were other scouts buzzing around, taking broader photos.

Peters buzzed over the harbour at only 100m as Wendell took shot after shot. It was packed with small fishing boats and a few steamers. There was also a couple rusted out split freighters sitting idle in the docks. As Peters buzzed around by the long shore line Wendell continued to snap photos. There didn’t look like there was much, no traps, no defenses. The army boys would be happy about this.

Peters flew low over the city for a few more minutes letting Wendell use up the rest of his photos. Peters was rolling to head for home when he heard the tell tale snapping sound of gunfire shooting past his head. He darted his head around to look where is had come from. There in a street was a small crowd of armed and angry citizens.

Wendell, “Holy shit are they shooting at us?!”
Peters, “Hell yes they are shooting, shoot back will you!”

Wendell began to return fire with the tail mounted Lewis gun. He couldn’t see if he hit anything, but it probably scared the mob a little. Within a few seconds the biplane was over water and heading out into sea. The men slumped in their seats a little, their heart rates slowing now, releasing their held breaths.

They both laughed and bantered about the ordeal on the flight back to the fleet. Ens. Wendell was particularly ecstatic, he was the first Canadian to fire a shot in this war. He was greeted as a hero when he returned to heavy cruiser FCS Athabasca. Crewmen held Wendell on their shoulders as other patted his back or shook his hand.
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