Letter Bee — Roleplayer Guild

Mission Three - Assault on Jinghong Dam, Final Part (Written by QJT)

Wan Hkung - Forward Operating Base - 10/25/2022, 22:35 UTC +8

"Damn this weather!" Gen. Bautista shouted into the wind, pacing back and forth. "A kilometers-long cumulonimbus right on top of-" He activated his satellite phone. "It is confirmed, correct?"

"Affirmative," came the reply amid a wave of static. "Awaiting orders."

"Standby," Bayani grumbled. He shivered in the chill of middle autumn. His compatriot was holed up in a makeshift enclosure, into which he stormed. "Was this your people's do-?"

The admiral held up a finger as he hunched over a desk, his headphones pressed against his ears. Two underlings stood patiently by. The leftmost was equipped with his headset; that of the rightmost was undoubtedly lent to his superior. After ten seconds, he lowered his speakers. An evening of pent frustration culminated in a brisk sigh but still radiated in his visage. "Yes, Lieutenant General. From the garbled trifle, I gathered from inside the storm, either we or the enemy Arms Masters are culpable. Something about a sun-eating snake, as well." Abasolo closed his eyes for a brief pause before resuming. "We have at least five alive, and they reach the final destination in short order."

"Whatever experience you have with helicopters, Adrián, you should know-"

"That they don't mix with unstable winds?" Abasolo replied. "I'm well aware, but I can't dissipate the weather for you. I'm not God. Neither are my subordinates; I can't predict if they can reverse the tempest."

"So what's our plan of action? My choppers are presently burning fuel!"

The admiral reequipped his comms and reached out for a writing utensil and a sheet of paper. "We can't evacuate them now. Land your birds and refuel them; they'll return when the thunderstorm dissipates."

"And in the meantime, they'll be vulnerable to a counterattack. I'll need to strike up the fighters that we intended for the dam. We just handed the entire advance squadron to our adversary on a silver platter!"

Abasolo began to scribble out a paragraph. "The Chinese face the same quandary, with similar conditions. What do you suppose they can do?"

Kunming - Yunnanyi Airport - 10/25/22, 22:35 UTC +8

"A what?!" demanded Field Officer Gao in a volume that pierced the whir and stir of a typical PLAAF installment. A few airmen paused in their preparations, in case they somehow invoked their commander's ire.

"A large thundercloud above Jinghong-"

The dialogue abruptly halted, as did the lights and monitors and surrounding machinery. Not a word was spoken, and utter silence permeated the structure for the first time since its occupation. Gao's shrill cry shattered the peace: "Don't dawdle! Find the error! Get us online again!"

News returned piecemeal, cascading ever grimmer and culminating in foul realizations:
"There's a bright light on the horizon where our scout cut communications. It's our plane, or possibly theirs!"
"I checked the fuse box, sir. There's no fault on our end; it must be that the public power grid is beyond capacity."
"Overloaded at nearly twenty-three hundred? Impossible! Unless..."

The commanding officer's legs trembled. "Launch our full lineup of jets. No exception. No delay," he announced, freezing in place as his men melted into movement. He soon heard the roar of waking engines. His lips pursed in contemplation. He would send a battalion of his finest pilots into a combat zone with practically null information, about a disengaged opponent with apparent control of the weather and the ability to dismantle one of China's largest stone structures.

Only further destruction awaited him. "Damnation," he muttered. He ran out of the building onto the landing strip, forming rigid sweeping motions with his hands as a visual instruction to stand down. The sounds of dozens of planes shutting off were depressing but necessary. Gao could tear up his quarters later.

Jinghong - Mountain Ridge - 10/26/2022, 6:49 UTC +8

Is hell hot or cold? The fiery inferno of battle, the rage-filled overthrow of the prisoner of war captors, and the literal glow of stars manifested on Earth was certainly no enviable prize. And yet, how does that compare to spending life atop a wet, muddy hill, weathering the bitter Fall night drenched in rain, huddling together in the vain quest for warmth? This was the fate of those who ventured to the evacuation point: an outcome luckier than the sorry PRC grunts who perished in the valley.

The singular beacon of hope was broadcast on every frequency, alternating in English and Mandarin, faint through the humidity but gradually louder. The ASEAN soldiers recognized the firm, stalwart baritone of Rear Admiral Adrián Abasolo. It became raspy as midnight approached, to be replaced by the calm, reassuring soprano of his aide Jasmine. As hers faded even as the signal grew in strength, yet another voice would come to her relief. After several hours of unmitigated announcement, a handful of sentences repeated continuously:

"This is the Joint ASEAN Command. We currently assemble a rescue operation for occupants along the Lancang River, both soldiers and civilians. It will arrive after the thunderstorm. Head for flat surfaces of high elevation. If you have remaining stamina, guide others to these zones, as many as possible. Otherwise, if you require assistance, hold tight. Help is on the way. This province's former administrators valued this area as an energy source and a hostage encampment. Those facilities were removed, and they abandoned the residents therein. We will show no such apathy. You will receive mercy without discrimination, no matter your prior allegiances. Upon their arrival, assist the operators as they transport you and your friends to safety. You will survive this torrent."

Between the ceiling made by the cumulonimbus's fluffy mist and the verdant hills of southern Yunnan Province, the familiar rays of the Sun heralded the triumph of dawn. The thunderstorm recoiled from the spectacle and drizzled no more. The wisps of its tops were chopped and dispelled by a dozen copters, bearing a vibrant display of flags: Indonesian, Royal Thai, Philippine, Malaysian. They descended to their target areas as all manner of folk piled in, aided by friend and foe alike. They left on wings of steel, with nary a shot fired...

Mission Three has Ended

Intermission Three - All Saints' Day in Mischief Reef (Written by Me)

Mischief Reef/Đá Vành Khăn/Panganiban Reef - 11/01/07:50 UTC+8

Sun. Beautiful sun. Not the kind that exists to cause you pain, not a green-colored abomination, but good old Sol. A most welcome sight. The Obsidian Task Force and related personnel lined across the warm sand. They'd been informed of some type of rest, benevolently provided for by the Qing Restoration Society.

A tall bearded man unfurled a luminous banner as he inspected each individual on the line, his chin raised aloft. Finding the assortment sufficient, he planted his Noble Arm in the ground. "Greetings. You have entered the dominion of the True China, under the watchful protection of the Qing Zodiac. I am Master Ren Zhao; address me by my title as you refer to me." He puffed out his chest. "We hereby grant you the privilege of using the amenities here. You will respect the authorities on this island. That acknowledged you are free to go take your... vacation from the horrors of war."

Once they were free to roam the beaches and facilities of Mischief Reef - Within reason - Noel approached Nico, waving so that he could ask, "Volunteer Nico Makri, right? You were awesome back then; I presume you're all right now? No lingering magic cancer?"

Then suddenly concerned that he was losing the thread of the conversation, Noel followed up with, "So, umm... Do you want to go to what was once the Offciers' Cafeteria for some seafood? Even with the supplies we handed out, that is still most of what the QRS has to offer - But don't worry, Myron teleported in some dessert."

And by that, he asked Myron to do a favor for him by porting in some fresh Bibingka and Halo-Halo and reserve a table for them.

Now to drop the bombshell, "But... Uh... Would you be fine if it's just the two of us?"

Hopefully Nico does not get offended, or disgusted, were Noel's panicked thoughts after that.

@Lewascan2@Gerlando@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Digmata@Chiro@Deide@Creative Chaos

Satoshi Shimura

He had arrived too late. This terrorist attack on the Hidden Leaf Village had succeeded, and Satoshi knew now that Suna was innocent of the atrocity that just happened. But how can he convince people of that without revealing too much about his secret technique?

No, enough of this; people were dying and he needed to help. So Satoshi joined the efforts to save civilians from the collapsed buildings, the rampant fires, and the sand scattered by the explosions, hoping against hope to save just one life.

For that was the truth; he did not want the horrors of war to return to the people of Konoha. War would never go away, like disease, but it can be treated, mitigated, and sometimes cured. War was a sickness that needed to be kept under maximum control, lest it consume all in its wake - And woe be it to those who are trying to start it deliberately...

Uzumaki Ren

"Mu!" Uzumaki Ren shouted before instinctively throwing himself in front of the other boy and making some quick hand signs.

The wind swirled around them; a protective technique that blew away some of the dust, but not enough. It was Ren's forehead protector that saved him from a small bit of falling rubble, reducing a blow that would otherwise have concussed him. Nevertheless, he was buried with the other boy and needed rescue.

Tch! he thought, Why would those pricks from Suna do this?! Are they that suicidal themselves?!

Satoshi Shimura

By sheer coincidence, Satoshi had teleported to the Ramen store; Ichigo's, right? Either way, he'd begin digging the inhabitants out of the rubble; would Kasumi notice him?

@anothered@Lewascan2

Letter Bee Member

Filipino RPer

Status

Recent Statuses

Bio

Most Recent Posts