The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Extreme =&gt; Extreme Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Healergirl on 21-07-2011, 18:42:31</h2>
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				Title: <strong>The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Healergirl</strong> on <strong>21-07-2011, 18:42:31</strong>
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				This is not a game centered on torture, extreme sex, snuff, that sort of thing.&nbsp; It's a game that tells the story of what could happen if somebody looked at Earth and decided "Nice Place.&nbsp; We'll take it."&nbsp; Mass death and destruction are in the cards.<br><br>Interest thread lin:&nbsp; http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=113409.0 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=113409.0)<br><br>For interested lurkers if you have not read the first post, doing so now will help you get a grip on what is going on<br><br><br><br><span style="font-size: 14pt;" class="bbc_size"><strong><br>Beware the Ides of January</strong></span><br><br>14 January 1968&nbsp; Noon&nbsp; T-minus 24 hours.<br><br><br><br>Between Lang Vei and Khe Sanh<br><br>Agent Mackenzie, Sergeant Fields, Corporal Blacke<br><br>Charlie has gone to ground.&nbsp; It really does seem to be as simple as that.&nbsp; After weeks of steadily escalating pressure against the base, the NVA has effectively conceded the field it seems.&nbsp; Not for lack of force, if anything scuttlebutt has it that flow of North Vietnamese troops into supplies into Laos has if anything doubled and redoubled over the last four days.&nbsp; Still plenty of booby traps, the usual left-behind nasty little presents.&nbsp; But the positions near Khe Sanh have been abandoned.<br><br><br>This observation post more recently than most.&nbsp; Technically it is still occupied in a way by the bodies of those who had manned it.&nbsp; Fields is impressed. These guys were good, the Americans had no idea this post was here untill the place was lit up by a firefight just before dawn.&nbsp; The bodies are NVA regulars: signals intelligence and spotters by the looks of the gear and documents. all of which had been left behind undisturbed where it had lain or fallen during the fight.&nbsp; The bodies... they were disturbed and are disturbing.&nbsp; In addition to the usual injuries inherent in combat deaths the heads are missing.&nbsp; Every single one.&nbsp; The decapitation had been as clean and precise as if done by a freshly-bladed guillotine. <br><br>Corporal Blacke in particular notes the lack of brain matter near the bodies.&nbsp; None of them were killed by headshots.&nbsp; Blacke's spotter gives the impression that he is professionally offended by this.<br><br>Agent Mackenzie is thinking hard about the fact&nbsp; that the equipment and documentation were left behind.<br><br><br>Khe Sanh<br><br>1Lt Browers<br><br>It just isn't natural. Browers has never flown this low and slow without getting shot at in Nam.&nbsp; Tet cease fire or not, somebody should be taking a crack at Him.&nbsp; He start to believe that Charlie really has abandoned the siege.&nbsp; He is in his favorite UH-1 gunship, his co-pilot and door gunners are looking pleasantly bored.&nbsp; There was a report of a brief firefight near Lang Vei before dawn,&nbsp; With nothing better to do, you widen your patrol circuit just enough to pass over the site.&nbsp; He&nbsp; spots some Americans prowling over the site of what was a well concealed bunker. And something else catches his eye:&nbsp; Discolored grass, a big rectangular patch of it.&nbsp; Browers&nbsp; doubts it could be noticed from the ground, but from the air, well, you are trained to notice such things.&nbsp; There might be another bunker under there, and you do have a radio channel to talk to the men on the ground.<br><br><br><br>Saigon&nbsp; Military Assistance Command Vietnam Headquarters.<br><br>Special Attache Michelle Rawlinson<br><br>The meeting with General Westmoreland has not been going well.&nbsp; The man is unfailingly courteous as always, but one thing he shares with President Johnson is a passion for keeping secrets.&nbsp; The General and his staff uniformly deny that the United States received the same ultimatum as the North Vietnamese.&nbsp; Rawlinson has reason to think otherwise.&nbsp; The morning diplomatic bag delivered to the Australian embassy had a tersely written note from her "contact" in the USN:&nbsp; "The big guy got the memo."&nbsp; Is all it says.&nbsp; As Westmoreland's staff continued to brief the Australian Ambassador to South Vietnam and yourself, She begins to develop a suspicion that the briefers are telling the truth as they know it.&nbsp; By the end of the meeting sheare certain that Westmoreland doesn't know either.&nbsp; She reflects briefly that this White House passion for secrecy will get a President in trouble one of these days.&nbsp; Brigadier Donald Dunstan, a senior Australian army officer in Nam assures her the Allies have made absolutely no preparations for an invasion of Laos.<br><br>The ambassador departs the MACV compound in ill-humor.&nbsp; "Miss. Rawlinson, I hope your getaway bag is packed.'&nbsp; He smiles at her thinly. "How does an overnight to Vientiane sound?&nbsp; I'd like you to hand-carry the Diplomatic bag to our people there today.&nbsp; A bit beneath you, I know, but i also want you to take a look around, get the pulse.&nbsp; A meeting with the Laotian Foreign ministry is scheduled for late evening.&nbsp; You will be returning on an early morning flight.&nbsp; No worries about being caught in the middle of this mess, if there is anything to it.&nbsp; You will be landing in Saigon well before noon."&nbsp; Despite his light tone, he is clearly worried that there might just be something to "this mess" as he calls it.<br><br><br><br>Outskirts of Vientiane, the Laotian capitol<br><br>Etienne Gervais&nbsp; SDECE Liason<br><br>When the ultimatum became common knowledge the French government wasted little time.&nbsp; Gervais arrived in the capitol the evening before for a quick briefing at the French Embassy.&nbsp; He has been pleasantly surprised to learn that many of his old contacts are still alive, some are even still in the covert ops game to varying degrees.&nbsp; The local mood is tense to put it mildly.&nbsp; The North Vietnamese had been on the verge of a full invasion when the ultimatum threw them off stride.&nbsp; With the countdown ticking the city has the feel of an unexploded bomb.&nbsp; More and more NVA units are crossing the border, but are orienting more to fact the Americans and defend the Ho Chi Minh trail than to go after Vientiane.&nbsp; But that could change any time of course.<br><br>&nbsp; Gervais is currently meeting with an old veteran from the hill country and he has an interesting tale to tell:&nbsp; Stories of strange figures glimpsed in the night, always the night never by day, and always near bridges, tunnels, crossroads.&nbsp; Demons, they are reputed to be.&nbsp; Descriptions vary but they certainly don't seem human.&nbsp; Oddly shaped aircraft, very quiet, only seen when landing or taking off.&nbsp; Choppers, perhaps, but the witnesses, the old vet assures you. are unanimous in their reports that these aircraft were very quiet.&nbsp; A random thought strikes him:&nbsp; Out of the way locations, brief glimpses, the reports would sound a great deal like UFO sightings were it not for the fact that the vehicles - if such they are - emphatically do not glow in the dark and the occupants appear to have zero interest in giving rides to random countryfolk.&nbsp; Obviously somebody is scouting the area, but who?<br><br>Another thought strikes him.&nbsp; Small teams getting close looks at transportation choke points.&nbsp; That sounds alarmingly like what the resistance was doing shortly before D-day in France.&nbsp; Possibly, just possibly, were these persons unknown doing more than just looking?
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Athos</strong> on <strong>22-07-2011, 08:06:54</strong>
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				<strong>Agent Mackenzie - CIA - Abandoned observation post</strong><br><br>Samuel “Mac” Mackenzie squatted down on his haunches and took a deep drag on the large cigar that hung from the left side of his mouth. His brow was furrowed and his eyes tightly focused as he gazed around at the carnage that surrounded him. While he maintained his carefully formed stone mask expression, he felt a slight pang of queasiness in his stomach. <br><br><em>Been awhile since I’ve felt that,</em> He thought silently to himself as he reached down with his middle and index fingers and dipped his fingertips into a nearby pool of blood. It wasn’t the death itself that bothered him. In a twenty-five year career, there wasn’t much he hadn’t seen.&nbsp; It was the obviously deliberation with which this scene was created that caught him.<br><br>“This was done for a reason,” He declared suddenly, not bothering to look to see who else was around. With the exception of the array of corpses that littered the bunker, the area seemed clear of hostiles.<br><br>For the moment. <br><br>Standing up, Mac strolled over to a wooden table. Upon it was a radio and next to it a codebook and a small pile of reports. Picking up the book, he flipped through it for a moment before tossing it back on the table. His Vietnamese was nowhere near as good as his Lao, but as he glanced over some of the reports he saw nothing that explained what had happened here.<br><br>“Troop movements,” He murmured as he glanced from report to report. “Supply requisitions, more troop movements... There’s nothing here that explains any of this. Still, they never would have left any of it here given the choice. Somebody wanted these boys out of here in the worst way.” As he spoke, he felt a shiver run down his spine. <br><br><em>But who?</em><br><br>Without even realizing it, he found himself tightening his grip on the MAC-10 he carried in his right hand. Whoever hit these guys weren’t American, that much was for sure, and he wasn’t aware of anyone else running ops in this particular area of the woods. <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>kobrakid92</strong> on <strong>22-07-2011, 21:00:23</strong>
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				<strong>Sergeant Fields - Marines - Abandoned observation post</strong><br><br>Sergeant Fields ordered his squad to set up a perimeter around the outpost. "Watch yourselves out there. These guys probably have this place surrounded with traps." he commanded. Within seconds his squad had left the area to set up the perimeter. He had to give the NVA credit for this accomplishment. They had set up camp this close to Khe Sanh with no one noticing until just before dawn. The whole thing made him uneasy. All of the outpost's occupants had their head's cut off but there were no survivors. It couldn't be the Viet Cong's work because they were helping the NVA and none of them wouldn't have cut their own head off without trying to take a few soldiers with them.<br><br>Fields stepped down into the bunker and looked at the corpses' and pools' of blood. "A bunch of sick bastards." he said not caring for who heard him. While he gave them credit he had no sympathy for them. <em>Well at least we don't have to risk our boys over these men. It would be nice to know who beat us to the punch though.</em> he thought to himself. He made his way over to Agent Mackenzie at the wooden table. "Any worth wile intel other than the pile of corpses?" he asked. His commanding officer was going to want a full report on this when they got back to base.
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>22-07-2011, 21:29:16</strong>
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				<strong>Corporal Blacke - Sniper - Abandoned Observation Post</strong><br><br>The sniper had his rifle strapped to his back, but his revolver had been drawn, holding it in a relaxed but readied manner. His rifle was no good here, unless he decided to take a jaunt up to the tower and fire at something outside; but the revolver would keep him safe should someone or thing pop out from behind a corner.<br><br>It was only after he was done looking over the bodies with his spotter, who seemed pretty damn angry of all things, that he'd move back towards Mackenzie and Fields, the revolver finding its way back into its holster. "This was a slaughter...and I think it came from within, rather than without, sir. Nobody, not even the men in the tower, were shot in the head. Their's no bits of brain or skull left behind to indicate that." He explained the last bit, since everybody was decapitated; that meant he couldn't do things the easy way and look at the heads for a bullet hole.<br><br>"I'd tentatively suggest that their was a schism within the camp, and some of the men did this before picking up and leaving, possibly deserters. But that's just a hunch, I have no real evidence to back it up." Blacke's voice was cool, calm, collected, and detached; even at the sight of all this gore, he did not seem to be perturbed, though perhaps he is and he just doesn't show it. <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>NiceTexasGuy</strong> on <strong>22-07-2011, 22:04:37</strong>
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				<strong>1LT Jerry "Crackpot" Browers (and crew) - providing air cover from UH-1 Huey</strong><br><br>Pity the poor kid in the copilot's seat.&nbsp; Twenty four hours off the plane and he's flying a combat mission into a firebase under siege with a guy the other pilots call "Crackpot", a name he's warned not to use to his face.&nbsp; The kid, Joe-something, was all of 23 years old and looked all of 13.&nbsp; The birth control glasses he wore didn't help.&nbsp; He figured this is why he got stuck flying with Lt. Browers.&nbsp; Little did he know it was because everyone else refused to fly with him.<br><br>"Sure he seems a little strange" the Major had said.&nbsp; A <em>little</em> strange?&nbsp; That's like calling the Pacific a little ocean.&nbsp; "But after you been here a while, you'll see we're all strange in some way.&nbsp; Don't worry, Browers is a top notch pilot.&nbsp; Won a Legion of Merit and a couple of DFC's.&nbsp; Used to fly some general around.&nbsp; It's just how he copes."<br><br>------------------<br><br>Jerry looked over at the new guy and smiled.&nbsp; "Junior, I'm feelin' some very positive energy flowing off of you."&nbsp; Huh?&nbsp; He sounded drunk.&nbsp; Or stoned.&nbsp; Or both. Should he report this to the Major?&nbsp; A little late for that as they were already in the helicopter and the blades were spinning.&nbsp; "Very positive indeed.&nbsp; I can tell you are a <em>very beautiful person</em> on the inside.&nbsp; I bet you were a truly wonderful person in a previous life."&nbsp; Then Jerry pulled off a glove and held his bare hand up to the new guy's face, closed his eyes, and hummed.&nbsp; On replacing the glove, he pulled back on the collective and gave the engine some throttle, and they were airborne.&nbsp; "I think I'll call you Snowflake.&nbsp; That's an old Indian word that means ... a flake of snow."&nbsp; &nbsp;Then he smiled at Snowflake.&nbsp; "Trust me, it's a <em>very positive name</em>."<br><br>----------------<br><br>A few minutes later, and they were approaching Khe Sanh.&nbsp; The kid was a bundle of nerves.&nbsp; Not from flying with Lt Browers, whose piloting skills seemed to be adequate, but because it was his first combat mission.&nbsp; Granted, they hadn't been shot at yet, but he knew it was coming any second now.<br><br>"Do you feel that?" Jerry piped in while appearing to take some sort of evasive action.&nbsp; The kid hadn't felt a thing out of the ordinary, but then he figured fear was clouding his perceptions of what was going on around him.<br><br>"Feel what, Sir?"<br><br>"Vibrations.&nbsp; Bad vibrations."<br><br>The kid hadn't felt a thing, but was pouring over the gauges and instruments and finding nothing out of normal limits.&nbsp; "All the gauges look okay, Sir." <br><br>"No, Snowflake.&nbsp; Bad Vibes.&nbsp; Down there."&nbsp; He was pointing down to the ground.&nbsp; "You fly, I gotta get some pictures of this." With that, he reached down into his flight bag and brought out a camera.&nbsp; "Give me some pitch and yaw, Snowflake, but not too much, I don't wanna fall out.&nbsp; That would result in some very bad karma for both of us, but especially for me." And with that, the pilot in command climbed over the seat and back to one of the side doors of his Huey to take some pictures of the ground below, his intercom unhooked so that any communications now would have to be <span style="font-family: comic sans ms;" class="bbc_font"> <span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size">shouted</span> </span>.<br><br><span style="font-family: comic sans ms;" class="bbc_font"> <span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size">"Get on the horn and tell them grunts down there they got a big patch of ground to their northeast that don't look right, and tell 'em I'm picking up some very negative energy from that area.&nbsp; They look like really beautiful people and I don't wanna see 'em get hurt." </span> </span><br><br>------<br><br>It would take the kid a minute to figure out what frequency and call signs to use.<br><br>"Sierra six alfa three four, this is .. uh.. November two oscar one two."<br><br>"Alfa three four, you got what looks like a big clear patch of ground about a hundred yards to your northwest... uh, I mean north<em>east</em>.&nbsp; I dunno, it just looks.. strange."&nbsp; Hardly the professional polished pilot's voice he had practiced in flight school.&nbsp; "About a football field?&nbsp; Kinda looks like, I dunno, a bunch of broken glass?&nbsp; Anyway, my pilot says he's getting...."&nbsp; No, he couldn't say it.&nbsp; "Well, he's been doing this a while and.. says he got a bad feeling."<br><br>It wasn't exactly textbook radio procedure, but hopefully it got the message across.&nbsp; A few seconds later, Jerry was crawling back into his seat and plugged into the intercom.&nbsp; "Smile, Snowflake" Jerry threw up the camera to his eye to snap an up-close picture of his new copilot, the unexpected flash blinding him momentarily.&nbsp; "It's for my scrapbook.&nbsp; I'm keeping a scrapbook, you know.&nbsp; I'm calling it..." paused to think... "Jerry's Scrapbook."&nbsp; With that he took over the controls of the aircraft and resumed flying cover for those beautiful souls below.
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CarnivalOfTheGoat</strong> on <strong>22-07-2011, 22:46:04</strong>
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				(http://sean.ae.s3.amazonaws.com/buddha-park.jpg)<br><br>The two men made a peculiar sight, and the Royal Army guards who stood sentry at the gate of the park and patrolled its lushly grassy walks took notice and watched them warily. <br><br>On any given day the somewhat elderly Hmong in his traditional blacks and pink embroidered sash would have received only cursory scrutiny, but anyone talking to foreigners in such a place was bound to garner attention. <br><br>The tall, soft-spoken man with the French accent who accompanied him would have been noteworthy anywhere in Laos for his height and the fluidity with which he spoke the language of the northern hill tribes. He wore a European business suit despite the hothouse Sunday morning air, its pale green fabric seeming at times to blend with the misted grass. The two took an unhurried, meandering route through the pathways, alternating periods of quite conversation with long, comfortable silences.<br><br>Etienne paused before a reclining statue of the Buddha which was larger than many small houses. He did not look directly down at the Hmong beside him, but his attention was clearly on the older man rather than the damp concrete of the statue. "And these were seen by who?" He pauses, not meaning to sound skeptical or disrespectful. "Our people?"<br><br>Moua Tou smiles faintly at the question. "'Our people?'" He sighs quietly. "You have been gone many years, my friend. My people, yes, if that is what you ask. People I trust. People you trusted."<br><br>The Canadian clasps his hands behind his back, shoulders dropping slightly as he frowns. "I'm sorry. I did not choose to leave."<br><br>"You did. The bullet only chose <em>when</em> you would leave. We knew you would not stay. We knew long before the Americans came." The Hmong begins walking again, unhurried, Etienne following him at a slight limp. For a time there is silence.<br><br>The two men come around a statue of a demon, nearly running into a pair of orange-clad monks. All four bow, then the pairs go their separate ways again. Etienne clears his throat. "I did not come to farm, or to fish, that is true. I came because of the war."<br><br>"You did. And we opened our homes to you, knowing that when the war ended you would go, and the Americans would go. But the Americans left, too, and the war is still here. The <em>Viet Minh</em> have come now, and they intend to stay."<br><br>"I am sorry." It is Etienne's turn to come to a halt, "I could not come back until now." After a moment Moua Tou stops as well and turns towards him. <br><br>"I believe that you would have. But there is no 'back' now. The People have had to move far up into the hills. The place where you stayed with us belongs to the <em>Viet Minh</em> now."<br><br>Etienne looks away unhappily. "They will not keep it forever. And that is near the place where these others have been seen?"<br><br>Moua Tou nods very slightly. "This lifetime is the first. Not in the old village, but near there, and elsewhere. The road that goes through the hills. They are not <em>Viet Minh</em>, nor Chinese, nor Russ. And we have heard from other villages, other peoples. Of similar visitors."<br><br>Etienne frowns as the two of them come back around to the massive, demon-headed gate and the rifle-toting guards stationed at it. "I wish I could say who they were. I need to find out. It may be that I will need to see some of these places, Tou. On maps, and in person."<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Healergirl</div><div class="spoiler_body">I wasn't 100% sure where to go, whether you meant the conversation had just ended or was ongoing or...So I hope you will excuse me for picking a specific location &nbsp;(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buddha_Park)and creating an NPC out of whole cloth. If it doesn't work, let me know and I'll change/adapt as needed!</div></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Healergirl</strong> on <strong>22-07-2011, 23:16:05</strong>
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				(Stepping out of narrative:&nbsp; Carni, that is fine!&nbsp; Just the sort of thing I like to see.&nbsp; I think of myself as a writer/director of a heavily ad-libbing improv group, input from the players is more than welcome!)
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Healergirl</strong> on <strong>23-07-2011, 17:41:50</strong>
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				<strong>The Observation Post</strong><br><br>Agent Mackenzie, Sergeant Fields, Corporal Blacke<br><br>"Gunny!"&nbsp; A yell from the radioman "Crackpot says we should check something out abut a hundered meteres Northeast, says it's a weird patch of ground!"<br><br>One of the marine fireteam leaders shoots Fields a look as he points NE,&nbsp; &nbsp;Fields has three 4 man teams with him.<br><br>&nbsp;Blacke finally is able to put his finger on something that has been nagging at him:&nbsp; There are remarkably few bullet strikes on the observation post.&nbsp; A firefight in darkness, the place should be riddled with them, with more on the ground around the low dugout, and the trees behind and around it.&nbsp; It isn't that way at all.&nbsp; In fact... the impacts are tightly clustered at various places.&nbsp; Almost as though the attackers had known exactly where the NVA troops were sitting and standing.&nbsp; which brings something else to his notice.&nbsp; The strikes are relatively small, like M-16 rounds.&nbsp; The post is not a fortified bunker, but the walls were certainly strong enough to stop assault rifle fire.&nbsp; But these rounds had punched right through the walls to their targets.<br><br>Fields has already noted that there are very few AK-47 shell casings to be found.&nbsp; Whatever happened was short and intense.<br><br>Mackenzie finds something in a corner.&nbsp; A bullet, flattened and deformed.&nbsp; He has seen bullets like it, bullets that had hit armor plate.&nbsp; A quick search finds a few more.A few moments of observation and calculation and he decides that they had been fired probably by one man at a target coming through the main door.<br><br><br><br><strong>The Chopper</strong><br><br>1LT Browers<br><br>The copilot gives Browers a nervous glance, then focuses his attention on his instruments and their surroundings.&nbsp; He's a good kid, has potential&nbsp; Browers is a little uneasy.&nbsp; There is a, a smell in the air, is the best way he can put it.<br><br>Flicker of movement on the ground grabs his attention.&nbsp; Several figures northeast of the the odd patch of ground and heading towards it.&nbsp; A closer looks reveals four asian men with packs, A large heavily armed white man in the rear, a smaller white figure with yellow hair in front.&nbsp; Crackpot grins.&nbsp; Gren Crevacoeur and Tex,&nbsp; real name unknown.&nbsp; The list of people who would be crazy enough to run a load of smack through an active combat zone is surprisingly long.&nbsp; The list of those good enough to succeed is much shorter.&nbsp; The diminutive frenchwoman is at the top of both.&nbsp; Gren looks up at the chopper and waves, she and her men are making no effort at concealment.<br><br><br><br><strong>Vientiane and surrounding area</strong><br><br>Etienne Gervais<br><br>It could have been a pleasant afternoon visiting old sights with an old friend.&nbsp; On one level it is, on another level it is quite disturbing.&nbsp; The sights marked on the map by Moua Tou are precisely the sort of targets that would paralyze movement throughout the country.&nbsp; The sights visited around Vientiane, taking out those would isolate the city.&nbsp; But Vienetiane is practically on the border with Thailand.&nbsp; Something about the target pattern is unusual.&nbsp; The scope, for one thing.&nbsp; there doesn't seem to be any focus.It can be assumed that for every supposed scout seen, several more were not noticed.&nbsp; From the pattern observed it looks like literally everything, every crossroad, every bridge, every tunnel is a target.&nbsp; The sheeer scale of the possible attack is breathtaking.&nbsp; The Americans can't do it, Etienne decides.&nbsp; The 101st, the 82, the 1st Cav, all in theater USAF and USN air assets all acting together with a massive ground invasion in support&nbsp; might have the juice to pull this off.&nbsp; But the 82nd isn't in SE Asia, and preparations of the scale needed could not have been hidden.<br><br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>kobrakid92</strong> on <strong>23-07-2011, 19:45:07</strong>
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				Fields turns to the radioman when he hears him call out. He orders the fireteam leader to regroup with him and the other squads outside the bunker. He follows the fireteam leader outside and waits until the squads regroup around him. "Alright if you haven't already heard, Crackpot says there's an odd patch of ground a hundred meters to the northeast. We have the glorious honor of checking it out. Check your weapons before we leave." he said. As the others checked their weapons he checked his m16 and 9mm to make sure they were clean and wouldn't jam. If it was an odd patch of ground then that probably meant a good chance of an ambush. "Alright. Let's move." he said taking point.<br><br>They come to where they were ordered to check out. Looking out into an open field Sergeant Fields felt his stomach churn slightly. With a field like this there was probably a good possibility for an ambush, traps, and snipers to pick them off. If there wasn't one watching them already by now. Sergeant Fields ordered them to halt then crouched down and turned back to his men. "Squads Alpha and Bravo take my left. Squads Charlie and Delta take my right. Five meter spread between the squads. If something happens try not to make a sound. We're going to march in line formation across this field as we don't miss anything. Keep low and keep your eyes peeled." he ordered. He stood up and turned around and waited for the squads to get into position. Once he saw they were they slowly began walking out into the field. <em>This is too good of an opportunity for the NVA or the VC to pass up. But where will they come from? </em> he thought to himself.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Athos</strong> on <strong>23-07-2011, 21:05:26</strong>
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				<strong>Agent Mackenzie – CIA – Abandoned observation post</strong><br><br><strong>"Any worth wile intel other than the pile of corpses?" he asked. </strong><br><br>Mac looked up from the pile of papers as one of the soldiers approached him. Sergeant Fields, he remembered from the briefing. A solid man from what little checking he'd been able to do before coming out here. Mac didn't answer right away, instead allowing his gaze to drop back to the stack of papers as he absently took another drag from his cigar.<br><br>“A codebook and a few recon reports,” The agent replied after a moment. “I doubt its anything we don't already have, but my people will take a look at it when we get back.” As he spoke, he began to gather up the pieces of paper and the small book. He doubted there was much for his people to go on, but there was always a chance that he'd missed something and Mac didn't believe in being careless.<br><br>After a moment, the agent heard the sounds of footsteps approaching and looked up to see a young man, a boy really, approaching them. Corporal Blacke, the squad's sniper. Young, but talented. <br><br><strong>"This was a slaughter...and I think it came from within, rather than without, sir. Nobody, not even the men in the tower, were shot in the head. Their's no bits of brain or skull left behind to indicate that."</strong> Said the Corporal to Fields. <strong>"I'd tentatively suggest that their was a schism within the camp, and some of the men did this before picking up and leaving, possibly deserters. But that's just a hunch, I have no real evidence to back it up."</strong> <br><br>“That might explain the decapitations,” Mackenzie replied thoughtfully. “Some kind of punishment or execution.” Yet even as he spoke, it didn't feel right. There were too many bodies here for all but a few men to have survived, if any, and they'd all been killed in the same manner. In his experience, observation posts like this didn't tend to house many more soldiers than this, and he doubted only a few could have carried out this kind of carnage. <br><br>Even with the element of surprise.<br><br>“But I think something else happened here,” He continued after a moment, his gaze leaving the soldiers and turning to scour the ground near the radio station. As he looked, he moved slowly through the area occasionally stopping to kneel down and inspect some seemingly insignificant object or another. It was after nearly five minutes of searching in this manner that the agent came across something that made his blood run cold.<br><br>“What the hell?” He muttered as he looked down at a single bullet lying on the ground, flattened and deformed. Picking it up, he turned back to the others and displayed it for them. “This round struck armor, thick armor.” He'd seen many like it before, from small arms that had fired on tanks or other armored vehicles. He continued his search with renewed vigor and after another few minutes came across a few more.<br><br>“If I had to guess,” He said aloud. “One man fired these at an armored target...” He trailed off for just a second before looking toward the doorway. “Coming through there.”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CarnivalOfTheGoat</strong> on <strong>24-07-2011, 09:17:23</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://www.58bits.com/photos/p/vientiane-2009-gallery/k-h4ehifjg86b4/agb_8031/vientiane-xieng-khuan.jpeg)<br><br>Etienne carefully folds and refolds the map, doing his best to be sure that it is at no point fully unfolded and remains compact enough to be mistaken for part of the small sheaf of newsprint he was jotting on.<br><br>"There are too many of them, aren't there? Tunnels. Bridges. Roads. It is like a listing of every place, every spot. To take down all of it."<br><br>Etienne could be talking to the mist, for all the response he gets from Tou.<br><br>The Frenchman finally folds the newspaper again, half-rolling it in one hand. "It is astonishing how thorough they seem. And how thoroughly reported...Thank you." Etienne strolls on a few paces before looking to Moua Tou again. "How long have these 'demons' or men been doing this? When did the first reports begin? And where?"<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Hopefully noone minds my image-archive raiding. Most Vietnam-era movies I have seen tend to focus on a lot of jungle or river, firebases or the denser parts of cities. One rarely sees local ruins or artworks so I thought I'd muddle along and pick particularly Laotian imagery as the game progressed. If it's a bother, just say so.</div></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>25-07-2011, 00:02:55</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Corporal Blacke - Sniper - Abandoned Observation Post</strong><br><br>He would watch fields head off, wholly ignoring him, with a shrug of his shoulders. He would then turn his attention to Mackenzie, and move around,&nbsp; also checking the ground for anything else. "There any tread marks or something?" He'd ask Mackenzie when he held up the deformed round, and explained that it had to hit armor of some kind.<br><br>None of this made any sense. He's never read up on anything like this happening at all. He felt sick with worry, though he doesn't show it. Whatever came through and took out their enemy could return and wipe them out, probably just as easily.<br><br>"You know... it actually makes a bit more sense if it was a vehicle or something. The walls here are pretty thick, but in some places, they've been punched clean through. That kind of firepower would be best mounted on a vehicle, as far as I can tell." He sighed, eyes trailing around again. Like hell their was a vehicle here. Didn't make much sense how their could be one, but nothing else made sense, either.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>26-07-2011, 19:02:27</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				MICHELLE JANE RAWLINSON, AUSTRALIAN EMBASSY. SPECIAL ATTACHE TO MILITARY ASSISTANCE COMMAND VIETNAM HEADQUARTERS, SAIGON.<br><br>AUSTRALIAN EMBASSY, SAIGON, 14th JANUARY 1968, 09:45am<br><br><div class="floatleft">(http://i.ehow.com/images/a07/ua/c9/everyday-hairstyles-60s-800x800.jpg)</div> I neatly signed the sheaf of reports; "M. Rawlinson, <em>pp</em> Sir Henry Westlake," and placed them in my out tray. Along with all the others. I leaned back and stretched, easing a muscle in my neck. Looking out the window Saigon below me on the avenue was doing what Saigon always does, being hot and wet and noisy and smelly.<br><br>At least I had a window. My first six months here had been spent mostly in what we called the 'conference room' but which was probably the vault of our embassy – a building that had once been the People's Bank of Saigon. Windows were what promotion got you.<br><br>Coming to Saigon had seemed like a good move, a step up the ladder but after nearly two years I was still not much more than a glorified clerk. Signing this, requisitioning that, acting the tour guide for these suits and those suits, arranging this and that meeting. Wearing a skirt was the problem holding me back, I was certain of it.<br><br>James stuck his head round the door. <strong><em>"Hello Mitch, Sir Aitch wants you, pronto."</em></strong><br><br><strong>"Oh? Wants a fresh pot of coffee does he?"</strong> James didn't grin at my weak humour.<br><br><strong><em>"No. It’s the Laos thing. Trouble is brewing."</em></strong><br><br><strong>"Laos? Then why's he want me? Miss Trim Ankles and Cute Ass?"</strong><br><br>James just shrugged, <strong><em>"You better get up there. He sounds excited. There's a meeting with General Westmoreland this morning."</em></strong><br><br>=========================================================<br><br>AMBASSADOR SIR HENRY WESTLAKE'S OFFICE, 10:03am<br><br><strong><em>"It is settled then. I am meeting General Westmorland in-"</em></strong> Sir Henry checked his watch, <strong><em>"-seventeen minutes. I shall then need to send a diplomatic presence to Laos. That cannot be me. Bring an overnight bag, I fear events may begin to proceed rather apace."</em></strong> I accepted the thin vanilla card file of flimsies from Sir Henry and with a brief <strong>"Yes, Sir Henry,"</strong> (only the fourth, fifth and sixth words I had spoken since entering the ambassadors office and an exact repeat of the first three words I'd uttered twelve minutes before), I left the room only to bump into James right outside the door.<br><br>I baulked, then rushed past him, <strong>"Jim, if you're going to snoop go join MI5 or something."</strong><br><br><strong><em>"What's going on?"</em></strong><br><br><strong>"No idea,"</strong> I lied, <strong>"But we need a car to Westmoreland's HQ right now and I haven't time to call for one. Ring Bruce would you? He's our best driver. And tell him to wear his cap this time, its important. And wipe that bird poo off the bonnet! Bugger, I need to get my bag from the hotel."</strong><br><br>I rushed downstairs and out the door into the living wall of fetid heat that is Saigon. Two squaddies held up their rifles in a sharp port arms salute as I ran down the steps. I imagined their sheepish eyes watching my rear end as I trotted around the driveway of the circular lawn, their salute for embassy staff not really applicable to pieces of cute skirt. Oh well… Two more stood like sentinels either side of the garden gate posts. As usual a cluster of eager <em>xe-om</em> drivers were gathered outside. I saw a boy I recognized and threw him twenty piasters.<br><br><strong>"Hotel White Star. Fast-fast. Go now."</strong> The lad grinned at the coins and revving his scooter we zoomed off into a sea of bicycles, rickshaws and hurtling <em>xe-oms</em>.<br><br>=========================================================<br><br>GENERAL WESTMORELAND'S HEADQUARTERS, 11:07am<br><br>Sir Henry Westlake was like a benevolent grandfather. Sixty-four, silver-haired and thin as a bean pole, he exuded the classic education he received at Eton near London and at Magdalene College Oxford. He was fastidiously precise, polite to a tee and so punctual that you could set your watch by him. He dressed in crisp standing-collar shirts that he imported from Saville Row, wilting the collars at the rate of three or four a day. To see him out of his depth never happened and despite the odd situation that was unrolling in front of us at the meeting with the Americans, he never once showed his fear at the strange events that were hurling us onwards.<br><br>Not until we were outside, that is. He turned to me and with the same sharp twinkle in his eye he always has, said, <strong><em>"Miss. Rawlinson, this is a serious and unknown situation. It is also not for me. I need a younger person to go to Vientiane. While I am needed here I could go myself. This may develop into something very significant and I could justify a full-scale diplomatic trip but that would invoke all those red-tape fellows and being ushered about and speeches and of course I would learn nothing new or interesting. I wish you to go. I want you to hand-carry a diplomatic bag to our people there today. A bit beneath you, I know, but I also want you to take a look around, get the pulse. I have a person there who can put you in touch with some of those terrible Frenchies and I never mix well with them, another reason I am choosing you. You speak their lingo too, don't you? A meeting with the Laotian Foreign ministry is scheduled for tonight at eight. Find out all that you can. You will be returning on an early morning flight. Do not worry about being caught in the middle of this mess, if there is anything to it. You will be landing in Saigon well before noon."</em></strong><br><br><strong>"Yes, Sir Henry."</strong> It was the only answer one could give in such moments. <strong>"I speak some Lao as well, though not much."</strong> There was something in the ambassador's tone that I noticed. Sir Henry was afraid. Of what I was not sure. I got the feeling he thought he was facing something he had never had to deal with in his forty-one years of diplomatic service.<br><br>Ralph at Manila had been right: "The big guy got the memo." I knew it. The Americans had been given the ultimatum to leave Laos as well as the North Vietnamese. That they denied having forces in the country was laughable. Everyone was aware they had advisors and CIA out there but also that there was no serious military presence of the usual kind.<br><br>Outside the meeting a crisply dressed Australian army officer approached me, I saw the flashes of a Brigadier on his shoulder tabs. He held out a hand and smiled warmly. I took it and shook firmly. He had a grip of iron. I gently retrieved my wounded limb.<br><br><strong><em>"Morning! Miss Michelle Rawlinson? I'm Brigadier Dunstan, but please call me Donald. We have a helicopter waiting for you, if you would please come with me?"</em></strong> He phrased it as a question but his hand on my elbow steering me quickly away and his other hand taking my overnight bag made refusal redundant.<br><br><strong><em>"Do forgive me but I would recommend a change of clothes. Have you a uniform?"</em></strong><br><br>I glanced down at my smart linen suit with its tailored jacket and A-line skirt. A silk blouse and heels could not be less military.<br><br><strong>"Er, no. No I don't. Donald - please call me Michelle. And I'm a diplomat, not a soldier."</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Of course, but we don't know where this might head off to, I mean geographically. I will ask one of my female officers to co-ordinate a few things with you. Not my area of operations you understand."</em></strong><br><br>We went to a Land-Rover where the Brigadier spoke on a field telephone. Then we boarded for a fifteen-minute drive through the city.<br><br>=========================================================<br><br>ROYAL AUSTRALIAN AIR FORCE BASE, PHNOM PHET, SAIGON, 11:26am<br><br>The Land-Rover brought us to the Australian military compound where we sped across a wide concrete apron to screech to a halt beside a thundering Wessex helicopter with RAAF roundels. Waiting beside the helicopter was another army car where a female lieutenant, a warrant officer and likely no more than a desk clerk, was waiting. I alighted and she passed me a large leather suitcase.<br><br><strong><em>"Miss Rawlinson?"</em></strong> she yelled, her hand cupped to my ear against the roar of the rotors, <strong><em>"I got you some uniforms organised. I hope they fit. I had to go by Brigadier Dunstan's description!"</em></strong> Wondering about what that conversation had contained and where in heck the lieutenant had found uniforms my size in fifteen minutes, I nodded my thanks and took the bulging leather bag. An army crewman was at the helicopter door and he took my own overnight bag and the suitcase. Seconds later a black limousine rolled up and James got out. He looked a bit in awe of what was happening but gave me the diplomatic bag.<br><br><strong><em>"Here. All sealed and official. Your contact at the embassy will be a gentleman called Etienne Gervais, some French bloke. Secret services is my guess. All your papers are in here."</em></strong> He handed me a government brown envelope. Everything done by the book. <strong><em>"And this is the latest we have on file on the situation, fresh from Sydney and London. Don't open it until you're on your way."</em></strong><br><br><strong>"Sure,"</strong> I shouted, joking, <strong>"I was planning to spend an hour browsing it in the VIP lounge!"</strong> We still had to yell at the tops of our voices, the hot wet air ripe with the sweet stink of aviation fuel. It was ruining my hair.<br><br>The crewman waved me aboard, offering me a flight helmet with an attached microphone. No way in these heels could I jump up to the Wessex's deck two feet above the hardpan so with an apology the crewman grabbed me around the middle and boosted me up. I turned and Brigadier Dunstan was there again.<br><br><strong><em>"Just wanted to assure you, whatever you may hear to the contrary, the Allies have no plans or preparations whatever to invade Laos."</em></strong><br><br>I nodded and the crewman slid the door closed. I was shown to a seat which was just a sort of canvas cot with basic crash straps. I sat down and a second crew guy, grinning from ear to ear, no doubt at his interesting passenger, strapped me in.<br><br>The rotors whined like mad and with a lurch and a rush and a cataclysmic din we were up, all except my stomach which stayed in Saigon for about thirty seconds before it decided it didn't want to be left behind and with a sickening whoosh caught us up.<br><br>Next stop in ninety minutes, Vientiane.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Healergirl</strong> on <strong>27-07-2011, 03:01:44</strong>
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				Transit from Saigon to Veintiane and arrival.<br><br>Michelle Jane Rawlinson<br><br>Choppers are noisy vibrating bonewrackers.&nbsp; Nevertheless you manage to get up to speed with your briefing documents.&nbsp; You learn why the Ambassador is on edge from a handwritten not in his own hand:&nbsp; (this is a summary and not verbatim)<br><br>Nobody can quite put a finger on it, but something unusual is happening.&nbsp; The Americans, the British the French, even unofficial contacts with the Russians and Chinese, all agree that there is something in the air both figuratively and literally.&nbsp; There have been sightings.&nbsp; At first&nbsp; they were brushed off as the usual UFO folderol.&nbsp; But these, these are different.&nbsp; A "typical" UFO is a light in the sky that often is detected by radar.&nbsp; Not these.&nbsp; They are damned hard to see, in fact and radar does not register them at all.&nbsp; They seem to avoid military installations, radar sites both military and civilian in particular seem free of their presence&nbsp; But something is there.&nbsp; And not just in the air.&nbsp; The Americans are beginning work on a new detection network, SOSUS, a system of passive sonar listening devices.&nbsp; There have been hints of activity in the water of the North Atlantic.<br><br>And there is&nbsp; more. The Russian contact insists that yesterday one of their ships in the North Pacific witnessed an "engagement" between two airships - the contact was no more precise than that.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The report stresses that the Russian used the word "airship" and not "aircraft" and that the crew is being held incommunicado.<br><br>Sir Henry urges you to speak with Etienne Gervais as quickly as possibly, he has been In Laos since the previous evening and has almost certainly begun his own investigation.&nbsp; He is scheduled&nbsp; to be at the meeting with the Laotian Foreign Minister.&nbsp; But as a Field Agent, he may well have set his own priorities.&nbsp; Upon landing, the Australian consular officials inform you that Gervais is in the vicinity of Vientiane and they have a rough idea of his whereabouts.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>28-07-2011, 11:07:27</strong>
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				MICHELLE RAWLINSON - EN-ROUTE TO VIENTIANE AND ARRIVAL<br><br>Despite the uncomfortable seat, thundering racket and the fact that my stomach seemed to one minute zoom up to almost come out my mouth and the next plunge through the helicopter floor to dive far below me I managed to not be airsick. I also managed to digest the latest information the official files contained. I found that focussing on the new material took my mind off the flight.<br><br>What became clear, the details of individual sightings aside, was that something big was happening globally. While the ultimatum letter was the most obvious event so far and drew mine and Sir Henry's focus to Laos, other reports made it clear this was a world-wide phenomenon. What was even more interesting was the Soviets and the Chinese were willing to state that their military had had... <em>encounters</em> - that was the word that kept popping into my head. Normally there was no-one more tight-lipped about what their military was doing, unless it was good old Uncle Ho himself, but now the commies were sharing their news and that put these incidents onto a whole new level of importance. For the reds to admit they had a submarine in the Greenland gap meant this was big. Bigger than anything yet. Of course the reports from the communist bloc had not come out through official channels but the fact they had to have an inside source originally was the key thing. Someone high up wanted these reports leaked because... Because of what? They were afraid? They thought they were in too deep facing something unknown?<br><br>There weren't many other conclusions to be drawn; the facts of the ultimatum letters that changed text as you held them in your hand told of a technology someone was using well beyond anything NASA had developed for their Apollo program and no-one in the west seriously entertained Moscow or Peking having such know-how. The question on everyone's lips was the obvious one: If we don't have the ability to do this, <em>then who does?</em><br><br>UFOs, flying saucers, little green men... <em>Aliens</em>. Extra-terrestrial life. It seemed incomprehensible that the world's governments were discussing the possibility, yet what other options were there? None that I could see.<br><br>I pulled out the flimsy that reported the Soviet naval sighting in the Aleutians. "Airships" was the word used. I had visions of huge dirigibles, in particular the Hindenburg crashing at Lakehurst when that word was used, but something told me that people who could change words on a sheet of paper as though it had the properties of a television screen wouldn't fly in hydrogen-filled wallowing whales of the air. "Airship" had to mean something else. I thought about Roswell in which incident the US military had displayed what looked like sheets of cloth or fine plastic, definitely something more from an airship than an aircraft.<br><br>I sighed and pushed the papers back into their folders and slid the packet into my bag. Chatter from the pilot that came over my headset indicated we were coming in to land. I braced myself and wondered if my stomach would be joining me or might stay up here a while to enjoy the view.<br><br><div align="center"> ~ * * * ~ </div><br><strong><em>"Yes, this Gervais fellow is booked into the Mhonhut, ah... here."</em></strong> The clerk pressed a fingertip to the large-scale street map of Vientaine on the wall behind his desk. <strong><em>"Not a very nice hotel. Pretty average, in fact. I wouldn't want to stay there."</em></strong><br><br><strong>"That makes sense."</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Sorry?"</em></strong><br><br><strong>"Please send him a note. Hand carried, I'm not going to risk the telephone. Um, is there a public place to meet him near the Foreign Ministry? A bar?"</strong><br><br>The consular clerk was still giving me a funny look about my comment regarding his choice of hotel but nodded after a moment. <strong><em>"Sure is. A place called <em>Moulin Rouge</em>, daft name for out here if you ask me."</em></strong><br><br><strong>"That's because of the French."</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Ah, righty,"</em></strong> he admitted.<br><br><strong>"Tell this Gervais chappie that I will be sitting at a pavement table outside the Moulin Rouge at six. Feel free to give him my name and diplomatic status, I doubt there will be any other European women there so we don't need to bother with all the 'red carnation in the button hole and a copy of the <em>Times</em>' shenanigans. If he is as connected as well as I think he is, he'll know I'm here already."</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Really?"</em></strong> The clerk looked shocked, <strong><em>"You just got here."</em></strong><br><br><strong>"These Frenchmen, you know,"</strong> I winked at him, <strong>"They know their ladies. He'll know I'm here."</strong><br><br>I thanked the clerk and went back to my hotel room at the Imperial, the only decent place in the city and where all the western journalists and diplomats stayed. That fact alone made it certain a French secret agent wouldn't be there and in fact an innocuous place like the Mhonhut sounded exactly what he'd choose. Very average. Very invisible. Come and go unseen.<br><br>I bathed and changed, discovering that the suitcase the RAAF lieutenant had packed was more than sufficient. It bulged because the woman had stuffed in three of everything, my size and one above and one below. I smiled at Donald Dunstan's efficient ability to work out by eye a woman's measurements. I wasn't sure I was happy to be well away from such a person or the opposite. Everything in the bag was military but there were some low heeled soft shoes which I lacked, my high heels would possibly prove a liability sooner rather than later. There were also some lightweight canvas jungle boots, men's baggy combat fatigues and an equipment belt which was a bit over the top, I thought. Surely I wasn't expected to go out in the jungle? I hung the uniforms up and put everything away and changed into my clean suit, a lightweight summer outfit with a pencil skirt in sober grey. 'Diplomatic grey' we called it, a faceless charcoal colour. I fluffed my hair, applied perfume, slipped on the low heels and ten minutes later was sat at a shady table on the wide pavement outside what proved to be a tolerably good bar, though hardly a reflection of its Parisian namesake. Its main benefit was that it was bustling and plenty noisy which I liked. I ordered a Coca-Cola and was surprised when it arrived complete with ice cubes and a slice of lemon. Things were looking up. I checked my watch; three minutes to six.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Healergirl</strong> on <strong>28-07-2011, 19:20:09</strong>
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				<strong>Between Lang Vei and Khe Sanh:&nbsp; &nbsp;Observation post</strong><br><br>Sergeant Fields, Corporal Blacke, Agent Mackenzie<br><br>The odd patch of ground is odd indeed.&nbsp; 18 meters long, six meters wide, and compressed.&nbsp; The grass, a few saplings are crushed into the ground.&nbsp; Whatever made it doesn’t seem to have been much bigger than a large transport helicopter, but was far heavier.<br><br>A sharp whistle from the tree line is heard, two of the marines on picket duty are bracketing six civilians.&nbsp; Gren Crevacoeur in the lead, four bearers, Tex in the rear, holding his rifle over his head.&nbsp; He has one of the older M-14s, still capable of full automatic fire.&nbsp; He is the envy of every jarhead in Nam.&nbsp; Everybody knows Gren, she makes sure of that.&nbsp; Little favors for everybody, big favors for nobody, smuggler and scrounger par excellence.&nbsp; Small, no more than five-two, shockingly blonde hair in a bob, and milk-pale skin.&nbsp; Nobody knows how she manages that, she is out in the sun all the time.&nbsp; She blames her broad-rimmed hats, and lots of sunscreen.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>“Three of my favorite people.&nbsp; “Mac, Fields, Hey deadeye!” Soft Parisian accent, unflappable calm, for a woman out in the bush, drop dead gorgeous.&nbsp; She cocks her head at the bunker, her eyes flick from the odd ground to the post and back.&nbsp; “America’s best cleaning up after a night’s work?”&nbsp; She chats idly with anyone who approaches her, little bits of interesting but not vital information concering the activities of both sides in the area.&nbsp; She confirms that the Communists are scared blind and pulling back to cover Laos.<br><br>The usual small talk of Nam, really.&nbsp; She is noncommittal of what she is carrying and to whom. A brief radio check as to what to do with her, and she is released to go on her way.&nbsp; Shortly thereafter, Command directs LT Brwers to fery the team back to Khe Sanh.&nbsp; It’s a tight ft but the range is short.&nbsp; The chopper lands at Khe Sanh just before dusk.<br><br><br><br><strong>Vientiane and outskirts</strong><br><br>Gervais and Rawlinson<br><br>The capitol is crawling with troops.&nbsp; Most of the small Laotian army seems to be concentrated here, the tiny airfore complement is fueled up, armed up and ready to take off.&nbsp; The populace however, is far more relaxed. Despite the anxiety of the government, life goes on.<br><br>The meeting with the Foreign Minister is a surprisingly good dinner, but that is the best that an be said of it.&nbsp; Fortone thing, Gervais and rRwlinson do not meet with the Foreign minister, but a junior official.The man gratefully accepts Rawlinson’s assurances of Allied support, but insists that Laotian Neutrality is not necessary.&nbsp; Ssave for enlightening conversation between the French spy and the Australian diplomat, very little is learned.<br><br><br><br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Athos</strong> on <strong>29-07-2011, 03:50:57</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Agent Mackenzie – Clearing near abandoned outpost</strong><br><br><strong>"You know... it actually makes a bit more sense if it was a vehicle or something. The walls here are pretty thick, but in some places, they've been punched clean through. That kind of firepower would be best mounted on a vehicle, as far as I can tell."</strong><br><br>Once again, Mac didn’t respond. He could see the wheels turning in the one man’s head, already dismissing his own theory. This was a young man to watch, the CIA operative decided. That kind of analytical thinking was rare even for someone twice his age. There were, of course, no tread marks to be seen and Mac doubted that the holes were big enough for any kind of mounted vehicle to fire with the accuracy that was obviously used here.<br><br>After a few more moments of quiet introspection, Mac gathered up the recovered documents and secured them inside his pack. Then he tossed what was left of his cigar on the ground and grabbed his MAC-10. <br><br>“We better go see what the Sergeant’s found,” He told the Corporal before leading the way out of the bunker. <br><br>Mac found Fields a small ways away with the rest of the unit, standing in what was obviously a recently made clearing about eighteen meters long. “What the hell happened here?” The agent asked, catching the Sergeant’s gaze as he approached. “You guys land something here?”<br><br>It was a stupid question, he knew, but one he felt the need to ask any way for reasons he couldn’t even begin to understand. <br><br>A few moments later, there was a whistle followed by a familiar face. <strong>“Three of my favorite people.&nbsp; “Mac, Fields, Hey deadeye! America’s best cleaning up after a night’s work?</strong> That soft Parisian accent could have only belonged to one woman.<br><br>“Gren Crevacoeur!” Mac replied immediately, fixing the woman with his most charming smile. “Vous êtes une vue pour les yeux douloureux, Mademoiselle. Comment allez-vous?”&nbsp; <br><br>Approaching the beautiful creature, Mac spent the next few moments discussing bits and pieces of scuttlebutt with her. From which, he learned little beyond what he already knew, the NVA was pulling back to cover Laos. What did strike him as odd was that the flap on her pistol was open. He’d used her services before and never once had he seen her so prepared for immediate action. She was as quick a draw as they came and in his experience completely unflappable. <br><br>Yet something certainly had her spooked.<br><br>As she and her team walk off a few moments later, Mac notices her stop and take one last look at the ground and bunker and then at the sky before disappearing into the brush.<br><br>“Strange,” He mutters quietly to himself as he moves toward the chopper when it arrives. “Very, very strange.”<br><br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br>“Vous êtes une vue pour les yeux douloureux, Mademoiselle. Comment allez-vous?” – You’re a sight for sore eyes, Miss. How are you? <br>(Apologies to any among our group who make speak French for the obvious online translation, but I must admit I slept through most of French class as a kid.)<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CarnivalOfTheGoat</strong> on <strong>01-08-2011, 13:10:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				ETIENNE GERVAIS AND MICHELLE RAWLINSON, SETTHATHIRAT ROAD, VIENTIANE, LAOS, 1800 HOURS (T-18 HOURS)<br><br><div class="floatright">(http://webvkal.com/vkal/UpDownLoad/Upload/VTV/VN/image093.jpg)</div>Compared to its colonial heyday, Vientiane was a sorry sight.<br><br>Etienne limped very slightly as he made his way down the crowded stretch of Setthathirat Road, all too aware of the changes which had occurred within only the last decade. A few beautifully carven traditional temples languished among their new neighbors: bistros and cafes; 'restaurants' that happened to also be steam baths, massage parlors and whorehouses; and a few shamelessly undisguised opium dens. Worst of all was the traffic. Bustling would be one way to describe it. Bicycles and <em>samloys</em> -- as well as stake-bed trucks and buses filled with Royal Laotian Army soldiers -- competed for space with a nearly wall-to-wall crowd of refugees from the ongoing opium wars in the northwest and the <em>Vietminh</em> invasion of the northeast.<br><br>And among the refugees, of course, were those who preyed upon them. The street had a tension that the Canadian did not remember ever feeling before in this city, and the guards at the RLA checkpoints with their neatly-pressed uniforms and polished boots were not the tension's cause, but simply a side-effect.<br><br>In this neighborhood near the embassies, the Canadian's height, foreign appearance, and suit didn't stand out, and the slow-moving mob only provided more distraction. Nevertheless, his expression was dominated by a frown of thoughtful concern, broken only by quick, reflexive smiles as he returned the occasional bowing <em>nop</em> greeting of another pedestrian. Etienne made his way against the flow of refugee traffic until he saw the red-painted windmill sign. The small, fenced-in court fronting the <em>Moulin Rouge</em> provided a modicum of distance from the seething crowd, and fortunately, most of the drinkers and diners at the establishment were choosing to take their meals inside rather than in the cooling dusk.<br><br>Michelle Rawlinson sat at a table watching the passing throng with interest and a little concern. Even since she had arrived a few short hours ago the tension on the streets had grown in its tangible undercurrent of barely-contained fear and the volume of traffic had increased with it. She saw a grey-green suited man of indeterminate age push towards the worn stone pave outside the café. He wore spectacles that gave him the air of a professor. The Australian woman noted a slight limp, one, she thought, that spoke of an old wound long healed but which had left a weakness the walker was now long-accustomed to. Michelle sat up and lifted her glass though the greeting was unnecessary, her companion had already seen her; she had the impression he had done so from within the crowd before she had seen him.<br><br>"<em>Bonsoir</em> and <em>sabaidee</em>. Mademoiselle Rawlinson? <em>Enchanté</em>. I am Etienne Gervais and I must tell you that nothing I say here will be anything but my own thoughts. I do not and cannot set policy. Nor, I believe, can you." He did not offer his hand, but rather a curt bow, then took a seat next to her rather than across from her, which permitted them both to have a view of the milling crowd.<br><br>"Good evening, Monsieur. Yes, I'm Michelle Rawlinson. I'm rather pleased to meet you. This place is a lot more... what's the word…? Different to Saigon." Michelle was a little surprised at the lack of a formal greeting but did not let it show. Out here, on the fringes – to her – of the far reach of western politics she assumed people acted with more circumspection out of necessary habit. "I was told you were French but I detect a hint of <em>Québécois</em> in your accent. If you're a Canadian then we are closer allies than I'd hoped."<br><br>Etienne flagged down a harried looking waiter in a white apron and ordered coffee. "Indeed I am Mademoiselle, although I serve France now. You will pardon my abruptness and informality, but I believe that we all have very little time. I do not know whether you are here formally or informally, but you must understand what you are getting into, and then I should advise you to get out of it as quickly as you possibly can. I have yet to present my findings to my Ambassador, but I feel obligated to tell you..." He scowled, "And hopefully through you, others with some degree of authority, that Laotian neutrality is about to end, and with it, I believe, Laos."<br><br>Michelle did not answer but nodded and sipped her drink. The guy's panicking, surely? It can't be that bad.<br><br>"You are familiar with the ultimatum papers, yes? Their..." He paused, frowning. "The updates? To be utterly blunt, I do not believe anyone truly understands what they are. Everyone wishes to believe that they are a trick of some known enemy. The Russians and Vietnamese would like to believe that it is the Americans, and the Americans, of course, believe it is the Russians. As of this morning, I have become quite convinced that we have not met the people who wrote them."<br><br>"And I am convinced, Monsieur Gervais, from what I have seen, that neither the Americans, the Soviets, or the Chinese are responsible~" Michelle was about to suggest her theory when her companion continued. He had an air about him of some urgency even though his voice and mannerisms did not project as much. Yet there was, in his continued monologue, that air of 'don't interrupt. This is more important than you know.'<br><br>Etienne gestured indirectly at the crowd as his coffee arrived. "On any other day, I would be concerned about meeting a woman such as yourself in a place like this. One can be assured that there is French-Corsican money here, and they are thugs, Mademoiselle. But today they have other concerns. Most of these people," He nodded again at the crowd, "...Are fleeing Veng Pao in the Northwest, or General Ouane's men in the North."<br><br>"No-one at the Palace will say anything about it yet, but Ouane has gone quite off his leash. He has blocked Moung Mounge with his troops and taken over the majority of the opium trade from the Burmese and the Corsicans. Razed many villages doing it, and the survivors are here, or on their way. Many of the others here are fleeing the <em>Vietminh</em>, of course." Etienne studied the crowd a moment. "Hardly any of these people have what one could call verifiable identification. Many have nothing more than the clothing on their backs. No doubt there are <em>Pathet Lao</em> and <em>Vietminh</em>, <em>agents provocateurs</em> and <em>saboteurs</em> among them, but I truly could care less if they overhear what I have to say. I shall be quite surprised if, by this time tomorrow, they aren't all fleeing from here, and from someone even newer to this theatre."<br><br>Michelle took another sip of her drink. <em>For someone with important things to say, you sure beats about the bush. Does anyone care anymore about Laos' internal problems? They won't by this time tomorrow.</em><br><br>"I am about to place my reputation as a reliable observer in a great deal of jeopardy, Mademoiselle. An enemy force has recently been scouting Laos...And I do mean Laos. As best I can tell, all of it. They have been paying special attention in the last month to bridges, road junctions, river crossings, tunnels...Not a few of them, not 'here and there', nor on a specified front bordering another nation, but <em>all</em> of them. As I would judge from personal experience, this is the type of scouting one does just before one invades a country. But they are not scouting a single beach-head, there is no focus. Tying in rather unpleasantly with the ultimatum, I believe that Laos <em>is</em> the beachhead. And I am aware of no armed force or combination of armed forces in this theatre, at this time, capable of hitting all those places at once. I do not believe the American forces could do it with their current assets, not if they had the <em>Vietminh</em>, the Chinese, and the <em>Pathet Lao</em> all helping them at once."<br><br>"<em>Naturellement</em>, you are wondering exactly what my superiors will be wondering when I present them with this information. 'Are you mad, Monsieur Gervais? Who do you seriously believe could possibly do such an outrageous thing? From where is this ridiculously massive invasion coming?'"<br><br><em>Oh. No.</em> Michelle thought. <em>No, I don't think I'll think that. Quite the opposite.</em><br><br>"I'm going to show you something, and then I must suggest in the strongest terms that you leave and do not attend the Foreign Minister's party this evening." The Canadian chewed his lip and scowled again. "It's about sixty kilometers from here to Udorn Airbase in Thailand. The Americans are operating out of there. I'd strongly advise you to get a flight out tonight with them if you can't manage one through your own service. Then I would get away from any airbases, and if at all possible, away from Indochina."<br><br>Etienne took a photograph from the lapel-pocket of his pale grey-green coat, started to slide it across the table, then hesitated. "Because, understand me, Mademoiselle, I do not know who these...These people...Are. But I can tell you three important things about them."<br><br>He turned the photograph over. The image was in colour, but taken at night and washed out under the light of a full moon. Clearly taken from long range, it showed a tiny clearing with an immense, blocky vehicle that looked more like an armored personnel carrier than an aircraft -- but which must be an aircraft, because the massive trees surrounding it would be impenetrable even to a tank. As to the crew or passengers who had disembarked from the aircraft...<br><br>"I would ask you to note, Mademoiselle, for both my sanity and quite possibly for the sake of our nations and even our race...<br><br>"They are not little...<br><br>"They are not green...<br><br>"And," He tapped lightly at the photograph in several places, "They cannot possibly be men."<br><br>Etienne's fingertip rested next to one figure which quite clearly had six limbs.<br><br>Michelle lifted the photograph and studied it more closely. There was the possibility it had been manipulated and she at once thought that a half-credible Hollywood backstage could easily produce both the vehicle and the rubber costumes, yet from what she had learned of her companion's credentials from the consular staff's communications with Sydney and from thence to London and MI5, she was pretty sure this French-Canadian agent would not countenance being taken in by a plywood mock-up tractor and a few rubber monster suits, regardless of the poor quality of the image. The simple gravity of his words convinced her, to think otherwise would include him in whatever cover-up or smokescreen whoever it was, was putting down to cover something else.<br><br>While the man had merely spoken words and shown one dubious photograph, Michelle forced out of her mind the word 'hoax'. Too many high level people were struggling to see through a smokescreen of their own political blinkers. Both sides understandably, were suspecting the other; west and east, democracies and communists, free and politically enslaved. Michelle, over the last few hours, had come to her own conclusion and while the phrase 'little green men' had indeed more than once entered her head, as had the recollection of Orson Welles' infamous dramatised radio broadcast of H.G.Wells' "War of the Worlds" which paralysed huge areas of the eastern United States in mindless panic some years ago, she had been wondering, Why Laos? and Why now?<br><br>"Thank you for being so frank with me, Monsieur Gervais. I have an Australian army flight back to Saigon arranged through our consulate here tomorrow morning. I shall be away well before this deadline expires though I am a little surprised at your concern. If I were not wearing a skirt I am not so sure you would say the same thing and I need to be blunt in turn and ask you not to patronize me because of my gender." Michele paused to give a careful nod as though phrasing it as a polite request rather than a demand. It would not do to start off working with this person on the wrong foot and acting defensive, but on the other hand it was important that he be aware she was no dumb blonde.<br><br>"Let me assure you that I am quite capable of looking after myself and our consulate is but a wireless link away from considerable military force, both in-theatre and in the Northern Territories. I don't fear for my own safety in the least. Besides, who said your 'not little, not green and not men' were in any way hostile? There have been no incidents of violence reported yet."<br><br>Putting her drink aside and briefly casting her eyes about to check if anyone around them was trying to eavesdrop and being satisfied that none were, Michelle slid the photograph back to Gervais and from her handbag withdrew the manila folder of papers she had perused on the flight from Saigon.<br><br>"My turn," she said with a small smile. "It's interesting that you say the whole of Laos is being scouted but what would you say if I said the whole planet is being observed? It is, I am quite sure, since here… here… and, uh… here-" She pulled flimsies from her file and handed them across one at a time, securing each one back before presenting a fresh document and making each in turn disappear back into her bag. "-you can see intelligence reports of military contact with unknown aircraft or airships – like your armoured personnel carrier in the jungle perhaps – in the Aleutian Islands, in the Greenland Gap and over the Guyuan Highlands, two hundred miles north of Peking. We have been collecting a mass of data, the most surprising thing is that some of it has come from behind the Iron Curtain and from Peking – not official of course, no, but someone high up over there has deliberately leaked these reports which alone speaks more than anything of how urgent they are. At Guyuan a military radar installation did not detect the flying craft even though it was visible to a pair of MiG jet fighters scrambled to intercept. So, radar-invisible it seems. I doubt Moscow has that technology, nor NASA."<br><br>"China, Finland, the North Atlantic, the North Pacific, Indochina. It's global, Monsieur Gervais, but the main focus is here. Laos." Michelle tapped the table. "The question I am asking is 'why'? Why Laos? I have a theory and its because of the political tensions and mistrust between east and west that are focused on Indochina right now. If you wanted to invade an enemy country and you needed to go in with scouts undercover, where would you go? Somewhere that is politically stable, quiet and peaceful? No, in such a place you'd be seen easily. I'd go in at a place where there was a good deal of political unrest, perhaps hostility towards a neighbouring state. Because that way you get extra cover. Your movements, even if some are identified, will be difficult to identify as enemy since the nation you are scouting would suspect it's more obvious opponents. So… If you are from outer space and you want to scout out a whole planet, where do you land first? In a place where both sides – or several sides are in opposition, where the fighting is confused and uncertain and where there is good concealing terrain. If I was a space alien, Monsieur Gervais, Laos would be a damn good place to land because the response from the locals will be limited, confused or misdirected onto their own enemies…"<br><br>Michelle had just finished making her point when her words were drowned out by the roar of an aircraft. Low overhead, its undercarriage tucking up beneath it from take-off, a huge four-engined transport plane bearing Laotian airforce markings clawed its way up into the sky.<br><br>Etienne tucked the photograph away carefully, then flicked through the proferred papers with a thorough eye, sometimes going back a page or two to assure himself of his reading in relation to previous data. He passed the final paper back with a lingering glance, and nodded slowly. "I agree with your assessment Mademoiselle. It is a nation in a great deal of confusion, and while many forces are arrayed here, none trust each other and all are weakened. But I will counsel you with your own words. 'No incidents of violence have been reported yet.' Nor, I think, would they be. In this war, entire units of troops vanish. In this nation, men vanish. If their neighbors do not know their whereabouts, the jungle simply eats them, and even bones do not last long in its clutches. Here in this very city, men and women vanish without trace. If I were to present a general with the list of locations that have been scouted in Laos, I am convinced he would see it as <em>reconnaissance </em>imminently preceding an invasion. It is not a few sightings, Mademoiselle. It is hundreds. At every strategic point that can be used to interdict ground-based transport." He shakes his head. "If one were to scout a potentially hostile nation in peacetime, one would not be doing these <em>reconnoitres</em> all at once. The air of urgency suggests last-minute verification and validation...Not unhurried intelligence gathering; not crossing off check boxes at leisure." He finishes his coffee with a frown. <br><br>"No. I believe the ultimatum is exactly what it says it is, but I do not believe compliance with it will save Laos."<br><br>ETIENNE GERVAIS AND MICHELLE RAWLINSON, LAOTIAN FOREIGN MINISTRY, VIENTIANE, LAOS, 2005 HOURS (T-16 HOURS)<br><br>They ended their discussion and drinks, and just before eight took the short walk across the crowded avenue to the Foreign Ministry. Greeted with copious polite smiles and bows, the two waited in an outer office for fifteen minutes. In the corridors outside they had seen and heard intense bustling activity. Michelle thought of the Nazis burning all their military papers in Berlin in May 1945 as the Red Army attacked; the place was in utter panic. One could feel it; smell it. Eventually a short bald round man in a worn suit who was sweating heavily and who introduced himself as Thongloun Sisoul entered and, wringing his hands nervously, smiled and conducted the two diplomats to another room where dinner was laid out. A number of other western diplomats were present and the meal was tolerably good, although marred by the obvious unease of the host. Sisoul was the Assistant Under Minister for Foreign Affairs, which placed him three or four rungs from the top – a minor post, someone at about Michelle's level. After several polite and gradually less polite pressed questions from the westerners around the table, Sisoul grinned helplessly and admitted that the Foreign Minister, the Prime Minister and indeed all of the senior government officials had departed Vientiane over an hour earlier in a transport plane.<br><br>Michelle looked coolly at Monsieur Gervais. "That explains the panic then. The rats are leaving the sinking ship."<br><br>As the dinner grew longer Etienne had begun to look more and more dour, occasionally deflecting other diplomats' questions about his own experience in Indochina as a representative of France, but at Michelle's comment he only slightly shook his head. "Abandonment is an all-too-common issue in this land. It is too rapidly becoming a shameful tradition. I will say, Mademoiselle...I would find it difficult to be any <em>less</em> surprised at <em>this</em> event."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Healergirl</strong> on <strong>03-08-2011, 01:14:20</strong>
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				(GM's note:&nbsp; Carni, Haibane, I'm sending a tidbit of info your way.&nbsp; The rest of you are relaxing at Khe Sanh up to this point, but now everybody knows the fecal matter is heading towards the fan.)<br><br>&nbsp;T - 15 hours.&nbsp; A recorded conversation at an undisclosed location.<br><br>“I thought we couldn’t see the drive flares, as you call them.”<br><br>“We couldn’t easily, nearly all the emission was in the infra-red which we have only quite recently begun paying observational attention to. We believe that they were operating under blackout conditions to get as close as possible and seem incapable of true invisibility but,“&nbsp; A pause.&nbsp; “Have you read Kelly Johnson’s recent report?“<br><br><br><br>“I have. This Stealth technology he refers to?“<br><br>“Yes. We have sent the most powerful radar pulses that we possibly can at the formation, and have gotten no signal back at all.&nbsp; But the energy emitted by their engines and power plants, that’s something&nbsp; they can do little about except to use as little power as possible and ensure that the emission is in wavelengths we do not monitor as a rule. <br>&nbsp;<br>“So what changed?”<br><br>There is a lengthy pause.<br><br>“Speaking as a former naval aviator and current astronomer…..My professional opinion is that they have now gone to full military power.&nbsp; They have initiated combat maneuvers.”<br><br>“Jesus Christ!&nbsp; Are they shooting at us now?”<br><br>“We know they shot at somebody.&nbsp; The engagement over the North Pacific ended with the destruction of one vehicle and the bat-out-of-hell retreat of the other.&nbsp; We had no trouble tracking it, the victor was boosting at 5 Gs and is still boosting at 2.”<br><br>“I assume that's a lot.”<br><br>“Yes.&nbsp; As soon as the formation detected the firing, the lead vehicle launched at least twelve missiles at the victor of the fight.&nbsp; Those have all ceased boosting.&nbsp; Well, we can’t see their dive flares anymore.&nbsp; We assume the target took them out, it seemed to be deploying countermeasures as it ran.”<br><br>“The lead vehicle.&nbsp; Why not the entire formation?”<br><br>“We don’t know.&nbsp; When they get here I might ask them.”<br><br>“That’s not funny, Admiral“<br><br>“I’m not laughing, Mr. President.&nbsp; They are maneuvering quite dramatically now.&nbsp; However, they will still arrive at the original time.&nbsp; They seem to be engaging in evasive action.”<br><br>“It strikes me that whoever they are shooting at is somebody whose reaction to what they are about to do is a matter of concern to them.”<br><br>“That would explain why they broke concealment. This second faction could be allies, or at least well-disposed to us, sir.”<br><br>“Maybe.&nbsp; Or maybe they just want to call dibs.”<br><br>There is a rustling of papers.<br><br>“Send the Telex.”<br><br>Another voice responds. “Yes, Mr. President.”<br><br><br>The telex was sent at T-14 hours, 55 minutes.<br><br>Blocky, angular text, unimpeachable authentication codes, the recipients were quite literally, everybody in&nbsp; the world whose military and political authority mattered. Many who received the Highest Priority message doubted the sanity of the authors.&nbsp; None doubted their sincerity.<br><br>THIS IS A WAR WARNING. POTUS HAS DIRECTED ALL US MILITARY FORCES WORLDWIDE TO ASSUME DEFENSE CONDITION TWO.&nbsp; ATTACK&nbsp; AGAINST TERRESTRIAL TARGETS IS IMMINENT.&nbsp; PRECISE LOCATION AND NATURE OF TARGETS ARE UNKNOWN.&nbsp; HOSTILE AGENT EXECUTING THE ATTACK IS UNKNOWN.&nbsp; CAPABILITIES OF ATTACKING FORCE ARE UNKNOWN. SIZE OF ATTACKING FORCE IS UNKNOWN.&nbsp; METHOD OF ATTACK IS EXPECTED TO BE VERTICAL INSERTION OF FORCES INTO TARGET AREA WITH&nbsp; NO OVERLAND OR AIRSPACE TRANSIT.&nbsp; ORIGIN OF ATTACKING FORCE IS UNCLEAR BUT IS KNOWN TO BE EXTRATERRESTRIAL IN ORIGIN, POSSIBLY EXTRASOLAR IN ORIGIN.&nbsp; THIS IS NOT A DRILL THIS IS A WAR WARNING.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>kobrakid92</strong> on <strong>03-08-2011, 08:25:55</strong>
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				Sergeant Fields - Odd patch of ground near the bunker.<br><br>Fields ordered his men to halt and regroup about halfway through the clearing. Once they were rallied to him he squatted down and observed the ground. Something was very out of place as the twigs and grass just dissolved when disturbed. "This is some of the oddest shit I've ever seen. What do you boys think of this?" he asked turning to his fire teams. He sighed seeing that none of them had an answer for the oddity that was before them. Sergeant Fields jumped to his feet with his m16 aimed towards the noise. Seeing their commander jump the other four fire teams followed suit. "Stand down men. It's just friendlies." he said seeing Gren Crevacoeur leading the group and Tex in the ear. "Well Gren it's nice to see you decided to join this mess on this fine day." he said with mock humor.<br><br>Seeing that this odd patch of ground showed the same results as where they were standing Fields ordered his fire teams' back to the bunker. "Something isn't right here. Grass doesn't just dissolve when touched. Has anyone heard anything from command about this?" he asked turning towards Mac and Deadeye. This day just seemed to keep getting stranger and from the looks of it things would only get worse.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Athos</strong> on <strong>06-08-2011, 06:39:46</strong>
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				<strong>Agent Samuel Mackenzie, CIA operative – Khe Sanh Combat Base - T – 13 hours 30 minutes</strong><br><br><strong>"Something isn't right here. Grass doesn't just dissolve when touched. Has anyone heard anything from command about this?"</strong> The Sergeant’s words continued to bother Agent Mackenzie all the way back to Khe Sanh. He hadn’t heard a damned thing by that point, and he had told Fields as much. <br><br>The chopper ride had been almost anticlimactic, given the tension that had filled the air. <br><br>He now stood in Khe Sanh’s command post, leaning over a table with a confused expression on his face. In front of him sat stacks upon stacks of papers. He’d pulled everything he could, aerial surveys, reconnaissance reports,&nbsp; after action reports, geological surveys, just about anything he could think of that might offer him a clue as to what was going on. <br><br>Following the Telex notification, the military had gone into overdrive. Everybody, everywhere was mobilizing. Then, all of a sudden, seemingly out of the blue, Charlie had gone apeshit. Reports littered the table detailing attacks on allied targets all over the country. U.S., South Vietnamese, Australian, just about anybody who had a presence was taking fire. <br><br>Since then, he’d been doing his best to keep the intelligence flowing and offering what he could in the way of insight to the brass, but in truth there was little he could do. <br><br>The attacks were mystifying. <br><br>&nbsp;“The sheer scope of it,” He answered gruffly, speaking into the receiver of his radio when the voice on the other had had finished speaking. “They must have been planning this for months, years even.” <br><br>“Maybe,” Replied Scott Mayhew, Mac’s CIA contact in Saigon. “But how do you explain the sloppiness of it all? I mean I know we’re not dealing with rocket scientists here, but I’d have thought Charlie could have done a better job of it.”<br><br>Mac thought for a moment, before speaking again. “Maybe this wasn’t meant to happen now, maybe something pushed them to attack before they were ready. Properly executed, an attack like this could have be crippling to our forces.”<br><br>“Why attack now then?”<br><br>“Good question, too bad I haven’t any idea.”<br><br>“Fuck me,” Mayhew declared. “I’ve got the boys mounting up. They’ve got us shipping off somewhere, can’t say where though. They given you any orders yet?”<br><br>“Just to keep the flow of information going,” Mac replied, reaching down to pat the .45 calibre pistol holstered on his hip, looking for a sense of reassurance that just couldn’t come. “I gotta tell you, I don’t like this. Not one bit.”<br><br>“Me either, Sam. Me either.” Things had to be bad if Scott was calling him Sam. Nobody did that. Ever. But what was worse, Mac didn’t even notice.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>kobrakid92</strong> on <strong>08-08-2011, 06:21:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Sergeant Fields - Khe Sanh Combat Base T-13 hours 30 minutes</strong><br><br>Finally arriving back at Khe Sanh brought some ease to Fields and his men. Fields had heard talk of an imminent attack and passed the word onto his men. Khe Sanh and the surrounding area seemed oddly quiet that night. To help pass the time Fields and his men exchanged "quiet" jokes. Wanting to get some air, Fields stepped outside and looked towards the horizon. He turns to watch a C130 take off, wishing that his men and him were on board one finally going home. Watching it take off into the horizon a odd speck of light catches his attention. He watches the lights for a few minutes thinking they were lights off the C130's wings but realized by that time the airship was long out of sight.<br><br>Fields then walked back inside and grabbed a pair of binoculars and looked towards the light. After watching the lights for a few more minutes he goes back inside and orders one of his radiomen to get in contact with command. "There's something odd on the horizon. Inform command while I keep watch. Everyone else on your feet. Something's going on around here I think we're going to get hit." After giving the orders Fields walked back outside and resumed his watch on the lights while his men got their equipment ready. Over the next two hours fields could swear that the lights had broken off into smaller lights. "I don't like this. I don't like it at all."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>08-08-2011, 10:08:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				MICHELLE RAWLINSON AND ETIENNE GERVAIS, AUSTRALIAN CONSULATE, VIENTIANE, LAOS, 10:40pm<br><br>I was furious with the Laotian ministry, not just because like cowards they had run away but while doing so had wasted two hours of my valuable time hiding behind that ridiculous smiling man. Asian politeness was no strange animal to me; I'd encountered both its good and bad sides before. The smiling, bowing "Yes, no problem" from the local suppliers meant "Yes, this is a problem, we will have trouble getting that office furniture here in such a short time". I had come to understand the way things were done in south-east Asia by now but deliberately covering up like that was beyond any excuse. Inside I fumed. Outwardly I tried to keep calm.<br><br>Monsieur Gervais and I left the Laotian ministry at ten. I glanced at my watch.<br><br><strong>"I need to send a telex to Saigon. Monsieur, would you be so kind? Might I borrow that photograph of yours one more time?"</strong><br><br>We walked the couple of hundred yards through the crowds which evening and early night had done little to lessen. If anything there seemed to be even more of an edge to the mood of the city now. The consulate building in Laos was smaller and less well guarded than the embassy in Saigon. No soldiers outside on guard, only an official on the gate who recognized me and asked my companion to sign in the book and for me to countersign him in. If things got difficult here in Vientiane there was little to protect the diplomatic staff. The sooner I was out of here the better though I planned to sit tight until my flight tomorrow, Sir Henry would need me to continue reporting back.<br><br>The consul's office was closed and dark. It was amazing that even in these circumstances routine went on as usual with the senior staff going back to their hotel rooms. In the lobby just a couple of security staff sat at the main desk and in an inner office a couple of clerical staff were reading magazines, drinking coffee and watching the phones. I nodded a silent greeting to them and went through to the consul's secretaries office. The row of amber lights atop the telex machine winked at me as I went around the desk and switched the reading lamp on.<br><br>Using the typewriter I wrote up a brief summary report of my meeting with Gervais and the Laotians, including all the information the Canadian had given me. Part way through there was a knock on the door and a young man poked his head round.<br><br><strong><em>"Miss Rawlinson? The consul asked me to give you this. Telex direct from Sydney. Came in about an hour ago."</em></strong><br><br>I took the flimsy and read it quickly. <em>My God.</em> I silently passed it to Gervais and continued typing, ripping the sheet from the roller and moving to the tele-fax machine. The thing had one of the new picture scanners and I loaded the typed report in then slid the photograph of the vehicle and the six-limbed figures into the drum and typed in the Saigon number. I paused, then on a sudden urge I typed in a second number I had been given two years before during the 'flap' in Manila. It was a number to an office in London, England and would deposit the telex and image to the desk of the assistant director of MI5, the British secret service. I was about to send the report when Gervais leaned across and wrote two more numbers on a memo pad beside me. I recognised the international dial codes for Canada and France. Nodding silently to him I put those numbers into the machine as well. I hit the 'send' button and the image scanning drum began to whirr.<br><br>I looked up at Gervais. <strong>"World war Three could be going to start in under fourteen hours. I am not going back to my hotel. I'll send a clerk over to get my things. I plan to try and get a couple of hours nap here and stay around in case the phones ring. The couch in the outer office looks quite comfortable and there's a better one in the consul's reception room if you want to stay. The clerks can get you a coffee if you prefer to keep awake. I'm afraid though if things get awkward the security here is not that good. I know there is a limousine and a Land-Rover in the motor pool out the back so if you wanted to get anywhere I'm sure I can beg the keys for you, but I'm staying put."</strong><br><br>I knew there was a gun cabinet in the office next door as well. If things got hairy here I might even need to scrounge the keys for that. I'd done some hours on the shooting range in Manila and had also done some more unofficial practice at the Australian compound in Saigon a couple of months ago so if the crowds got too aggressive I knew I could defend myself.<br><br>I shook my head. <em>Don't be daft. The army will be here in the morning with my flight back to Saigon.</em><br><br>When I had finished sending my report I used the machine a second time to run an internal scan of the photograph. I then paper clipped this to my original report, sealed it into a diplomatic pouch and picked up the phone. A clerk in the typing pool answered.<br><br><strong>"I need to send a bag internally and urgently to the Consul. He'll be at his hotel at this time of night. Please arrange to have someone carry it over right away. And don't leave it for the morning, wake the consul up if he's asleep. This is urgent."</strong> I replaced the receiver and a few minutes later the same young man who had brought me the telex was back at the door. I confirmed with him the official pouch was correctly sealed and he went out.<br><br><strong>"Let's see if the Consul here, George Mallandek, has any ideas."</strong><br><br>Somehow, I doubted it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CarnivalOfTheGoat</strong> on <strong>16-08-2011, 03:11:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Etienne is scowling openly by the time the affair at the Ministry is done with, and under any other circumstances he might advisably be taken aside and told to curtail his abruptness. Instead, he almost seems to be trying to goad one of the younger aids into an admission when Sisoul himself finally cracks and allows that practically the entire cabinet has left the country. Once that moment has passed, Etienne takes on the aspect of a thundercloud at Michelle's shoulder.<br><br>Not a block from the embassy, he engages in rapidfire Hmong with a young man who approaches him out of the flood of refugees still swarming the street. The exchange is terse and veiled in Hmong metaphor, but the content is clear: all Hell is being let loose, and soon. With only the most perfunctory bowing <em>nop</em> Gervais dismisses him back into the river of fleeing folk.<br><br>"I don't know how good your Hmong is, Mademoiselle Rawlinson, but that was exactly what it sounded like even if it wasn't exactly said aloud." Etienne's visage is clouded with outrage. "Rumours of sabotage and all-out attack. The <em>Viet Minh</em> are panicking as well." He keeps his voice just low enough to carry to the woman walking beside him, his tall frame and demeanour cutting an easy path through the unusual late-night crowd. "And at the Chinese <em>communards</em>, of course, because no-one will dare to say what truly frightens them. Fear...Fear is one of the most effective weapons there is - recent atomic advances aside - and I am willing to believe that men who refuse to even name their enemy aloud are already all but defeated." He stalks with her through the crowd to the Consulate, frowning at the lack of guards at the gate with the panic to come. Haven't these people seen a city come apart before? Perhaps they have not.<br><br>Past the gate, where he tersely advises the official that "This crowd will only become worse. You should think about adopting a more defensible stance." Gervais almost reflexively adopts a troubled air of 'I belong here.' It's precisely the air of authority and unfocused anger to suggest that he should be exactly where he is and that anyone questioning him without good reason might become the focus of both authority and anger. If he had a file folder or portfolio under one arm he could probably go almost anywhere unchallenged. As fortunately, he has Mme. Rawlinson present for credibility, so it does not become an issue.<br><br>He visually catalogs the Consulate's late-night activity but keeps out of Michelle's way, only intruding on her activities to the extent of placing the photograph with a crisp snap down on the desktop beside her as she begins typing. <br><br>The telex receives a heartfelt <em>"Nom de Dieu et tous ses démons."</em> before Gervais places it down on the desk again, neatly aligned near the photograph as if by some tidy, orderly reflex.<br><br>What he does do, however, is to pick up a pen and neatly write on the pad next to the Michelle's typewriter. Two telephone numbers, a Canadian national prefix and a French one. "If you would be so kind, Mademoiselle."<br><br>Etienne watches with somewhat worried curiousity as the drum-scanner goes to work. <br><br>"In under two hours, I expect we shall hear that the borders and the North have erupted. As to twelve hours later..." He sighs. "If you cannot arrange a flight out then I shall at least suggest leaving the city. It is an obvious and apparent target, non? And the embassies are centrally located and have obvious communications antennae. Neither rioters nor...outsiders, I suppose...Can be expected to hold to the terms of Geneva nor recognize neutrality." <br><br>He watches Michelle's businesslike approach to the matter. "I doubt either vehicle would be a good idea. I strongly suspect that driving out will become more difficult as the crowds react to the news. This is a place where abandonment has become the norm. When the crowd outside decides to dispense with politeness and acknowledge that it has been abandoned, an expensive or foreign vehicle in its midst will become a target."<br><br>Etienne nods. "We may hope he's still here. But..." Etienne executes the enduring Gallic shrug sincerely, "I will say that <em>my</em> government chooses such men for their ability to stall and to avoid decisive action."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Healergirl</strong> on <strong>18-08-2011, 18:36:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"> Land Grab</span></strong><br><br>I-Day<br><br><strong>Earth</strong><br><br>The approaching force is visible to the naked eye in near darkness, everyone who bothers to look up can see it.&nbsp; Those with telescopes and know where to look can see it in daylight.&nbsp; Those who greeted the US Government announcement with derision turn to panicy accusation&nbsp; Why weren’t we told earlier?&nbsp; Who would have believed us, was the logical ignored response.&nbsp; Official responses to public outcry and pleas for direction are hindered by the fact that across the globe Governments are bolting for cover.<br><br><br><strong>An undisclosed location</strong><br><br><br>“We have identified fifteen separate vehicles, Mr. President.”<br><br>“Only fifteen?&nbsp; Not much of a force to go up against an entire planet.&nbsp; How big are they?”<br><br>“That’s something we are arguing about, Sir.&nbsp; In terms of volume, about forty thousand cubic meters, that’s in the range of the smaller cruisers built in WWII.&nbsp; As to the mass, we get in the range of 3000 metric tons&nbsp; But something just doesn’t feel right, Sir.”<br><br>“Why not?”<br><br>“We have no idea what they are using to maneuver.&nbsp; Not rockets, but it doesn’t seem to be a reactionless drive they are emitting considerable amounts of ionized hydrogen, enough that we can actually get a radar return from the gas surrounding them when they change heading and velocity.”<br><br>“How many troops are aboard?”<br><br>“We can’t possibly say at this point.&nbsp; We don’t know how much fuel they need to carry, we don[t know the minimum size of their essential machinery, we don’t know their life support requirements.&nbsp; We do know that they will reach earth orbit well before the deadline set.&nbsp; The Joint Chiefs are unanimous in their opinion that the assault will commence immediately upon arrival in orbit..”<br><br>“Attacking Laos.&nbsp; Why the hell La- forget, I know, know way of knowing that.&nbsp; The report and the photo from This Frenchmen and the Australian woman speculated as to why, but nobody knows.”<br><br>“They have made some very good guesses, Mr. President.&nbsp; The photo, our analysts have been going nuts over it.&nbsp; The figures aren’t human, look almost centauroid, but some of them appears to be bipedal albeit six limbed as well.&nbsp; And the vehicle, one thing the best analysts&nbsp; agree on is that it looks more like it was sculpted than assembled.”<br><br>“Sculpted.&nbsp; Interesting choice of word.&nbsp; Alright, an update has already been sent out to identify the probable attack site as Laos, hostile operations to begin lo later than 0600 Khe Sanh time.”<br><br>“Understood Mr. President.&nbsp; Mr. President, regarding your decision to deploy-”<br><br>“Save it.&nbsp; Sorry Admiral, that was a bit harsh.&nbsp; The decision is made, the weapons are already en route to the country.&nbsp; Not counting the devices present on 7th Fleet vessels, of course.”<br><br>“Yes Mr. President.&nbsp; I wasn’t gainsaying you, sir.”<br><br>“I know. Whether or not to use them is another decision.&nbsp; It may be the last important decision I ever make as President. “&nbsp; &nbsp;A pause, then bleakly, “Hell, I may be the last American President.”<br><br><br><br><br><strong>Lang Vei, US Special Forces compound near the Laotion/South Vietnamese border</strong><br><br>The pre-dawn sky turns bright with&nbsp; vertical lines arrowing straight down to end&nbsp; in balls of fire and erupting earth.<br><br>“Jesus Christ, are those nukes?”<br><br>“No, too small, no hash on any radio frequencies, no electromagnetic effects.”<br><br>Save for these two lunatics, everybody else in in their fighting positions eating dirt.<br><br>“Those were conventional?”<br><br>“No, too big.”<br><br><br><strong>Various RA-5 Vigilante recon birds at very high altitude just barely in South Vietnamese or Thai airspace.</strong><br><br>Laos is on fire.&nbsp; Hundreds, literally hundreds of detonations across the country are recorded by the cameras and other sensor the jets carry.&nbsp; What truly horrifies the pilots is the timing.&nbsp; By all appearances, the strikes were so close to simultaneous as makes no mater.&nbsp; One moment, a sleeping landscape.&nbsp; The next, azure shafts of light in the air ending in burning pearls on the ground.<br><br><br><br><strong>Khe Sanh</strong><br><br>The sun in the east was preceded by one in the west.&nbsp; Even the Marines are shaken, despite assurances from their officers, even from radiomen that what just happened was not a nuclear strike - there seems to be absolutey no radiation detected at all, not even radio interference - something sure as hell just happened.&nbsp; Every conventional bomber in the world striking all at once might duplicate what they just saw hit Laos.&nbsp; Might.<br><br>As a result there is a considerable disruption in perimeter security that takes a while for even Marine Sergeants to rectify.<br><br><br><strong>Vientiane</strong><br><br>Nobody is sleeping in the capitol tonight.&nbsp; Firefights - a surprisingly large number of Laotian soldiers have stayed at their posts - riots, milling citizens desperate for instruction and information from somebody, anybody all clog the streets.&nbsp; Other than a few very juior officials, there is no national government presence in the capitol.<br><br>And then Hell erupts all across the land.&nbsp; There are three strikes on the airport, but otherwise Vientiane is not attacked.&nbsp; But all road junctures, rail lines and bridges just outside the city erupt in fireballs.&nbsp; There are numerous others out in the countryside.<br><br>&nbsp;<br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Individual info will be PM'd to each player very shortly. </div></div><br><br><br><br><br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Domino Theory:  An Invasion From Space  (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Athos</strong> on <strong>20-08-2011, 19:52:05</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Agent Mackenzie – Khe Sahn</strong> <br><br>Although a very real twinge of fear ran through Agent Mackenzie as he watched the bright flashes of light going off in the distance, he would not let it show. From all reports he could gather, things had just gone completely to hell. Laos was full of smoking craters. Reports coming in revealed the thoroughness of the attack. Every road, every bridge, every railway, every backwards trail through the jungle had been hit. With one simultaneous attack, just about all movement through the entire country had been halted. <br><br>Behind him he could hear the hurried voices of Khe Sahn’s command staff, desperately trying to find ways of moving troops across the border and failing. At this point, the air was the only mode of travel open to them, and that was their domain. Whoever ‘they’ are. Still, it wasn’t the military’s problems that occupied the mind of the CIA operative, but his own. His orders had come in quietly, in the form of a telex. <br><br>He was going to Vientiane, right into the heart of the attack zone, to search for a pair of lost strays. To be honest, he wasn’t quite as annoyed as he could have been about being sent on what pretty much amounted as a suicide mission. He knew next nothing about the Australian Rawlinson and honestly didn’t give much of a fuck. But Etienne Gervais, was a name that whispered to him from his own personal history. He would go where he was sent, but somehow going after a friend from the past made it a little easier to swallow.<br><br>“Captain,” Mac spoke, for the first time in an hour as he turned to regard one of the Marine company commanders huddled around a map of Laos. <br>“I’ve been ordered to commandeer a squad of Marines and a chopper for an operation.” Before the man could challenge the statement, Mac made the appropriate security codes available to the man. “I request Sergeant Fields and his men. I’ve worked with them before. Have them meet me at the helipad as soon as possible. As well I want the pilot who calls himself “Crackpot” ready to fly within the hour.”<br><br>Not in the mood for even the smallest of conversations, Mac turned and left the command area and headed back to his office. It was highly unlikely that he’d be returning from this mission and there were a few messages he wanted to make sure were sent before he died.<br>
			</dd>
		</dl>
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