An Arm and No Leg

[Thaumantica]

Skies over Sinhai​

Gelid gales pummeled his ashen goggle obscured features, as the hatchback of a sturdy military transport cracked ajar for the first time in hours. He could hardly contain himself from hurling his body readily in to the fray of these Sinhai skies, but more then a minute of planning helped him refrain from preceding several tons of Artillery pieces descending in a windswept glide from a respectable altitude overhead. Aged and faded was the uniform he stood defiantly in as the Air Corpsmen of Životinje made their final checks, the planes loadmaster calmly rigged each mechanism in to place like herdsmen to his flock.

"All systems are a go, sir . ." the Loadmaster said with a near whisper, unemotional and strangely comforting to his busy crew. The 'Sir' he referred to was Lechosław Kowalczyk, a privateer amongst the brilliant blue sea of enlisted and commissioned Union men. To exist amongst these swathes of soldiers and airmen who took oaths to their country made Mister Kowalczyk a very odd man out. Some semblance of allegiance was there at his core, but his exterior displayed only the strict illustration of a business professional. Articles in newspapers foretold a rise in fortune for men like him, the Union Army began integration in to the Air Corps and its sister branch of Air Troopers. Perhaps not so much a sign of fading need for a standard Infantry ground unit, rather bureaucratic dealings that minimized funding to several parts of the Union Army -- such as the Field Artillery Brigades who were essentially breadwinners of the Eastern Front during Europe's Great War. Millions of dollars worth of Artillery pieces literally skillfully 'abandoned' in the Divovian Wilderness so Kowalczyk and his associates could find them.

While the nation speculated who might have scavenged nearly a quarter of the Union's Field Artillery, Mister Kowalczyk was watching three parachute rigged artillery guns slip from the tail end of his rented out plane with no debate as to who they now belonged to. Several of his 'associates' stood stupefied at the sensory overload of hearing the screaming engine and seeing several tons carelessly gliding over tracked wheels, before plummeting dangerously below. For the Airmen aboard, this was by no means their first Rodeo. Several could now be considered "Veterans" of the war in Abruzicstan, where movement of troops and equipment and a moments notice was still critical in a time of relative tranquility. Ceasing his stroll around the cabin, likely for the first time since taking off, the Loadmaster captured Kowalczyk's eyes with a confident gaze.

"Respectfully, sir: Get the hell off my plane before the reds take those guns we just dropped." the Loadmaster jabbed with a warm chuckle.

Kowalczyk shuffled to the cabins rear "Take my word Senior Airmen, if the circumstances are right these Easterners will fly any color that brings relative prosperity. And I'll sell anything to them for prosperity of my own" saying in his most vigorous slime reducing tone. He had no illusions as to what sort of man he was, or the despicable transactions he arranged. Today the Militant Republic of Životinje was a 'friend' who was ready to grease the right gears that placed his merchandise in the hands of desperate customers, but tomorrow Union Soldiers might be finding sight pictures around his frontal lobe with an intent to kill. Dealing arms around the world materialized as a wise teacher to Kowalczyk, one who taught the cold realities of Europe with both a carrot and the stick.

For every practical man, three or more idealists lurk in their stead. Kowalczyk's staff fulfilled this unreservedly. Following him in to swift descent to the ground was an intelligence officer, a field combative unit soldier, and even one of the Sindikat Maresal's spiritual advisors who had already admitted to Kowalczyk in private that he was there to advise Maresal Huszar whether Mister Kowalczyk should be imprisoned or killed.

 

[Khemia]

Pongpat Sakdikul was driving along through the ass end of Sinhai, a shithole infested by jungles and squawking birds and all mannerisms of annoying creatures and fresh air. It disgusted him. The road was bumpy, the truck was uncomfortable, the seat belt bit into his shoulder. He sighed and tried to rest his head against the glass window, but a pock hole in the road set his head smashing against that too. He felt like yelling at the driver, but lost interest when he saw artillery pieces falling from the sky. Like his marriage, he imagined these giant guns crashing into the ground and firing off nuclear shells or some such ridiculous chaos. Knowing his luck, he wouldn't ignore such possibilities.

"Great, it's not even being dropped at the right location," he grumbled. More fucking bumpy roads to drive on to get there.

He looked up again after several minutes, and his jaw dropped. Now it was raining men, fucking western cowboys were dropping from the skies on parachutes straight into the jungle. He could imagine a panther eating the flesh of one of these white people who got caught up in a tree, and he was almost amused. His amusement ceased, however, when he noticed that the artillery pieces had landed in a convenient clearing.

This was going to be a long, boring day. At least it would be better than staying home and being bitched at by the wife.

 

[Thaumantica]

Forcing himself on the downed Lechosław Kowalczyk, Mister Nađ slapped and shook Kowalczyk violently out of recovery from a concussion suffered crashing recklessly in to the Sinese wilderness. "Fool, your fucking guns landed with more grace!" the ordained deacon spewed while backhanding the recuperating businessman. "The Maresal himself will be duly advised of your clumsiness, you go'damn showboat Kowalczyk" Mister Nađ said while fully detaching his own parachute, leaving Mister Kowalczyk to remove his himself.

Sprung back to life by the time their so called hosts were within eyesight, Kowalczyk ordered his associates, including Nađ who seemed to believe he was above this work, to begin reigning in all of the air dropped equipment. Mister Kowalczyk cast his pride away enough to begin limping towards the Sinese. He wondered quietly within his mind if he was walking towards a member of the fanatical military elite or someone with profit in mind much like himself. Repulsed by the thought, Kowalczyk prayed that his host was not anything like Mister Nađ the Deacon.

"As you can see sirs and madams, the art of airborne operations is lost on the private industry. It is my role to oversee the moving pieces, not to be one of them." he said while approaching the Sinese man with an outstretched arm. Mister Nađ proceeded to assert himself rudely, like any self respecting Ziv would, by swatting Kowalczyk hand down and replacing it with his own.

"Our Maresal would laugh if he heard you, the 'art of airborne operations'." Nađ slighted at his fellow Ziv. "From the Militant Republic of Životinje, I am Father Nađ. Gathering the Artillery Pieces, the 3/21st Artillery Battalion, Aldrin Company, 1st Platoon." he said while pointing out Soldiers emerging from the jungles with equipment in their stead.

Kowalczyk coughed attention back towards himself, "With the Blue Flag Corporation, number one supplier of the Blue Union's Military endeavors, and leading annual donator to Mister Nađ's Protestant Reformers: I am Mister Kowalczyk . . . Who might you be?"

 

[Khemia]

Pongpat Sakdikul could tell that these two men were competing for attention. And in a ridiculous manner, they thought he would get his hands dirty by shaking theirs after they had just been smothered in dirt? How preposterous. He pressed his hands together and pressed them close to his nose as he bowed from the hip in a traditional Sinese greeting.

"My name is Pongpat Sakdikul, member of the Unity Party munitions appropriations subcommittee and liaison to the Sinese Defense Force," he grudgingly replied to these white people. He could tell the smartly dressed fellow was a bit injured physically, the other one who preferred to be called by a paternal name was probably injured mentally.

"So, if you want to skip the shitty tea I have in the truck, we can begin talking about what you've brought out here," he commented, nodding to the soldiers hauling around artillery pieces over what was probably a national park.

 

[Thaumantica]

Weight balanced completely on his left leg, Kowalczyk winced at the notion of drinking Eastern European tea unless it stemmed from Vangala. His disdain for all other Eastern teas came after having his all-time favorite Vangalan Brew boycotted by the Blue Flag Corporation, the Company could not allow its associates the ability to fund Communism. Mister Nađ was pleased not to be drinking Sinese Tea for a different reason, it had to be damn near happy hour some where in Europe, and the Air Trooper turned Deacon turned Advisor was ready for a stiff drink.

"As you can see, we do not come to this jungle unprepared." Kowalczyk suggested while withdrawing the finite details of the equipment transfer from his mud encrusted rucksack located between a GPS device and an entrenching tool. Loudly, the Deacon announced "Nor do I" as he rummaged to find a flask full of Sarmatian Whiskey, located between a Bible and a Hatchet.

Kowalczyk tossed, literally threw, the file binder at Pongpat Sakdikul. He could care less whether it was dropped or tossed aside later, the Sinese before him was a middle man, that much was obvious. "It is unlike Westerners to request meetings in the field, beyond our oaken boardroom refuge, no? That's not the way to forge real bonds with our customers, so it is not our way. Blue Flag endures to meet the needs of its clients worldwide in any urban slum, or any remote wilderness that todays battlefront requires" Mister Kowalczyk said.

"Discretion is not lost on us either. Today we have a detachment of Životinje's Union Army because their Fire Direction & Signal Corps have in their recent downsizing seen fit to gift millions worth of Artillery equipment, and as many individual armor kits* to cover fifteen to twenty percent of the Sinese Army".

Mister Nađ brashly stuck his nose in to the conversation "Charity is not the Maresal's middle name, mind you. All of this equipment was designed, manufactured, and shipped on our expense, and you'd be wise to remind that to those who receive this". Where government let off, private industry was nearly always prepared to pick up; hard at work as Kowalczyk's logistics teams to replace the 'free' flow of equipment in to Sinhai with competitive pricing when the last of this Military Aid Package reached Sinese shores.

___________
* Individual Armor Kit (IAK), pronounced "Yak"

 

[Khemia]

Discretion indeed, he thought to himself as he watched the western corporate mongrel limping around and the Priest enraptured by alcohol. He wasn't sure if he'd have an easier time telling his wife he had spent today with a pair of white men that had fallen from the sky to drink and shoot guns, or he had slept with a woman at a hotel for fifteen dollars. He listened to the rest of what the Blue Flag man had to say with mild interest, figuring he had read enough in the brief to understand what the exact nature of this deal may involve. If he was here, then this deal was good enough for his boss.

"Sounds fine. I just want to see two things before we make this deal finalized," he said as he tossed the book over to a soldier more able to carry it's bulk. "The first thing I want to see is those guns shooting the shit out of some trees, if they don't blow something up then they're obviously broken. The second thing I want to do is have you shoot me while I wear one of those vests. If I live, you have a deal. If I die, my wife won't mind, but no one will be signing any checks today."

 

[Thaumantica]

Authentically surprised, Mister Kowalczyk immediately detached his own Individual Armor Kit with relative ease. Or as much simplicity that could be expected while removing a bullet withstanding vest baring seven loaded magazines. "Please sir, use mine." he said while passing the sweat and mud covered vest over to the Sinese host.

"I'll keep mine on, that should say enough" Mister Nađ added with no doubt that his distrust of this jungle. He literally believed that at any moment a band of Communist rebels might descend from a tree at the other side of the clearing. Soon thereafter Aldrin Companies 1st Platoon was poised to fire, each crew standing in place to fire one of the three pieces. The Deacon was technically still an Air Trooper, granted not a Soldier in the Union Army, though authoritative enough to a point where it was him that the Field Artillerymen preferred to take orders from.

The entirety of Životinje's combined forces carried the 7.62 Round at minimum, so the IAK was specifically designed to absorb that caliber. Kowalczyk was confident in his equipment, which the Sinese man had reluctantly adorned, so it was he who was first to load a magazine in to his rifle*.

"On the Rifle's mark!" shouted Mister Nađ. Three Artillery Rounds were immediately loaded, only the string puller delaying from completing their task until the Sinese man was shot. The crew themselves were overjoyed to "fuck shit up" as they had been promised while being "volun-told" to accompany Kowalczyk on his trip of business, diplomacy, and now pleasure.

Kowalczyk began telling a story of his childhood, "There I was, lost in Hladnmopot Forest with nothing but a ham and cheese sandwich." With Sakdikul likely distracted by the intendedly uninteresting story, the businessman leisurely asserted his finger in to the trigger well, and before long around the trigger itself. "It was two hours later, and I'll tell you I was absolutely famished by then. Pulling out the sandwich, smashed by then of course, I spotted some wild mushrooms next to the log I was sitting on" Kowalczyk was now aimed center-mass at his targets chest, "So I spotted the largest one, and pluck. ." without finishing his story he fired one round to the middle point of his own vest.

The string-pullers reacted instinctively, yanking their trigger tied lines back until releasing a shockingly louder round. And before their round met impact in the jungle, the crews were speedily preparing to salvo off several more.

______________
*Union Battle Rifle (UBR-19)

OOC: RP'ng your "losses" or the "impact" of the jungle should be up to you. Like when we RP bombing a fortress, it is up to the receiving end to RP the losses.

 

[Khemia]

Pongpat flew off his feet and landed on his ass without breath, winded and gasping for air and with what felt like a sledgehammer stuck in his chest. His head was buried in a soft patch of mud, bugs flinging themselves into the air. He caught a solid mouthful of what he imagined might be what horse shit tasted like, and then he could hear what might have sounded like thunder, save for the fact that his ears could hardly hear anything past the ringing noise that wreaked havoc on his head.

This was fucking fun, he couldn't help but grin at the rush of adrenaline that surged through him. He hadn't felt so alive in years, not since he'd put that dreadful gold cuff on his finger that bound him down into a life of drudgery and slavery. He slowly crawled up, grabbing his chest and feeling pain wrack his body. The vest had taken the hit nicely, and the air seemed to compress with a distant echo of cracking trees, screaming birds, explosions, and burning monkeys.

He took a moment to catch his breath, all he could manage at the moment was a sadistic grin he shot back at Kowalczyk. He managed to gasp in enough oxygen to exhale a garbled "fantastic".

 

[Thaumantica]

Fifteen devastating barrages later, Mister Nađ was soothing the frantically firing Artillerymen from conceiving more craters with their bouncing baby ballistics. In his eyes lurked great pride, worn on the scruffy face of a beard unshaved for two days. Sighing, the men immediately began stripping the equipment for on the spot cleaning and inspection, this was the mundane hour that followed a few bursting minutes of sheer orgasmic violence.

Kowalczyk was hard pressed to finalize business, entertained or not this had to be done, "The Corporation is tracking instability in Sinese shared ocean territories, also known as our primary shipping lane to operations in Abruzicstan. If the Sinhai Union wishes to receive top of the line equipment, it'll have to keep its shipping lanes away from the ever changing political scene."

His grin that stemmed from the show of firepower was now faded, "Or, if your nation must politicize them: Allow our vessels to pass unscathed" he said nodding "I think this is a fair request."

 

[Khemia]

Pongpat finally gathered himself, looking down to the vest and where the slug had buried itself. And to think that, under normal circumstances, this probably would've amounted to a penetrated chest cavity and a bleedout, he smiled and looked back at the Zivvies.

"Politics and economics in Sinhai like to keep their distance, for the most part. As long as the ship isn't flying a red flag," he started, hoping the Zivvies would know what he meant by red, "we don't get involved. We don't care what travels through our waters, just as long as it's not illegal on our land." He effectively gave the man the green light for what he wanted and nodded to a soldier to grab the briefcase. Ostensibly it was supposed to be full of cash, but instead it was filled with a computer. The soldier held the opened box out in front of him, and he logged into a bank located in Sri Rama.

"Give me a moment to access your private account, and you can view the requested payment there. If we have an agreement, then I can give you the information you need and I believe our business here is done."