Post by MINI EVENT on Mar 9, 2017 20:07:59 GMT
Plumes of thick smoke rolled up into the inky midnight sky, blotting out the stars. The air itself was oppressive, as survivors' lungs wretched around poisonous fumes. Every cry and shriek was muffled as eyes teared long before they pierced the darkness. Whatever the island nation had been before, it was little more than a black smear on the horizon now.
"How... how bad is it?" The President of Liberterram breathed softly, anguish in his eyes. He didn't have the heart to keep flicking through the stills displayed on his tablet. Setting it aside, the display hung on a single image of a house with scorched powder blue siding. Half of it was blasted to oblivion and spread so far that it went beyond the scope of the camera. The other half was collapsed around itself and between two slabs of home was a single, scuffed pink shoe, too small to belong to any adult.
"There isn't a lot of clear information available, but early numbers aren't promising, sir. Bombed districts are reporting a mortality rate of roughly fifty-percent. Thirty percent of survivors are in critical condition, with eighty percent suffering injuries." Even the decorated war hero had difficulty finding her words in the wake of the attack.
The President leaned back into his chair, his eyes tracking back to the photograph on the tablet until his gaze became unfocused.
"Sir?" The General asked for the second time.
"I want you and your men to find out where they're most likely to attack again and draft every defense you can. Get every deterrent force we have and put them on the board." The General nodded ever-so-slightly before the President continued. "And I want to figure out how the hell those planes got past our radar and our early detection systems. If we can't figure it out, find me someone who can." The President commanded with authority and resolve, the uncertainty and devastation momentarily retired from his voice.
"Yes, sir." The General stood to attention and dismissed herself from the room, leaving the President to turn to his other advisors.
"Draft up foreign press announcements petitioning for aid. Place an emphasis on medical supplies, clean water and food. We'll take whatever temporary shelters they can provide but the other three are priority." The President commanded, earning a quick, uncomfortable look between a balding middle aged man and a mousy woman in a pair of frameless glasses.
"Something the matter?" He asked, voice expecting an answer.
"The bombings targeted key junctions in our infrastructure. Getting out anything other than short range signals will be difficult..." The balding man replied, earning a cool look from the President.
"Do whatever it takes to get word out. Tape some rabbit ears to a balloon if you have to, I don't care. And while you're at it, get me Rogers." Staring the pair down, the President watched them transform from shocked civilians to capable advisors as the two stood and went to do as they were ordered, leaving the President to address a different advisor.
"Send word to our police force; disaster relief is going to be their concern for the next however-long-it-takes. I don't care about looters, I don't care about vandals. As long as no one is being held at gunpoint, their job is pulling people from the rubble, do you understand? Anyone that has any kind of medical training is being drafted."
"How... how bad is it?" The President of Liberterram breathed softly, anguish in his eyes. He didn't have the heart to keep flicking through the stills displayed on his tablet. Setting it aside, the display hung on a single image of a house with scorched powder blue siding. Half of it was blasted to oblivion and spread so far that it went beyond the scope of the camera. The other half was collapsed around itself and between two slabs of home was a single, scuffed pink shoe, too small to belong to any adult.
"There isn't a lot of clear information available, but early numbers aren't promising, sir. Bombed districts are reporting a mortality rate of roughly fifty-percent. Thirty percent of survivors are in critical condition, with eighty percent suffering injuries." Even the decorated war hero had difficulty finding her words in the wake of the attack.
The President leaned back into his chair, his eyes tracking back to the photograph on the tablet until his gaze became unfocused.
"Sir?" The General asked for the second time.
"I want you and your men to find out where they're most likely to attack again and draft every defense you can. Get every deterrent force we have and put them on the board." The General nodded ever-so-slightly before the President continued. "And I want to figure out how the hell those planes got past our radar and our early detection systems. If we can't figure it out, find me someone who can." The President commanded with authority and resolve, the uncertainty and devastation momentarily retired from his voice.
"Yes, sir." The General stood to attention and dismissed herself from the room, leaving the President to turn to his other advisors.
"Draft up foreign press announcements petitioning for aid. Place an emphasis on medical supplies, clean water and food. We'll take whatever temporary shelters they can provide but the other three are priority." The President commanded, earning a quick, uncomfortable look between a balding middle aged man and a mousy woman in a pair of frameless glasses.
"Something the matter?" He asked, voice expecting an answer.
"The bombings targeted key junctions in our infrastructure. Getting out anything other than short range signals will be difficult..." The balding man replied, earning a cool look from the President.
"Do whatever it takes to get word out. Tape some rabbit ears to a balloon if you have to, I don't care. And while you're at it, get me Rogers." Staring the pair down, the President watched them transform from shocked civilians to capable advisors as the two stood and went to do as they were ordered, leaving the President to address a different advisor.
"Send word to our police force; disaster relief is going to be their concern for the next however-long-it-takes. I don't care about looters, I don't care about vandals. As long as no one is being held at gunpoint, their job is pulling people from the rubble, do you understand? Anyone that has any kind of medical training is being drafted."