Spy Vs PMC (IC/MT/Closed - Mature Themes)

[Yellow Star Republic]

This is an IC thread and closed to those who don't have permission to post. See the OOC Thread, Spy vs PMC

ARKJELSTAD, CAPITAL DISTRICT
YELLOW STAR REPUBLIC

She had the most wonderful day in the capital. It had been years since she'd made the journey. Shopping out on Kaupmannstorg, she loved to look through the windows at all the high fashion apparel and shiny new technology. Some made disparaging comments about the way the Republic was moving towards a totalitarian, closed society, but would such a repressive regime offer such luxury to its common citizens? She didn't think so. She smiled at everyone on the tram as she moved towards an empty seat. No one really smiled back and they looked annoyed at her, the country rube. Probably many such cynical thoughts ran through their narrow brains. They were unaware of what a privilege they had to live in such a wonderful cosmopolitan city as Arkjelstad. One woman sitting across from her did take notice for more than a moment. She had an interesting blonde coif with a feathered, raggedy look. Sort of a just-got-out-of-bed, but stylized, rockstar look. She smiled at her and got a sweet smile in return.

"I like your hair."

"Why thank you. I had it done yesterday at Joutsen Salon. Have you been there?"

"Um, no, but I will need to go soon."

"You should. They're the best. Really, your hair is...nice, but they could do some wonders for you."

She touched at her fading red hair and tried not to seem wounded.
"I...I will take your recommendation."

"Oh, listen, sorry...I'm not...I didn't mean to...Damn. This is my stop! Um, listen, I'm not weird or hitting on you, but would you like to have a coffee?"

It was very forward, but it would be nice to make a friend here. If nothing else, someone to kill a little time with before she got dinner. She was not ready to take the long journey back. Even though she didn't have to work until later tomorrow, she didn't want to leave things to chance.

"Well...Sure! Why not. I don't really have to do anything until supper."

"Hmm. Supper, huh? How quaint! Come on, give me one of those bags. Follow me."

They got off the tram in Flytjanda Hverfi (The Artist District). The woman led her to a nearby cafe. It had a good view of the plaza, but still had that tucked, out of the way feel to it. They took a table in a corner near the window, with the nearest occupied table being four spots away.

"How rude of me! My name is Gerta. What's your name and what do you do?"

"Uh...Ingerliesa. I'm a secretary...downtown."

"Oh..."
A waitress came to their table and wrote down their order of two coffees. Gerta ordered a small plate of sampler pastries, as well. She walked back to the kitchen.

"I shouldn't because I do watch my figure..."

"You look great, Gerta. I mean really, I'm...not gay either, but, you know, the whole package, fab hair, style, great body. A real catch for someone. So what do you do?"

"Well...Dr. Heydrussen. That's your name, of course. Doctor...Bryndas...Heydrussen. I'm with the RLO, good doctor."

"I..." She was struck speechless. As if she'd been knocked physically back by the initials of the secret security agency. She tried to focus as her vision blurred. She wiped at her tears. Gerta fluffed at her hair and glanced around.
Gerta waited another few seconds then spoke again. She was calm, with a reassuring smile, and she kept her voice low, but it had a real malice to it.

"You've been a naughty girl, Bryn. You are supposed to clear trips out of town with us. Mr. Svart had a talk with you in his office. You are not allowed to talk to unauthorized people. Especially not risk contact with foreigners. Look around you...Look! Look out that window there, do you see foreigners? Tourists? I do. Tsk tsk, Bryn. You really had us jumping there. There's another team that drove down to pick you up in Fellsjon, thinking you went home. That's a long drive and a big waste of our time. What made you think you could just jump on a train to fucking Arkjelstad?"

"I...I can go wh-where I WANT! I'M A FREE CITIZEN!" Dr. Heydrussen's rose to a strange pitch as she tried to talk around the lump in her throat. She was starting to shake a bit, rattling the table.

"Calm down. Stop making a scene, Doctor. Knock...It...Off." Gerta waved to the back of the cafe. A couple rose from a table and started going to other tables. They raised their badges to the students and older folks, then pointed to the door. Within three minutes, the cafe was cleared. One RLO agent stood at the door as the other headed into the kitchen.
"OK. Yes, well...free is a subjective idea, now isn't it? You serve the Republic, Doctor. We just can't have you scampering out here or wherever you feel like without an escort. The information you hold in your head is paramount. You cannot fall into the wrong hands."

"Whose hands? I'm in our own Capital, on the holiday I was given by Mr. Svart. And...Who cares? Everyone's doing genetic research these days, Gerta, and..."

"Shut. Up. Seriously. What part of you publishing that fucking article in the NS Journal of Genetic Research do you think was not a huge red flag? You put yourself and our nation on the intel desk of every forward thinking nation on the globe. The damage control, putting the lid on...Vitleysa! Do you know how hard I've been working the last damn couple months? We all have because of your prima dona ass."

"I-I d-don't know you and I don't care, bitch. I'm not your prisoner!"

"Ha! No, I prefer the term 'ward'. And I'm your new minder, Doctor, now that you proved you can't be trusted." She smiled a little bigger, "Ingerliesa the Secretary! Nice one, by the way." Gerta crossed shapely legs coated in silky black stockings.
"I do feel for you, Doctor, but you've put yourself in this situation. We rely on you. If we could lock your brain up in a vault, we would. You can't just jeopardize National Security so flagrantly again and again. We're counting on you. For someone with so many PhDs and such an IQ, you're pretty fuckin' stupid, Doctor."

"My research is not for National Security purposes, it's for the betterment of humanity...but I don't want to have this argument over and over with you people."

"No. It's not necessary. Talking is done."

"S-so, what happens now?"

Gerta pointed out to a Rover that had pulled up outside the cafe.
"We have a long drive back. You can keep your new things. I watched you trying some on in the last store. Very cute. Anyway, we're leaving. Now. If you try to shout or talk to anyone, I will hit you extreeeemely hard, Bryn. I promise you that."

Dr. Heydrussen's head sagged on a neck that seemed suddenly inadequate to hold it up.

---

ÖLDUNGARHRING, ARKJELSTAD

The Premier, Arno Torgesson, sat at his desk, looking at the file.

"Jumala! And she's disappeared?!"

Director Mattiesen, head of the RLO, gave a slight shrug and smile.
"Well, No. No Sir, she tried to disappear, or anyway wasn't very conscious of the directive we were giving her. We tracked her. She's here in the Capital and getting a one way ticket back to the lab. My point I'm trying to make is that we need to tap into all the resources we can to keep her safe, and keep those that wish her harm, out. We need to have the Military working, um...closely with us. Focusing out, while we focus in, which is both our respective jobs, but really taking threats seriously. They will be coming for her."

"Who?"

"Everyone. A lot of future plans ride on her being able to finish her work."

"Yes, finishing it here, with us. You have a point. You draw up a plan and I'll run it by the Generals and the Commissioner."

"Of course, Premier Torgesson."

"And Mattiesen."

"Sir?"

"Don't you fuck up and misplace her again. I will make sure you get misplaced."

---

ACROSS THE YELLOW STAR REPUBLIC

Since the publishing of Dr. Heydrussen's article, things had gone full swing, radiating from Arkjelstad out to the reaches.
Across the long coast line, YSR patrol boats kept up steady circuits. Customs did double checks on all boats unloading at the ports, whether they carried industrial crates or fish. The SAM and ASW battery network was once again on high alert, with four constant rotating shifts to keep the operators fresh. RLO undercover teams and police scoured the major airports at the Capital, Puuhunstad and Tankjel. The train stations also had a good compliment of The Lögreglu (National gendarmes) during most hours. The borders with Falkasia, Platteisen Adler and Glisandia were not fully fortified, but troops were being rushed to them. Elite troops from the JaegerFlok had mobilized to cover key sections of the border, reinforcing the regular border troops. The RLO (Republic Leyndarmál Öryggi) and the military were doing their best to sew the nation up tight from their surrounding, unsuspecting, liberal Nordic neighbors. They were almost there.

---

MAP OF YSR (Also in my signature)

[Brays Bastards]

Flight had been a long one, but that had given Dekker Bray time to cover the mission brief in his head several times, between the occasional nap and near-constant downing of scotch...

'Our target is Doctor Byrndas Heydrussen, head researcher on some sort of genetic science project the scalies are keen to get their hands on. All we've got is a photo, and a few stones under which to look. Equipment has been coordinated to arrive in-country...'

The internal monologue paused for a moment as he exchanged his empty plastic cup for another one full of whatever pitiful excuse for scotch this airline attempted to serve him with a smile. Still, the stewardess was cute enough and he returned the smile, the impressive scar that ran down the left side of his face from his hair-line down to the top of his lip contorting the gesture slightly. She was kind enough to not cringe as she passed off the plastic cup from her dainty hands to Dekker's bear-paw mitts. The man was pushing fifty, had an immense beard, an incredibly powerful physique, and stood a good six and a half feet tall. His graying brown hair had been clipped into a rather generic high-fade to better match the persona he was attempting to portray...

'... Base of operations has also already been established, rented warehouse in the capitol's industrial district. The team is right behind you, literally, in the next twelve seats...'

He'd pulled out all the stops on this one, and brought damn near everyone still active on the roster along for the ride. Dekker managed to rotate his immense torso around in the seat to raise a mock toast to the somewhat-smaller man behind him and to the right. Jackson Davis was a long-time gym partner and good friend of his, generally the second-in-command when Dekker himself was out of pocket. Jackson was a lot better looking, to the point of considering himself (rightly so) quite the ladies man. The sleeves on his black North Face jacket were rolled down to hide the extensive tattoo sleeves that ran down both of his arms, and marked him as a former Green Beret with deep ties to US SOCOM. Davis was also one of the principal sources of the arms shipments the 'Bastards' made a good portion of their living off of.

Next to him sat one of the team's snipers, Jacob Grayson. Grayson was a highly-qualified individual, former CAG before losing his right leg below the knee. He'd picked up the sniper trade as a result. Grayson's eyes were slate gray, emotionless, and there were few more proficient behind the scope. His sociopathic tendencies bled through into his choices of clothing. The scenes of violence depicted in his tattoo sleeves were hidden by his dark-colored sweater, and he'd clipped his hair into a fairly impressive buzz-cut mohawk.

Behind him was one of their other snipers, two of the three. Peter Zion was a former Marine, a scout/sniper with service in Force Recon. Zion didn't have extensive tattoo work like the others, or off-the-wall choices in hair styles. His jet-black hair was pulled back in a short pony-tail, and was about his only distinguishing external feature. Like most Marines, he had the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor tattooed on his body somewhere, in his case it was on his left shoulder, hidden from view.

Next to Zion sat Paul Marcos, a former covert operative for the Central Intelligence Agency forcibly retired due to a series of blown ops that had left him useless for field work. Dekker had picked up the aging Marcos on a strong recommendation from former friends in the aforementioned agency, and now Marcos handled the role of intelligence analyst as well as the occasional human intelligence collection asset. Paul's black hair had begun to gray at the temples, giving him a distinguished look.

Behind those two sat two others, Joshua Croft and Patrick Mosley. Both, like Dekker, were former Navy SEALs with extensive time in the war-zones of the past two decades. Croft had been a sniper within his team, Mosley his spotter, and the two had become inseparable ever since. Croft was one of the few blonde mercs Dekker employed, and was a bit taller than Mosley, who was shorter and built a bit stockier, with a well-manicured high-fade of dark hair sitting atop his head.

Occupying the seats behind them were civilians Dekker had no association with. He'd split the group into two teams, leaving his son, Samuel, in charge of the earlier detachment. According to the text he'd received before they'd boarded the plane, they'd already arrived and begun the job of setting up the base of operations. With Sam he'd sent a few of his other trusted associates, namely Danny Briggs, a former clandestine operator with too much black censor's ink on his DD214 to tell much about what he did, aside from the fact that he was remarkably adept at killing people for such a nice guy. Along with Briggs he'd sent Dominic Matthews and Marcus Scotts, both former Rangers, and Jaclyn Toombs, the sole female of the organization. She'd been hired based on her professional merit, and not her gender. A former Military Policewoman, she handled a gun as well as the mostly-ex special warfare guys Dekker employed and was meaner than several breeds of rattlesnake. The last operator was Greg Torres, a former Marine Corps Cobra pilot that handled the aerial transportation needs of Dekker's little group. In this case, they'd relied on the incredibly irritating concept of public airlines to get their people into the country. While fairly easy to blend in under the guise of professional thrill-seekers, Dekker hated wedging his 278-pound brick-shithouse body into an airline seat.

Overhead, the 'attention' light pinged, informing Dekker he needed to down his drink and lock his tray table in the upright position to prepare for landing. Behind him, the rest of his people did the same...

[Brays Bastards]

Getting his big ass out of the small seat on the airplane turned out to be the biggest headache Dekker and his team encountered. They'd brought nothing aside from their personal knives, which were stored in the checked bags in a legal manner. Anything incriminating had been left behind or shipped in from outside sources.

His crew of tattooed misfits were meant to portray a band of thrill-seekers out for their next adrenal high. They fit the bill pretty well. Such people were known to sport odd haircuts and extensive tattoo work, and a decent portion of them were ex-military. The bags were collected in short order, and Dekker was pleasantly surprised to find Sam waiting in the pick-up lot with an eighteen-passenger van. The big man wedged himself in the front seat, while the others chucked their bags in the back-most seats and packed in as comfortably as possible...

"So how was the flight, Old Man?"

Sam was in his mid-thirties, disturbingly close in age to that of his father. Dekker elbowed his son roughly in the shoulder for popping off with the comment, clearly a good-natured rebuttal to the verbal barb...

"It was fine, asshole. Spent seventeen hours wedged in a tiny seat drinking tea-cups of shitty scotch. For a smart guy you sure ask a bunch of dumb questions. You get the hideout established?"

Sam nodded, turning on the radio and flipping it over to the CD player. Metallica began to play over the van's speakers until Dekker turned the volume down a bit...

"What about the guns? The gear?"

Sam thumbed the volume dial up a few clicks...

"If it's too loud, you're too old, pops. Still, the guns and gear arrived yesterday, they're back at the warehouse with the rest of the troops. Any additional intel come down from our benefactor?"

It was Dekker's turn to nod, but in a sarcastic manner, his eyebrows going up slightly as he did so...

"Dumb fuckers gave us a map. Jake found a better one at the airport at the tourist gift shop. Figure we ignore what they give us from now on and let Paulie get us some actionable intel we can work with. If this science broad is half as important as I'm assuming she is, we won't be the only ones gunning for her. The Argonians have one of the most impressive spy networks out there, but they haven't turned up shit yet. Godzilla is working that angle as we speak, though..."

The van took an exit that headed towards the industrial district, and Sam flicked the turn-signal off as they made the turn...

"That's good news at least. I do have some bad news though..."

The larger, older merc regarded his offspring with a worried look, more of a glare really, but a worried look none-the-less...

"What's wrong now? Dom and Marc get arrested? Jaci shoot someone for hitting on her? Greg get deported?"

The younger Bray took his eyes off the road for a moment to shoot a glance at his immense father for his last remark. Greg's Hispanic heritage didn't have any bearing outside of the US, and they hadn't been back there in decades...

"Nothing so minor. We got guns, but not the guns we were wanting. Supplier only had a crate of rifles on hand, so no custom work-ups. Couldn't find a smuggler to get our usual gear in-country, either. Scrounged up a crate of pistols from one of my old buddies in MARSOC, shipped them a crate of Eddie's custom 1911A1's in exchange for some of their sidearms..."

It wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected. They wouldn't have to raid an arms depot or police station with a magic marker after all...

"What are we working with, Sammy-Boy?"

While he seemed less than happy about his father using his nickname, Sam responded...

"Bone stock MK18's and Glock 19's. Good news is that I got us a bunch of accessories, too, so we shouldn't be under-gunned. All the gear arrived in great shape. Wasn't the best kit we could have purchased, but it was easier to get past the authorities..."

By now, they'd turned into the warehouse lot that sat in front of their base of operations. The lot held a few smaller sedans, in addition to the large van they commonly used for assaults and moving large things or amounts of personnel. Filing inside, the mercs gathered around the table scattered with weapons to inspect the gear.

A few, to include Grayson and Briggs, were disappointed that they'd be stuck with 9mm's for the duration of their stay...

"Jesus H. Fuck, Sam. Did these things come with matching purses?"

Jake was less than happy as he hefted one of the compact Glocks and opened the action to check the chamber. All of them were familiar with the operation and handing of such weapons, they were issued a similar loadout in addition to their personal preferences for just such a reason. The fact that Sam had been able to compensate for not being able to get their usual preferences in terms of arms and gear in wasn't a surprise, but the fact that he'd found weaponry they were highly familiar with was nothing short of a miracle...

"Can it, Jake. Got a few of these, too..."

Sam tossed the former CAG operator one of the XD-S .45's, which he began to inspect reverently...

"This tiny piece of shit is actually in a man's caliber? You're shitting me..."

Briggs seemed just as stunned as Grayson, noting the threaded barrel...

"Custom work, eh? Don't suppose you found a can to stick on this sexy little death machine, did you?"

Apparently, the slick little hold-out pistols were a secret even to the advance-party personnel. Sam had made sure they'd have the right tools for the job when it came to wet-work, and with the suppressor dismounted, the little XD could be hidden damn near anywhere...

[Kengburg]

Arkjelstad International Airport
The Boeing 737 hit the pavement below, at first jerking up and down then coasting to the end of the runway, the person behind her made the idiotic mistake of not finishing his drink before the landing, and had it hurled all over his clothes. Janette let out a laugh. When the plane came to a halt her second in command, Michael Krauss, grabbed their carry on luggage. Janette asked

"Did you get the news on how the others were doing before we boarded the plane?"

Michael calmly responded "Yes, they made it in through, the man is waiting for us, we only have ten minutes until his shift is done, so I suggest we hurry."

The agents left the plane and hurried their way over to the Security Checkpoint. A tall, muscular man stood at Security Checkpoint Eight next to a metal detector, that was their destination. Luckily there was only a small line and Janette and Michael made it quickly to the front. Janette spoke to the man.

"My Mother once told me to know who your friends are."

The man nodded and knew these were the people he was awaiting for. He grabbed their bags and shuffled through them, completely ignoring the rifles, pistols, explosives, and rounds of ammunition that filled the bag like candy on Halloween, the same that he had done with the operatives that had arrived already. The securityman then asked Janette and Michael to take their shoes off, and pretended he did not see the hidden switchblade in Janette's designer brand leather boots. He then asked them to enter the walk through metal detector without their shoes, they did so, and were handed their bags afterwards. Janette quickly passed the securityman a sticky note with the information to a bank account containing seven million Kengburgian Dollars. Now was time to meet up with the others who had made it through

[Falkasia]

The aged Illyushin rocked gently back and forth. The lull was akin to a crib, a slow steady movement left and right. Outside the aircraft's chipped windows, a rather overcast view of the ground below presented itself to wayward eyes. Scattered clouds pockmarked the lush green terrain below, casting oblong shadows across obscure fishing villages and even more minute country roads. A slight bank to the left, followed by a few bumpy seconds of turbulence, and the plane righted itself.

"Endanleg uppruna. Vinsamlegast sylgja upp." the pilot declared over the intercom.

"Anyone know what the fuck he is saying?" one of the Falkasian agents whispered to his counterparts.

"Beats me Vitaly, but it must be something about landing..." his rowmate replied.

"No shit Sergey. I kind of gained that much by the fact we're descending..." Vitali shot back.

Another man paced down the center aisle, placing hands firmly on the headrest of each chair to balance himself as he walked back to his seats.

"Lock it up gentlemen," he commanding, taking a seat across the aisle from Vitaly and Sergey.

"Yes sir," the two replied.

"What's gotten into old sourpuss?" Sergey asked.

"I'm not sure, but he seems more ornery than usual. Could be the stress of going into menopause?" Vitaly quipped, forcing his partner to cop a slightly smile.

"What did I say?!" the other agent bellowed, suddenly on top of them.

"Sorry sir, won't happen again." They both replied.

"Damn... Evgeniy's pissed..."

"Much better gentlemen... we're almost on the ground... hang in until then," Evgeniy reassured them.

He returned to his seat, scooting in until his knees were flush with the fuselage. Placing his chin into his palm, he gazed out the window at the countryside below. It was quite peaceful, but even he knew such illusions rarely lasted for long. With eyes forward, his errant hand began digging in the seatback pocket. He withdrew a package of peanuts, emptying the content into his mouth with a single toss. Discarding the wrapper underneath his seat, he smiled half-heartedly... momentarily content.

"You gotta help me!" a sudden voice demanded next to him.

Evgeniy turned rapidly, fist raised ready to defend himself from the assailant. Realizing who it was, he dropped his guard and sighed.

"Lev, you can't be doing this to me... you're gonna give me a heart attack one day..."

He didn't reply, instead throwing himself down into the seat.

"Are you hearing a word I'm saying Lev? Its not that big of a deal... you know how close I was to snapping your neck?"

"I can't do this," he mumbled, wide-eyed.

"Can't do what?" Evgeniy mused.

"I can't do this," he replied, turning to face his partner straight on. "I. CAN'T. DO. THIS."

Evgeniy smirked. "But you are... you pulled the short straw, remember?"

"I know... but can't I delegate the task to someone else... like you... or Sergey... or Vitaly... or Basam?"

"The three of us already have our directives Lev..." Evgeniy began, whispering quietly in soft tones to keep from being overheard. "And Basam isn't here, remember?"

"Damn," Lev sighed. "All right then... I guess I have no choice."

"That's right... you don't have a choice in the matter."

The entire cabin lurched as the plane touched down. It had caught everybody off guard, especially the Falkasians who had been preoccupied with making arrangements.

"Þakka þér fyrir að fljúga!" the pilot droned over the intercom.

Evgeniy looked up from his seat, taking inventory of everyone who was around.

"Looks like we're clear for the time being. Lev, help me pass these out."

He handed the agent a portfolio, of which quickly dispensed four separated tablet devices.

"Here guys," he called, passing two of the tablets across the aisle to the other side.

He turned, seeing Evgeniy had already activated his. The screen lit up, casting a blue-white glow across his already pale face. It took only a few moments for the interface to warm up, replaying several logs of information for each agent.

The plane lurched again, this time to a halt. In the same instant, the engines powered down leaving the entire cabin eeriely void of any sort of white noise. In a matter of moments however, it was replaced with shifting luggage and other passengers talking loudly on cell phones. The four agents had no luggage to speak of, save for a small duffel bag each.

"Stagger by fives. Meet at the bathroom." Evgeniy signed.

The other three agents replied in suit, signing back acknowledgements. Vitaly was the first off, followed by Lev and then Sergey. Evgeniy took up the rear, disembarking the plane just as the cleaning crew was coming on. He quickly took in the airport, taking note of emergency exits and potential hiding places in case the need arose. They did not want to run into trouble so early on, but experience told him that anything was possible. He saw Sergey and Lev disappear into the bathroom, followed by Vitaly who was a few steps away feigning a cell phone call.

The bathroom itself, like all airport bathrooms, was disgusting and barely passable for a human being to use. Stains coated the walls, and the toilets looked as if they hadn't been cleaned in years. It was remarkably abandoned, although probably for good reason. A large handicapped stall, surrounded by mustard yellow panelling, became their impromptu headquarters. Passing a mirror, Evgeniy caught a glance of himself.

"I need a shave," he mumbled, prompting the stall door to open as he was pulled in.

The other three agents sat squatting around the toilet with their tablets drawn.

"Sign language only," Evgeniy whispered. "We don't know how extensive the security state is here."

The other three replied in suit.

"We are here to rescue Dr. Heydrussen. That is the plan at least, but one we will try to stick too. You've all read your briefings, correct?"

Again the three agents acknowledged.

"The plan is simple. Lev here has so kindly volunteered to help us carry it out!"

"Evgeniy," Lev started to whisper.

Evgeniy dragged his hand sharply across his neck to signal silence, even as Sergey and Vitaly tackled him to the ground to keep him from talking.

"Don't you coward out on me!"

Vitaly made a rather risqué gesture with his hands, forming the figurative lips of a vagina in an attempt to call Lev a pussy.

"Fine..." Levl signed back, defeated.

He began emptying the contents of his bag, containing a plethora of dress clothes.

"Need any privacy?" Sergey signed, smirking.

======

A throng of fangirls swarmed them as soon as they exited the bathroom.

"OH MAI GAWD! Its Teknik! Look everybody! Teknik!" They all screamed.

Lev led the way, cutting through the masses like a hot knife through butter. Despite his earlier trepedations, once in costume the nature of his character took over. The other three, having assumed more formal business attire, followed from the rear.

"I'm not sure who came up with this idea, but its a damn good one if it works..." Vitaly whispered to Evgeniy.

Lev stopped to sign a few autographs before proceeding onwards.

"It will..." Evgeniy replied, attempting to sound confident despite his doubts.

"So we intend to covertly infiltrate the country by drawing more attention to ourselves?" Sergey asked.

"If it works, its genius."

Several flashes up ahead meant the paparazzi had arrived, snapping pictures of the Teknik impersonator.

"Wasn't the real Teknik supposed to arrive tommorrow?"

"Yes... but he decided to show up early... you know... to get integrated better before his concert."

"What about the real artist?" Vitaly asked.

Evgeniy stopped for a moment, turning to face his two junior agents.

"Is this a game of twenty questions? I don't have all the answers... do I look like a supercomputer?"

"No... we just thought..."

"He arrived on the plane with us. As soon as we're gone, he will re-assume his identity. When the FSIS approached him asking for his help, he was all too willing to take a day off from work." Evgeniy cut them off.

"So...Teknik really works for the FSIS?" Sergey stood wide-eyed.

"Wow..." Vitaly gasped.

"Passports please," one of the guards droned.

Lev stopped, turning to face the man. In each arm was a beautiful nordic girl, propping him up. He smiled, first at both of the ladies and then at the guard.

"'scuse me ladies... its been a pleasure, really... I'll see you both at my concert this weekend! Might even dedicate a song to you two..." he let go of the two as they swooned to the ground, prancing forward to the passport desk.

He nonchalantly leaned up against the counter, turning his head to eye the emotionless guard with one eye.

"Hey there... I'm Teknik... but you already knew that... any chance you're gonna come see me this weekend at the concert? I've got a new album I'm releasing... gonna be a bunch of hit singles there!"

The guard didn't even so much as blink. "Passport please."

"What? No love for House music? Fine..."

Lev withdrew his counterfeit passport, presenting it firmly onto the counter. It was a legitimate Falkasian passport, only altered with his photo in place of Teknik's. There was little physical resemblance between the two men, but he sincerely doubted this guard even knew who the real Teknik was.

[Gragastavia]

Mehmed El-Hashem, one of the many Gragastavian-born, Falkasian-educated scientists, was the one who felt the most importance of this mission. Like the rest of his colleagues, he knew that the fate of the success of the GLO lay not in numbers or sheer strength, but in the advancement of technology over the current Gragastavian government. They had attempted to convert Heydrussen once before by sending a letter, although it was a fruitless attempt, as the postal service lost the letter before it even left Gragastavia.

El-Hashem, of course, knew that he could not pull off the ‘extraction’, as it was called, single-handedly and he had employed some assistance. There were five men going in and a score of others operating technical equipment in the safehouse. The operators were known simply as “One”, “Two”, “Three”, “Four”, and “Five”, similar in manner as the way the GRITS did their organization of special operations teams. These men were chosen for their skill, as well as their physical similarities. Each was between five feet, five inches to five feet, ten inches. Builds had to be athletic, which went without saying, as running was the primary method of transport for the GLO, their frames were of no extraordinary size. There would be a second van joining them as they arrived at the lab, as per the original plan, although this one would serve as a more heavily armored vehicle to spearhead the attack and hold off the guards.

It would be time soon for them to make their entrance to the lab. They were only a few kilometers away in their safehouse, and the distance would easily be covered by the trucks they took. Bjelnorg was not the ideal city for a cell of terrorists, a rural city would allow too much of a chance of discovery. People tended to be a bit more trustworthy and it was assumed that the single operator who emerged from his den to buy food was simply a recluse. The cell had grown since its introduction, however. It was first simply an observation post for naval traffic, potentially inbound to Gragastavia. Their primary target was Falkasian vessels, eventually that grew to anyone with something they might want. The message would be forwarded to one of the GLO stations dotted in various locales on the ship’s travel path and few boats would be dispatched to intercept.

When word was received of Heydrussen’s research, it spurred the GLO’s interest. El-Hashem was the first to jump at it, suggesting a hostile capture of Heydrussen or at least her research. They had linguists who could translate it to Arabic so the language barrier was of no consequence. And yet, an initial interrogation of Heydrussen, if captured, would be necessary. A few of the GLO agents spoke the local language well enough to communicate the point, so it would be El-Hashem and Heydrussen speaking through the translator.

It was only a matter of time before the operation would begin. El-Hashem was pacing across the dank main room of the safehouse. It was rumored that GLO High Command had forbidden them to make it any less dank, as it would not adequately give off the impression of being terrorists. So the dripping ceiling was left with only a bucket to catch what fell. A few bare bulbs hung from above, illuminating the windowless room so as to provide the men some notion as to which way they were walking. To and fro across the length of a room was a mindless task, though, and did not really require light.

He was assaulted by an operator in the middle of the room, requesting a signature, “Doctor El-Hashem, we are progressing forward. We should be ready to launch within the hour.”

El-Hashem signed with a quivering hand, “Yes… yes…”

He snapped back into his trance of pacing, now. What Heydrussen, a woman of all things, had managed to discover and baffle the scientific community was valuable in itself. He would not be able to wait for another paper, no; he would need the information immediately. It would do a number to their mounting strength, he knew, and soon, in time, they might actually be able to take over Al Duhaba and dethrone the King.
---
The five men in the back of the plain white van crossed the streets to laboratory. They hoped they looked inconspicuous, even if a white van had some bad connotations in other cultures. The GLO operators kept an uplink with their safehouse, each man having his own “guardian angel” to direct him over the course of the battle. A few feet over, the other van was being loaded: six men, light machine guns, assault rifles, small explosives.

The driver stopped just before making the first push into the compound. He looked to the men in the back, “I just received word from Overwatch. Heydrussen has been located, identity confirmed. She is en route down to presumably the ground floor…” He paused, waiting for the update through his earpiece, “Ground floor confirmed…. She’s heading back up.” The driver nodded, listening. “Okay, we have the green light. One, Two, Three, Four, go in, grab Heydrussen, get what research you can. Five, stay with me to hold the truck. The other van will be with us."

There was nod of agreement.

“Let’s do this.” The driver signaled to the other driver through his computer uplink, the engine roared, and they pursued behind the rammers.

There were a few moments of bliss before the guards had realized what had happened. One of them had fired a bullet and it seemed that the rest followed suit, the bits of metal being absorbed in the van’s armor plating, giving off an audible ping-ping-ping sound, as each bit of brass hit. The driver, having dropped down the windshield protector to prevent glass from shattering in his face, navigated the van using a camera mount on the front to the backside of the main building to the fire escape. The assisting van did a loop as they rode in, an attempt to distract the guards away from the fire escape. It seemed mostly successful, although they ended up at the fire escape, anyway.

The driver’s earpiece buzzed again, “Seems like they’re locking the place down. Get in fast.”

The four operators climbed their way up, dodging bullets from the guards below, returning fire when they could. Two took a bullet to the arm, only slightly hindering his performance. The first floor door the team reached, blew the lock, threw a makeshift flashbang in. That is, a tin can filled with flash powder and a fuse. They waited for the explosion, slammed the door open, ran in. There was a single person, probably a janitor, inside the room, Three neutralized him with a smack upside the head.

The earpiece of One buzzed, “One, we’ve spotted Heydrussen. Second door on your left, after you leave this room.”

“Roger.”

Into the hall they went. The security staff had formed a makeshift bastion against them, quickly overcome by the superiority of the GLO. Ten paces in, fifteen, twenty, second door. Three planted a charge, they stacked up, it was blown.

In the smoke flowing the charge, the team found Heydrussen. In a struggle between the security guards, the GLO, Heydrussen, some papers, binders, and staplers, the GLO emerged on top. The security was neutralized, Heydrussen had been subdued and was being escorted back out the way they came, Two and Three leading, One and Four offering protection, after they grabbed what documents they could during the period of time it took the sedative they gave Heydrussen to take effect. It was not the best idea, even if it would make their escape much easier.

Below, more security had converged on the van’s location. Two was the first out, serving as a ‘windbreak’ for the rest of the team. He opened in fully automatic fire on the crowd below to pin them while the rest plodded down the flights of stairs. One had stopped on a lower level to cover Two’s retreat as Three carried Heydrussen into the truck. Only problem was that Two took another shot, to the stomach this time. He was totally immobile. One disregarded his colleague, as did Four. Those left hopped into the van and began to return fire as best they could, while Two lay in agony, dying, on the fire escape. He had a cyanide pill somewhere…


The van, mostly undamaged, whipped around through the crowd and back the way it came, still taking fire. It was only when they cleared the compound’s fence when they were able to ride without hindrance. Driving a van with bullet holes, however, would most certainly give the locals a bad idea and One had communicated that they might want to prepare extraction for the cell as soon as possible. The other van was not as fortunate, three of its six occupants had been injured, the back bumper had fallen off, and one of the wheels could do with a fix, even if it was still driveable.

The white vans, what a sight they were, arrived at last at the safehouse. There was no need for the passcode at the door, as the doorman had known that they were coming and opened it without question. Heydrussen’s currently limp body was sat in a chair, El-Hashem took up a seemingly menacing position with the light at his back as he overlooked Heydrussen. When she awoke, he would be the first sight. The translator stood ready.

[Riysa]

OOC: Hope its good; please let me know if anything needs changing! Also, when talking with each other, it is assumed that the AFID/Paratroops are using Arabic.

Arkjelstad, YSR
The airplane travelled on its way to Arkjelstad, the capital of the YSR. It was coming from North Arusia, and most onboard were from there. Some would be getting off, others would be travelling to other nations. There were eight people on board, however, that had passports from multiple countries - North Arusia includes, and yet, they weren't really from there. All were flying first class and were dressed in fine suits; if anything, they appeared to be businessmen coming on a trip to check out investment opportunities in the YSR.

Flight Captain Haytam looked up from his inflight lunch to look at the flight status. Being a part of the AFID had its perks, and also its drawbacks. As he saw the plane hit the 10 minutes until landing mark, he thought back to his team. There were 7 others on board that were under his command, and two others implanted months ago as sleeper agents. Their mission was simple - track down and extract whatever information they could from "Wildcard" - the codename of the target, otherwise known as Dr. Heydrussen. The YSR was certainly keeping her on a short leash, especially after that revolutionary article that had grabbed everyone's attention. Obviously, Riysa wanted in on this project; it also went without saying that there was almost certainly others mobilizing their intellegence officers and forces to grab a piece of the pie. Haytam however felt confident Riysa had a head start, as its widespread intellegence network had already been implanted in the YSR before the article had been published.

As the airplane landed at the airport, he went over the plan in his head. He was in charge of the entire operation, with the Flight Lieutenants of the AFID assisting him in gathering information about Wildcard and the RLO, and any other foreign group operating in the YSR. Riysian As-Saiqa paratroopers were on standby - a squad only, but it would do the job - to handle any heavy work that came up and to reinforce the AFID in the event of conflict. The NESA - Neu Engollon's security agency - would also be co-operating with the AFID, which would come in handy.

As the passengers began to file out, Haytam got up. In the corner of his eye, he spotted the other officers moving in line to exit the aircraft. God willing, the operation would go smoothly.

En route to "Raven's Nest", YSR

Airport security thankfully had been a breeze. The agents had made sure that nothing suspicious was carried in their briefcases and suitcases, just standard items that would be found on a stereotypical businessman. Specialised equipment and weapons had been smuggled in months earlier, when the command center was established. Waiting outside of the airport in a nice SUV was Flight Lieutenant Yassir (alias Mr. Bjorn Erikon, founder and CEO of Erikon Security, an up-and-coming IT security company), one of the sleepers planted and the agent currently residing at Raven's Nest. Smiling as he watched the agents approach the SUV, he talked. "Welcome gentlemen, I'm glad you all could make it. We are moderately successful here, but we need to expand our horizons, which is why I'm glad you gentlement have arrived so soon. Step in, will you?"

The agents put their suitcases into the trunk of the SUV, and piled into the car. Flight Captain Haytam turned to Yassir. "Our business has taken one hell of a turn. We need to approach this issue, and quickly. Where's Ra'ad?"
"Ra'ad was unable to make it, sir. You know, his position is very demanding. He'll show up though, I'll wager."
"What do we have down?"
"The Nest was set up a while ago, so it has everything we need. Radio equipment, basic scramblers and encrypters, and of course, BM-012s. I checked for bugs everywhere, and went over this car twice, so we shouldn't need to worry about the RLO breaking down our door."
"What's the status on Wildcard?"
"She made a giant ruckuss today as the RLO escorted her out of the capital. Happened in the Flytjanda Hverfi, in a small cafe. A bunch of people witnessed it; it was painfully obvious for most of the way out of that district. We intercepted transmissions on PLO radio frequencies that implied she was being taken back to her lab in Bjelnorg. Ra'ad also mentioned that the YSR military went on high alert, meaning its going to be very hard getting in any troops with heavy equipment via standard insertion methods. Where will you be staying, sir?"
"I'm planning on staying at the Nest; the others have hotels booked. I heard the Nest in this case is a nicely-sized house?"
"Yes sir, it is. Fits two people, with a guest room; we can probably fit you and another person inside. Ra'ad stays at the barracks where he works at, of course. Now sir, the Nest." Yassir pointed at a nice little home.

Raven's Nest, Classified Location, YSR
"So what do we have here?"
The agents moved around the house. From the outside, it was a moderately-sized house, definitely built for a middle-high income earner, but looked relatively normal. However, behind a few hidden stairwells was an extensive basement fit for operational duties, and which could be easily defended in the event of discovery. Some basic, portable equipment filled the area, alongside laptops and various radios. In the corner, a gun rack was filled with BM-012s, mostly BM-012Cs but some BM-012S rifles. In another corner, several basic beds sat, ready to be occupied in case several people were staying for extended periods of time at the Nest. A small restroom was present in the third corner, complete with a shower. A fridge, cooler, microwave, and coffee machine sat in the last corner.
"Looks good Lieutenant. We may be using the beds quite a lot, depending on how the mission goes."
"Thanks sir."
"You are welcome. Orders, gentlemen. We unpack whatever we brought, and for those who are staying in hotels in Arkjelstad, you may leave after this is done. What we do is get some rest, and we make contact in the morning. I, along with Yassir and Flight Lieutenant Liwa, will remain here and co-ordinate operations. Everyone, make sure your prepaids are in working order, as we will be determining the meeting location tomorrow. Alright? Dismissed gentlemen."

Raven's Nest, YSR
Several hours later

Flight Captain Haytam snoozed a bit while waiting for his shift at the monitors. Flight Lieutenant Liwa was currently manning the station, as Yassir had been given a break. Suddenly, Liwa shouted. "SIR! YOU BETTER SEE THIS, NOW!"
Haytam woke with a start. Half pissed that he had been interrupted in his sleep, and half anxious to understand what made Liwa so jumpy, he went over.
"Curses." He was listening to radio traffic, and from what he made out of it, Dr. Heydrussen had just been abducted.
As if to confirm his thoughts, Liwa nodded. "Yes sir, Wildcard has just been absconded with. No indication on who did it though."
"Bloody hell, someone got to her before we did. Call a meeting. Now. Send a message to command, tell them to tell NESA to meet with us as soon as they can."

[Eternally Warring Spartanians]

COMMAND DECK
EWS TRANSPORT SHIP #3
INTERNATIONAL WATERS
2300

Commander Bi'lia watched out the window sipping a cup of warm tea. The starry night sky was reflecting off the somewhat calm ocean waters. It was a small window of serenity, soon to be interrupted by the sergeants making their way into the command deck. Bi'lia turned around placing his tea down on the map board while the sergeants saluted.

"Well men as you know we've been contracted out to capture this Dr. Heydrussen. The High Council believes her genetic research could be very beneficial to the Empire, military and socially. Though of course after doing some research it seems that this Yellow Star Republic would be keeping this all to themselves. You should of been informed more in-depth on this in your briefings"

The five sergeants nodded and Sgt. U'sey picked up. "Doctor Bryndas Heydrussen a genetic scientist working for the government of the Yellow Star Republic. She published an article in NS Journal of Genetic Research, surprisingly seeing how totalitarian the state is becoming according to the small history info we've been given."

"We believe she did it without getting express permission from her government and as assumed the government of course locked her down."

"So we're going to have to go up against government forces? Low-profile to keep from causing an international incident?"

"Actually we may be able to by-pass the republic's government for now. An Empire SBCJ picked up communications that suggest the good doctor was already abducted, but still in the country."

"So then we weren't wrong to assume their were others after her. Do we known where she might be?"

"Non unum stupri cogitari."

"So how are we supposed to find her?"

"We're not gentlemen, that is the Empire's job. For now we're just infiltrating. Get your men ready and the last of the extra equipment packed up in the box. Dismissed."

The sergeants saluted and left the room.

COMMAND DECK
EWS TRANSPORT SHIP #3
APPROACHING BJELNORG
0000

The ship was slowly sailing across into the Yellow Star Republic waters. "It was a genus idea if I do say so myself..." Commander Bi'lia was speaking out loud to himself about the ship. Before becoming a legal organization the EWS had restructured the insides of cargo ships to be able to transport troops and equipment in order to move secretly along the Pangegian coast. Now the ships still provided them use, their outsides still retaining their normal cargo ship look and the old identification numbers the old Pangegian Republic had given them.

It was only months ago that the Pangus had been turned into a colony an absorbed into the Empire, a state like this so far away probably had no clue of it. After all the international community had ignored their pleas for aid during the colonization and there had still yet to be any international backlash for it. To complete the guise there were over three dozen cargo containers on the main deck.

It was time to radio into Bjelnorg docks and get permission to come in.

"This is the captain of the Sea Star, IMO 9394253, of the Republic of Pangus. We are seeking immediate permission to dock. We are dangerously low on fuel and will not reach our destination at Puuhunstad. I repeat we are dangerously low on fuel and are seeking immediate permission to dock."

[Neu Engollon]

18 HOURS BEFORE THE RAID ON THE LAB BY THE GLO
TANKJEL INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
YELLOW STAR REPUBLIC

Agent Minon gripped the armrest to the point where he felt he was leaving permanent impressions in them. He didn't mind flying so much, just the take-offs and landing. Well, and the turbulence pockets they usually hit in the air. So, yeah, he hated flying. The pilot came on speaking the Nordic tongue of the Yellow Star Republic, then he repeated it in English. "Thank you for flying with us. We'll be touching down here in Tankjel in a few minutes, so let's make sure all devices are off and belts are buckled up. Once we park at the gate, I will be sure to read some connecting gates off for those of you heading on to Arkjelstad or to Steinbrudden."

Sure enough, they were wheels down in Tankjel a few minutes later. The plane taxied up to the terminal. Their team leader, Mastroni, was one of the first to get up when the belt light went out. He looked up and down the cabin, doing a head count and getting eye contact. There was no reason they couldn't talk with their cover as beer salesmen from Neu Engollon, but through habit and training, they kept the talk to a minimum. Reimetz had a talker next to him, a nice old woman that kept going on. He nodded and smiled, muttering the occaisional nicety here and there. Finally he pointed towards the door, and nodded again to the sweet old woman.

They met in the terminal, with Agents Vamaix and Brechtauer bringing up the rear. They had been in the back of the plane. Mastroni nodded, then smiled at Reimetz.
"Wow, Ernst, you had a talker there, eh?"

"Oh Lord, you have no idea. I don't know that I got a whole sentence in. So, we good?" They all had small carryons and duffels slung over their shoulders, traveling light.
Mastroni nodded.

"We need to head down towards the pick up area. The others have been here for a few hours from and earlier flight and should have the rentals lined up and waiting."

They headed down to the lower area, where loved ones, friends and business associates waited for their arrivals to walk out of the terminal. Mastroni and Vamaix headed out first, while the others cased the area, looking towards the carousels of baggage pickup.

Then they all froze. Vamaix was giving the signal that something was wrong. She rubbed her elbow again.

Gerstler got out of the car and gave an all clear counter signal. Ramaldi stayed in the driver's seat.
Mastroni walked up to him.
"What the hell happened, where are the others?"

Gerstler looked around nervously.
"Al. Get in the car. Get everyone in the car, now. We don't have much time."

Mastroni beckoned and they all loaded up, squeezing into one Diamond Star Katla. Alfonz shook his head. They still should have gotten another car. They were crammed in here tight. "Drive down to the rental area, we need another..."

"No, Al, we got it, it's parked down the road. We need to get out of here for now. I think they might be watching."

"Who, RLO?"

"Yes. They nabbed the other guys. Right off the plane. Not rough, but, 'We're gonna ask you some questions. Come nicely and quietly.' We slipped by, but I don't know how. They didn't have pictures of all of us or were distracted or what..."

"Calm down. You sure they were RLO, not immigration or customs, or..."

"Yeah, I saw the badge, I walked right by at the moment he flashed it to DeGiamo."

"Merd."

"Exactly. So I don't know if they're still looking for us or not." They pulled up to the car, another Diamond Star, this one a pea green Caltara sedan. "So what now?"

"We still need to meet our guy, get the stuff, but we can't just give our guys up to the dogs..." Mastroni paused and pondered, "We need to bounce back. I need two volunteers."

Gerstler nodded. "I'm in."
Ramaldi raised his hand "Yeah, stickin' with it."

"Accorzu. We have legit cover here with Omholt's Breuerie. Neu Engollonians selling beer? Duh, what else?
You need to convince them to let those guys go. Ramaldi, get in touch with the Embassy and get someone down here. Gerstler, see who you can talk to in the Republican Government. Stay away from the RLO, themselves. We need their own Gov to pressure them. Keep in touch on the red phone. Take the Caltara and we'll take the Katla. Clear?"

"Clear, boss."

They got out and moved gear around. Gerstler and Ramaldi got in the sedan and drove off. The other five NESA agents headed down the road, using the GPS in the SUV to direct them to the Cross-National Highway. Their meet with their contact would be east of Steinbrudden, south along the Örnen River.

10 HOURS BEFORE THE LAB RAID
NEAR THE YELLOW STAR-GLISANDIA BORDER

"Ja, ja. You go through der on the road, past da goats. He meet yoo der. Hjortssen. He'll be der. Yoo really going into der?"

Lt. James Wilson looked at the hills and low mountains that made up the southern border of the Yellow Star Republic.
"Well, yeah, why? Is it dangerous in the hills?" Hjortssen's Glisandian man on this side of the border laughed through what teeth he had left. The old Nordic man had haystack like white and flaxen hair and big sun freckles dotted his cheeks.
"Nah. It's not da hills. It's da Yellow Republicans. Dey er weird, man. Very high strung, ya know? Dey are on high alert over der."

Wilson sighed. "Yeah, I know. Hjortssen better come through."

"Yoo don't worry. He going to get yoo troo dat border. And he got all yer goodies yoo wanted too."

"Ah well, at least something should go right." It had been a helluva trip to get into Glisandia, get subtely off the fishing trawlers and head to the hinterlands of Glisandia. There was a pretty good black market going through the border area, as things started to deteriorate for your average YSR citizen. The team from Kappa Company, Schwyz Regiment had every intention to take advantage of it and get on to the target with minimal fuss.

Wilson nodded to Captain Owen, their team leader, and also the XO of Kappa Company. Nominally, they were supposed to be 12th Platoon, Kappa Company, but not only had the personnel been yanked from across Kappa Company and Schwyz Regiment, they were even borrowing some operators from Uli and Galien Regiments. Three of the USG troopers were former Nordic and Baltic Special Forces. Jitpuuri was a sniper from the Finnish Para Jaegers, Haakonsson, from the Norwegian Marinejegerkommandoen, and Vilkis, from the Latvian Special Tasks Unit. They were along to provide linguistic and cultural support, as well as practice their main combat skills.

Wilson and Owen twirled their fingers and they saddled back up into the three Saab 97X SUVs with a couple of the other troopers who had hit the side of the road to relieve themselves. The convoy of USG troopers headed up the small border road into the hills.

MINUTES AFTER THE RAID
ÖRNENBERG, YELLOW STAR REPUBLIC

The five members of the NESA team were in a safehouse; a rented apartment in Örnenberg. They had made two calls to check in with the two NESA agents still operating freely in Tankjel, trying to liberate their colleagues. Things did not look good.
They were kept updated with satellite data from NESA Central. There was military traffic all over the country at the moment, but only a few units that would possibly be guarding a lab site. They had information on three possible sites that would be able to accomodate the staff and have the configuration for such research. One was on Ankkeyja Island, one near Bjelnorg and one in a location that had no name on the map. Then they heard the news.
Mastroni received the encrypted text and clued in the rest of the team.
"One of the sites had a big burst of activity. A van crashed the gate. Figures fell, there were gunflashes. The van left. This was at Bjelnorg. I repeat, the Bjelnorg site."

"So...that's it. We lost? Someone else got her?"

"Pbbhhht. Lose? If anything, it may have made our jobs easier...and harder. She's free for the snatching. I don't see how they'll get her out with the borders about to be locked down tight. So all we have to do is figure out who's got her now, and where they moved her to."

"Yeah, easy-peasy. Then, if we get her, how do we get her out?"

"Well, we prepared for that, didn't we? We just..."

Vamaix walked in from the next room, "Al, we got a call from our Riysian friends. The AFID team wants a meet."

"Awright, so they made it...I want you and Brechtauer to stay here and man the equipment, I'll take Minon and Reimetz. Keep to codes. Be ready."
They glanced at the wall, where a row of SG 553s stood propped up against the wall, ready for action. Ernst Reimetz was actually cleaning his at the moment. Large satchels filled with grenades, plastic explosives and various other toys sat on the floor in the next room. Their black market contact, Hjortssen had come through with the gear they needed.

[Brays Bastards]

It had been a few hours since the rest of the troops had landed, and they'd gotten settled in for the most part. The office area of the warehouse had been converted into living space, and most of the mercs were trying to sleep off the jet-lag. Paul Marcos, on the other hand, was up watching the news and monitoring various informational tickers as he spent some keyboard sweat attempting to chase down a lead of some sort. One would be amazed at how much information one could glean from news casts.

Still, they had a photo of their mark and that was good enough for Paul to work with. He didn't have the need processor power on his laptop to crack military-grade encryption to attempt to get some data the new way, and Dekker didn't want to tip their hand just yet hitting a government building covertly to gather intel the old-fashioned way, so his options were a bit limited. The best option so far was facial-recognition software, but that was iffy, unless the mark used a lot of public transportation. In the electronic age, the best way to track someone was by their plastic currency. Debt and credit cards were the most common form of payment used in this day and age, and Paul began his search there.

After attempting to track down her account through student loan repayments, he gave up and pursued another venue. She'd mentioned her academic qualifications in that little article she'd written before she'd gone oddly silent in the scientific community, and Paul was quick to exploit that information. While he didn't have the equipment to crack military-grade firewalls and hacking countermeasures, he had plenty to penetrate a university's cyber security network. After fishing Heydrussen's payment information from the accounting records, the rest wasn't that hard. The Allumni Foundation donations made things easier still. They'd been made with a debt card, with which Paul was able to pull up all sorts of information. While he couldn't quite crack the bank's firewall, he did manage to get into her Amazon.com account and track down the shipping address for a few interesting books, one of which he made a note to add to his own 'to-read' list.

Once he had an address, Marcos wasted no time in rousing the Boss-Man from his slumber, the giant awakening like a lake-troll and scattering a collection of empty whiskey bottles he'd drained the contents of earlier, having found this frozen land to have nothing to offer in terms of scotch...

"Get a four-man extraction team up to Balrog, or whatever the fucking place is called. Get Josh, Pat, Marc, and Dom up and ready to roll within the hour. Tell them to play it quiet and take it slow. We don't need four tattooed muscle-heads spooking the good doctor. Come to think of it, keep Pat the fuck away from her. Last thing we need is him attempting to 'charm' her. As usual, get an OP set up and keep tabs on her til we know what kind of security team they've got watching her, and if the fuckin' Argonians want her, she's going to be important enough to warrant a few ninja baby-sitters..."

Marcos nodded, then went about waking up the two former Rangers and two former SEAL's. Within an hour they were wedged into one of the small sedans the group had rented with their equipment. Each man carried a Glock 19 hidden somewhere on his person, along with two spare magazines. Four plate-carriers rode in the trunk, configured to each man's preference. Marcus Scotts carried one of the XD-S hide-out guns with a suppressor can tucked away on his person for covert wet-work. Buried in the trunk were also four of the MK18 short-barrel M4's, along with ten polymer PMAG's per rifle, stuffed with 72-grain Hornady TAP FPD loads. The Glock's were loaded with Speer's 124 grain Gold Dot +P loading. The XD had four magazines with it, stuffed with five rounds each of a custom .45 ACP sub-sonic hollow-point load, 230 grain weight projectiles moving at a slow enough speed to negate the crack of the round breaking the sound barrier. The weapon didn't cycle with these particular loadings, but it didn't have to. Hopefully Scotts' shot connected and he had time to rack another one into the chamber. It was a specialty weapon, and if the operation went off without a hitch, they wouldn't have to fire a shot.

The team was dispatched to locate Heydrussen and make sure the terrorists holding her didn't move her until reinforcements arrived. Still, they had precious little knowledge of the town they were driving towards, or even where to start looking in the first place. It'd take a little leg-work on their part, but they had some of the best in the business in that little-ass car.

Dominic Matthews was, as mentioned previously, a former US Army Ranger, a light infantryman without peer. His associate, Marcus Scotts, had been part of the Regimental Reconnisance Detachment, an intelligence-gathering arm of the 75th that frequently partnered with the Defense Intelligence Agency and the Intelligence Support Activity. In short, he was part shooter, part spook. Scotts was a bit shorter than his brother Ranger, a product of Scottish and Italian parents, and had a bit darker complexion than two of the others in the car. Matthews was part Samoan and part Apache, on his mother's side. His dark complexion had a twinge of red in it, but he'd covered most of his upper torso in the family pattern of tribal ink that ran down his arms visibly to his hands. The Regimental Scroll of the 75th was emblazoned in the pattern on his left shoulder.

The other two chatted between themselves, cracking jokes at the other's expense. Joshua Croft and Patrick Mosley were former SEALs, and Croft had brought along another toy Sam had found for them. Somehow, somewhere, he'd picked up three Nemesis take-down sniper rifles from Vanquish Arms, and topped them with Leupold glass and a suppressor. The rifle sat in its briefcase, in its component pieces, and hopefully wouldn't be needed. Mosley had brought along a 20-power spotting scope in the event they needed to make a distance shot.

All four men were highly competent shooters, but Dekker had thrown them together on this mission because they represented an intelligence-gathering entity and if needed, sniper team in addition to the ability to kick down doors and put holes in people. The drive to Bjelnorg would take a few hours, and the quartet of shooters settled in for the drive...

"So this Heydrussen chick is apparently pretty foxy..."

"Can it, Pat. Boss-Man said it's hands-off the good doctor..."

"Yeah, I know, but still... Only lady we have in the outfit doesn't play for our team..."

"Very true. What kind of watch-dog team do you think they're got on her?"

"Probably a few close-proximity baby-sitters, with a heavy team on stand-by if things go south... Marc, how do you want to play this?"

Marcus Scotts had arguably done the most wet-work of the four of them, Pat and Josh had spent most of their careers in the sand-box, while Dom's had been to a more mountainous desert nation...

"We do it clean. No blood. No bodies. But that's if, and only if, we get the green light to move. Don't think Dekker's going to chance running this abduction with a four-man team unless he has to..."

"Very true. Paul still running down additional intel?"

"Yup. Said he'd buzz us on the burner if he had anything..."

[GHawkins]

Months leading up to the raid

Since the date Doctor Heydrussen published her article in the NS Journal of Genetic Research, the GHawkins Security Agency had been interested in the woman. Alerted to the possible uses of her research on the battlefield by several of GHawkins most prominent military scientists, it was decided to put her on the watch list. Due to the nation she was present in, it was decided to passively observe instead of act actively. Analyze newspapers and YSR state media, take note of rumours in scientific circles, the occasional pictures taken of possible lab sites by a "conveniently" passing military satellite. As could be expected, not much was gained from this measure of intelligence gathering. Her research was kept strictly secret to the YSR military circles and to within the lab itself. The investigation had been put on a low fire after it grew quiet in the media regarding doctor Heydrussen, instead devoting resources to the possible threat of nuclear terrorism on the Republic itself.

Until the day of the raid. As news reports began to appear of an attack, the GSA had their ears already pricked and back on the YSR. They couldn't care much or less about causalities sustained by YSR personnel. However, the fact that the research by doctor Heydrussen was somewhere in the country and that it might have fallen into hands worse than the RLO, was a source of worry.

One hour after the first news report appeared

Twenty meters under ground, below the GHawkins Fleet Headquarters, four men sat in one of the many meeting rooms the command center had. The entire structure was build like a fortress in the depth of the earth. It had nine subterranean levels and was the heart of the GHawkins military, serving as the command center for both Army, Airforce and Navy.

The men that attended sat around a long stretched table, each in large, comfortable chairs. At the head of the table; head of the GSA mister Robbers who was in charge of the intelligence agency of GHawkins and had called the meeting, National Security Advisor Sommers, who spoke for President Howard, who was not present to keep the ruse of "plausible deniability", Rear Admiral Duijm who was in charge of special forces deployment, and finally having come round the table, Colonel West, who was directly in charge of the GHawkins Special Warfare Operations Brigade. There was no other person present in the room and the debate was heavily ongoing.

"We have no jurisdiction there. Who says Doctor Haydru-... Heydruu-...He-.." Admiral Duijm said, still attempting to pronounce the doctor's name.

"Heydrussen" Sommers interjected with some humour at Duijm's trouble, to which he received a somewhat annoyed nod from the Admiral. Even though Sommers outranked Duijm, they were acquainted on a personal level.

"Doctor Heydrussen. Who says she even was at that facility? All you know is that there was one attacked. There could be a million places that woman can be!" the admiral shot at Robbers. Several papers and pictures littered the desk, including some of the attacked facility.

"An armoured vehicle rammed the access gate, occupants fired upon personnel and eventually the van sped off again. I doubt they mistook the facility for a McDrive Admiral." Robbers calmly replied. He and Duijm could never really get along, because in his eyes, Duijm gave him access to his special forces too little. In Duijm's eyes, Robbers asked for his men too often.

"There could have been a hundred reasons someone rammed that gate! They could've stolen weapons, explosives, maybe stole some technical data to sell. The point is, you don't know! There's a hundred terrorist groups all over the world doing that kind of crap. If I have to sent SWOB after each of them, I better start asking the president for more funding to train a division of the guys!"

The Admiral was slightly annoyed. Every meeting went similar to this one. He should've been at the soccer game with his son, not twenty-eight meters underground in this discussion.

"Military funding requests go through me, you know that" Sommers smirked, only to get an angry gaze from Duijm. He loved pissing Duijm off, but they had been high school friends so Sommers knew he could do it.

"Very funny, could we go back to the matter?" Robbers said, shoving another paper towards the Admiral, "This is the first terror attack on a RLO facility in ages. Why attack this plant? It doesn't manufacture heavy weapons. It has no motor pool. No heliport. Just look at the building."

Duijm looked at the picture that was shoved towards him, a satellite picture of the facility.

"We have identified this building as a barracks" Robbers said, as he pointed at the building just slightly off the main building, "That leaves the question what this bigger L shaped building is. Thing is, we don't know. And that might very well be where they kept Heydrussen. It has no chimneys, it's no factory. It's no missile base, because it has no silo doors. It's no hangar, because it has no runway. It's not a tank storage because there's no track marks."

Duijm rubbed his chin as he listened to Robbers, his gaze still locked on the pictures.

"On top of that, if it was a missile base, hangar or tank storage, you'd think they'd guard it with a fence of a bit higher quality. We know it was a wheeled vehicle that rammed the gate, since there's no marks. So what's left? The YSR General staff's spa? I highly doubt it. Admiral, if Heydrussen was there, it explains the motive for the attack. There might be other explanations but at this moment, we have to assume it was Heydrussen. If she just fell in the wrong hands, we're looking at something that could potentially be weaponized and used against us or our foreign interests."

Robbers shoved another piece of paper over to Duijm, which was a cut out of the article Doctor Heydrussen posted in the NS journal.

"What if they, whoever that is, force her to make an even deadlier strain of Anthrax? What if they make her develop a virus that can alter genetics upon breathing in."

Sommers raised his hand at this point.

"Let's not get ahead of the facts here. We don't know if Doctor Heydrussen had been abducted to begin with. All we know is that there was an attack. We can't rule out a simple terrorist attack. Let's not speculate about what whoever could do with her when it's uncertain that she's gone."

Colonel West, who had been quiet for the entire meeting till now, sat forward from his chair. As he had been motionless the entire time, his movement drew the eyes of everyone around the table. West reached for the picture of the plant, pulling it towards him. He remained quiet, as did the others. West was a highly respected man within military circles, sometimes more than certain Admirals, because of his dedication to his nation and SWOB.

"I know I am but a grunt... But if there's a chance there's a doctor of Heydrussen's caliber missing in a country like... that.." West began, "then it's bad. Not because of what she might produce, but what it might be used for. When they were in the Yellow Star's hands, we knew what we were up against and could strike it down. The Yellow Star took her off the grid after she published her article. Which was already a disturbing thing. But if she was captured by a third party.. We don't know who we're up against and we lost a strategic factor before there's even a direct threat. If the YSR had her, we'd have the direct threat we could touch.. or bomb. If it's another group, we have an indirect threat of which we don't know where to look."

The others around the table nodded. West had obviously done his homework.

"Now, who in here thinks we're the only ones discussing this?"

This was replied to with some frowned eyebrows, as nobody followed West for a moment. West pointed towards the door with his arm.

"Anyone thinks our Republic was the only one to notice that article? Or that there was an attack? Or that everything points to a possible abduction of a scientist whose research could have disastrous consequences if in the wrong hands? Who says it wasn't a black-op by another state to begin with? It could've been the fuckin' Neu Engollonians and we wouldn't know. Thing is, we will never know if we sit here discussing this with no outcome in sight. The only way we'll ever find out, is boots on."

Boots on, a common term used to describe having forces on the ground, was well known by all men around the table, who slowly nodded as West continued.

"I can have a team inserted there via air on our own black ops. YSR possesses soviet-era equipment. Give me a C-seventeen and an F-one-eleven A and they won't know where there. You'll hear about the team again when they radio for extraction after completing their objectives, or in YSR state news when they've been arrested."

"In which case we Six them" Sommers added.

Six was a short for Protocol Six. That meant that in case of capture of an operative, they'd disavow him/her and deny any involvement with the activities of the individual.

"Indeed." West added quite reluctantly. He hated the thought of having to leave his men somewhere in some country to rot in a cell. Or worse, get tortured before publicly executed. Though officially, there'd be no rescue for the captured men, everyone who knew West even a little bit, knew he'd go back for his men, even if he had to tear a prison apart brick by brick.

Duijm slowly nodded. He has known West for ages now, appointed him to SWOB himself. But every time, the guy managed to sway him. He turned to Robbers.

"You got what you wanted. We'll get boots on."

Robbers nods at Duijm, before nodding at West as well.

"I'll alert the stand-by team. Have them on the tarmac. Admiral, think you can get me those birds?" West asked.

Duijm nods.

"I'll have them cleared and briefed on need-to-know. Insertion only."

West nods in reply, turning to Robbers.

"Can you get me a package of all relevant data? They'll brief themselves with it on the way in."

Robbers stood from his chair, collecting the papers.

"I'll have everything set for them."

Sommers suddenly started chuckling. All eyes focused on him.

"What's there to laugh?" Duijm, in dead seriousness, asked.

"Oh, nothing... Just the fact you're planning one of the most daring black-ops in the history of our Repbulic and you arrange it all by yourself while I'm here for the President."

All the other men stopped for a moment, frowning. They had quite effectively forgotten to ask official permission to launch the mission from Sommers. Duijm was the first to place a grin on his face.

"Like you're ever gonna go against me." he dared Sommers.

"You know me too well, bastard." Sommers returned, smiling, "Now, go. Remember, this meeting never happened"

Sommers turned towards Robbers and West, when his eyes widened in surprise to see West's chair empty. Nobody, not even Robbers who had been standing next to West's chair, had noticed him standing up, let alone move away from the table. They all turned to look at the door, to see West already halfway through it, looking back.

"What meeting?" he shot back, before disappearing.

The three remaining men exchanged glances.

"Told you he was good" Duijm smirked, as they all stood up and left the room.

Forty minutes after the end of the meeting:

The black GMC SUV turned onto the taxiways of GHawkins City's main military airfield. Darkness was about to fall over the city, though its many lights kept the sky illuminated. The driver drove past rows of military aircraft and helicopters. He eventually reached a C-17, it's ramp open as two Zodiac inflatable boats with a hard bottom were being rolled into the belly of the aircraft. Several men were in the process of loading, others were preparing the plane to take off. A handful.. were simply sitting on their asses on the ground or the ramp. West smiled as he saw the group through the tinted windows, as he pulled to a stop by them. He pushed open his door, stepping out.

"Evening"

"Evenin' boss." the general reply came. Some stood up, dusting off their ACU trousers.

"Where's the Staff Sergeant?" West asked. He was pointed to the interior of the aircraft. He nodded at the men, before stepping onto the ramp, stepping over the bear of a guy laying on it.

Inside, he found men loading equipment and finishing last minute cehckups. On one of the chairs attached to the hull of the aircraft, he found Staff Sergeant Owen Higgins with a bowie hat covering his face, apparently sleeping. West, who had been carrying a folder with him, threw it onto Higgins' lap. In turn, Higgins yawned as he raised his hat.

"Evening boss." he smirked.

"Sleeping on the job are we?"

"No sir. I was checking the inside of my hat for possible terrorists or other targets of opportunity."

"Well, got something else to check for you. Briefing's inside. Wheels up in ten. Prepare to get wet."

With that, West walked out again and entered the SUV again after waving goodbye to the other men.

Eleven minutes later

The giant C-17's wheels stopped rolling as they lost contact with the tarmac of the GHawkins city Airbase. The pilot turned the massive aircraft towards east, as the aircraft gained altitude. In the back, Higgins cut through the seal of the envelope and handed the contents over to the rest of his eight men. All had been strapped in. And they started reading, as they made their way towards the YSR.

[Riysa]

Raven's Nest, just after GLO raid

"Sir, the NESA agents confirmed. We're picking them up at the location we notified them of."
"Alright. I want Lieutenants Yasin, Hamid, and Yassir to pick them up. Liwa, stay with me. The rest of the agents will proceed to arrive here."
Flight Captain Haytam paced around the basement floor, completely impatient regarding the recent developments. It was somewhat to be expected, but nonetheless suprising that someone had gotten to Wildcard so quickly.
"This isn't over sir, is it?"
"No. It isn't unless she's with us or she's dead. Or if the Chancellor himself tells us to haul our rears out of here. Anyone claiming responsibility yet?"
"Nope. Nothing. Nada. I guess we wait and see."
"Indeed. Send a message to Talon Squad, see if they can get into the border. Undoubtably we will be needing them."

Raven's Nest, 30 minutes after GLO raid
The SUV picked up the agents without any trouble, and delivered them to the Nest. By the time they arrived the rest of the agents had already been sitting around the planning table, drinking cups of coffee while looking at maps provided to them by Command. Flight Captain Haytam looked up as he saw the three NESA agents enter the room.
"Welcome, gentlemen. I am Flight Captain Haytam, commander of all AFID officers and operations at this very moment. Undoubtably as you have heard, Dr. Heydrussen has been kidnapped by as of a yet unknown party or parties. We'd like to hear what you think we should do at this very moment; several people have suggested that we conduct a small recon of the crime scene."

Southern Border, YSR, 30 minutes after GLO raid
Sneaking in troops would be hard enough; with the heavy weaponry they were bringing, the difficulty increased severalfold.

To make this need a reality, specialised insertion - and a friend with connections - would be needed. A Ka-60, painted in the colors of the YSR's military and carrying a YSR IFF becaon, carried the squad down low across the sparsely guarded southern border. Of course, it would have been preferable to insert up north, but the military was on high alert, and insertion up north would be troublesome at best. Across the south, it would be a lot easier. The Ka-60 did a "hot" landing, dropping off its cargo. "Get your rears moving! Make sure your equipment is in working order, and get out! We don't want to be sitting ducks, do we?" The sergeant barked at the rest of the paras. The insertion was risky at best, and there was a very likely chance they wouldn't be able to leave the country as quickly. After ensuring all of his soliders were prepared, he motioned for the helicopter to take off, while he led his squad up north. If everything went to plan, the AFID would soon come after them, taking them back to the Nest.

[Gragastavia]

GLO Safehouse

El-Hashem and one of the operators waited in the soundproofed safe room next to main hall where they were waiting for Heydrussen to regain consciousness. The operator was violently clacking at a keyboard as the dial-up connection made the loading move at a snail’s pace. The operator smacked the hard drive and that seemed to help as it progressed to a few more pixels, then finally to the full. He logged into the local newspaper’s website and already there were reports surfacing.

“Shit. Doctor, you might want to see this,” the operator said, “We’re in serious jeopardy of being compromised.”

El-Hashem narrowed in, “Did you expect any less? We have limited time.” He thought for a moment, “She’ll have to be awakened.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

He stared blankly at the wall for moment, biting his lip as he thought and measured the situation. “No, my money is that she won’t help us. Nor do we really have the equipment for a proper interrogation.” He glanced over to one of the desks in the safe room, “Besides pliers.”

Another operator in the back set a handset down in its dock, “Sir, just got off with high command. We are not to proceed with interrogation.”

“Well, you don’t say?” the operator next to El-Hashem said, but his spirit was shot down with a glare.

“Did they say anything else?” El-Hashem asked.
“Yes, Doctor. They want you and Almakah to leave. We’re to hold until assistance arrives.”
El-Hashem gave a diabolical smile. He knew how it was going to work. Heydrussen was only the first rung. He had some of her research from the papers the team got and truth be told, the written word was more accurate than the spoken word. The team of scientists that the GLO had at their disposal could reconstruct it for their own diabolical plots. Those in the cell were disposable, simply assets to be spent.
He nodded firmly looking around the room, “Almakah, on me. Get the driver. We’re out of here.”
El-Hashem took those few minutes to grab the attaché case that had been filled with the intelligence. All he would have to do now is ride out the paranoia and patience was one of his strong suits. There were few traces of him ever having been at the safehouse, save for fingerprints or hairs and those would likely not be able to be traced back to him, seeing that his record in the Gragastavian Hall of Records simply dropped off after the 1990s when El-Hashem went to Falkasia.

He was one of the few GLO members who were tolerant of the Falkasians. They had been open to his ideas of genetic enhancements, unlike the Gragastavian Parliament who had condemned his research and threatened to shut it down if he continued any further. He wasn’t so much one of the ‘revenge on the Falkasians’ GLO members so much as the ‘restore Gragastavia to the modern era’ type. Only that to him, restoration meant harboring an advanced military force and his Falkasian associates had refused to allow him to use his old research for military applications, rather they wanted him to use it for a medical purpose. And that left him one final choice before branching out to the foreign community; the GLO.

Almakah and El-Hashem assembled in the back seat of the silver Cadillac sedan, the driver in the front at the wheel. The case was resting on the lip between the two seats. And away to the safehouse in Arkjelstad they went.

“Thank Polatilus that swipe worked,” Almakah said, “They’re screwed without us.”

“Don’t be too confident, we ain’t home free yet,” the driver glanced behind him, “Still quite a ways. Only when I’m sipping tea in the Sinclairview Mountains will I deem us safe.”

“We have the research. It’s what we came here for. That’s all we need. I should’ve faxed this to the headquarters, though,” El-Hashem said.

“There’s still time for that.”

“S’pose there is.”

“Anyway, our goal now is not to draw attention. So as far as one is concerned, you and I are business partners, El-Hashem, and…” Almakah turned to the driver, who was the palest of the three, “You’re our local attaché. You speak the language, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Good.” He turned back to El-Hashem, “We sell… uhh…. Steel.”

Now, Mohammed Junaid had taken command on the safehouse with El-Hashem gone. His first instinct was to vacate but that was hardly an option. Twenty-some Arabic men all leaving a dilapidated building at roughly the same time would simply point suspicion their way. And the high command had told them to wait until they were relieved. That could be hours, that could be weeks. Firearms were distributed from the arms locker, each man taking whatever he cared for. They weren’t quite sure if an attack would come, although having a weapon with you right when the moment came would be best.

The still sedated body and chair of Heydrussen was bound a little tighter and shoved into a corner where no one cared to look. At this point, it didn’t matter if she came awake. She was restrained, she couldn’t make a fuss. Junaid knew that it was only a matter of time before they were discovered.

He pulled back the top of his pistol to prime it for firing. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, but his logic knew otherwise.

“Oi, Junaid?” a voice from behind called.

He turned; it was Sharnirci, “Yeh?”

“Did you hear anything about our relief?”

“No, nothing new. Hopefully when El-Hashem and Almakah get to where they’re going, they’ll let command know. For now, we’re on our own.”

“Okay.”

Junaid nodded and turned back into the safe room. In the corner of the room, farthest from the door, the front door’s camera feed was displayed. He drew in closer to get a better view and to manipulate the joint it was on. No one was coming… yet.

[Yellow Star Republic]

ÖLDUNGARHRING, ARKJELSTAD

"What the hell happened?! We seriously lost her...again? Y-You've got..."
Premier Torgesson picked an empty highball glass off his desk and rolled it in his hand contemplating.
In an instant, it was smashing against the wall of the office.

Director Mattiesen and Marshal Gunnisen stood stock still, not sure how to react. "So, let me get this straight...Foreign agents are coming in the airports, off boats, we have them on camera. Now this? She's gone? Now we've lost it all. Did somebody take over my body yesterday and order a revolving door policy for anyone with a fancy accent to come and go as they please, no questions asked? Get your thumbs out of your asses! What the fuck exactly is your agency doing, Mattiesen?"

Marshal Gunnisen piped in,
"You really dropped the ball, Matti-"

"You SHUT UP, Marshal! They're coming in through your sieve-like defenses. Not exactly the best strategy going there and I'm picking up your mess..."

"Both of you schmucks, shut the hell up! So we caught, what, two agents?"

"Yes, sir, from Neu Engollon. Suspected NESA. We've had requests from their embassy to release them, backing up their story that they're beer salesmen."

"Don't do it. Not now. We'll sort it out later, but they can rot in the lower levels for a while. This Falkasian rock star, too, this tour is mighty convenient..."

"Teknik. I don't think he plays rock, sir..."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"OK, well the tour was booked months ago, before the article, so...I think he's legit."

"Maybe. But what if they switched his entourage around? Did anybody check publicity photos, to make sure?"

"I...I was told they did, but I think you're right, sir. We need to double check."

"Glad I could tell you how to do your job, Director. Get moving then! Marshal, you need to divert some of your troops to help the RLO at the ports, I want every foreigner getting re-checked and checked again. Commissioner? We need the Lögreglu to step up checks, hit the hotels, the seasonal rental area, all of it. You people are supposed to be thinking of this crap, not me."
No one dared tell the Premier that they already had their respective forces doing everything possible to hunt down the terrorists and keep them from leaving, and keep anyone else from entering.

"Get on it, carry on. We need to pick up the pieces, now! The Republic is now on lock down. No one gets in, no one gets out. We have to get her back."

TENINGUR, ARKJELSTAD

She buttoned up her blouse as he put his pants on. They'd had office trysts before, because in this archaic organization, under this pig, that was the only way a woman like her could make it up to the higher levels. This was a very odd time for it though, right after all that had happened.
And this time, it hadn't been lust. This was a very forceful and animalistic instance. He obviously was taking out the current frustrations on her. She had failed him and the RLO. She had been expecting a bullet in the back of her head or to rot in the lower levels because of the raid on the lab. If this was all she got, she was sure that he thought she should consider herself maybe lucky, but she didn't feel so. He zipped up and walked around the desk, stepping over some of the items that had been swept to the floor off the desk.
"Sit."

Gerta did not sit. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Very well, then. I'm not going to get into all of it. You know that your life is almost forfeit at this point. You were her minder, dammit! You should have died protecting her. Do you understand how much I detest getting it from the Premier over this?" He frowned.

She didn't speak. She would eventually exact her revenge, on those who had put her in this position and then him. She would own this office some day and maybe keep his head in a freezer.

"Start redeeming yourself now, Gerta. Tell me some good news."

"We think we may have hit them with more casualties than they left behind. The two vans were pretty torn up before they peeled out of here, they must have been reinforced, still they were like a range backdrop, soaking in the led, and..."

"That changes nothing."

"Well, we think we know who did this. We got a hit on the terrorist's body they did leave behind. Gragastavian. He was hunted by the Falkasians at one point back during that crisis they had with the GLO."

"Who?"

"The Gragastavian Liberation Organization."

"How did they get all the way up here? What contacts could they have? Gragastavia? Really?"

"Confirmed hit. The YSR underground runs with all types, it's not that much of a stretch."

"Well, hunt them down. This nation is on a super tight lock down, they're not leaving here, so we need to scour the country until we turn them up from their rock, before they go into deep hiding."

"Yes, Director."

SOUTHERN MIL. DISTRICT HQ
SOUTHERN BORDER OF YELLOW STAR REPUBLIC

"Sir, radar picked up a slow-mover. Not registering green on the IFF. JaegerFlok unit called it in near Hill #672. They have a visual and..."

"And?"

"They have the right markings and paint job, sir. Maybe their transponder isn't working?"

"That's a pretty steep coincidence considering all the funny business going on. All the memos we've gotten from Arkjelstad say to be on alert for anything. Let's get our air that's up over there, then hail them."

"If they don't answer?"

"Shoot 'em down, of course."

Near the border, a flight of four Mi-24 Hind gunships closed in on the unknown aircraft. A flight of three MiG-21s buzzed by and circled. The unidentified helicopter had turned around and was heading back south towards the border at a fast clip when they caught up with it.
They hailed the chopper in the Nordic language of the Republic, then they rebroadcast in English:

"Unknown aircraft, you are in Yellow Star Republican air space. Identify yourself! You have 10 seconds to comply or we will fire!"

BJELNORG
HOURS AFTER THE RAID

At the research grounds of the RLO facility,
RLO agents and crews scoured the lab and grounds for evidence. RLO Special troops, bolstered by forces from the JaegerFlok (Special Forces), set up MG pits, concrete barriers, tank traps and patrolled heavily. No one from town would be able to cross the southbound road that separated the facility from the outskirts of the coastal town. The northern gate was repaired and a steel sliding gate was put in behind it. It seemed rather senseless when they had already gotten away with the scientist, but valuable material was still on the grounds, some of it, anyway. Inventory was still being taken on what was missing. Dr. Heydrussen's assistants, those that had survived the attack, were now the most valuable personnel in the RLO's possession and they were guarded as such.

Roadblocks and checkpoints were set up on all roads leading into Bjelnorg. Foot patrols were in the woods and on the outskirts of town. Inside the town, the RLO was going door to door and checking every building that appeared unoccupied. If they had suspicions, they acted on them. Rousting people up from their dinners or evening routines.
Aircraft were up and doing combat air patrols both around the lab site and around strategic locations throughout the nation. The armed forces were on high alert. MiG-21s and Hind gunship flights did patrols all over the eastern half of the country, searching for anything suspicious in the hopes of tracking down the terrorist raiders or any accomplices. The two white vans were high on their list. Two similar vans owned by civilians had been stopped, one of the drivers being accidentally killed in the process.

At the port control facility, a call came in from a ship they'd been tracking. Patrol boats were already closing in as they responded.
"Sea Star, negative. Bjelnorg is restricted and off limits to foreigners. Do not approach the shore or you will be fired upon. We are calling a tug to tow you to the next closest port, Mamjoltor, just north of Arkjelstad. Please follow the YSR Naval commands."

The patrol boats of the YSR Navy closed in. On the lead one, a couple officers stood at the stern as it puttered slower, close to the large cargo ship. One officer held a mike in his hand. As he spoke, the signal went out over loudspeakers on the con tower and over the open channel, simultaneously.
"Sea Star, this is Captain Hjemborn of the YSNS Framherji. Cut your engines and prepare to be boarded. You are in restricted waters. We need to inspect your vessel for safety reasons. Please comply."

ONE HOUR AFTER THE RAID
** YELLOW CENTRAL NEWS BROADCAST **

"Good evening, this is Georg Knutssen with Yellow Central News. Thank you for tuning in. We have breaking news to report to you. Some kind of disturbance has occurred in a northern coastal town near a government installation. The official Government statement is that local dissident protesters attacked government workers and security and were dealt with. We are unable to get more details as they won't let our on the scene reporters through into the town. We have also been asked not to release the town name by the Government, even though word from town residents has reached their friends and family. We will comply with that order for now."

[Neu Engollon]

DRIVING NORTH ON A BACK COUNTRY ROAD
CENTRAL YSR
THE HOUR OF THE LAB RAID

They had left 2 men behind, along with a small cache of arms that Baldur Hjortssen, their Black Market contact, had brought for them when he met them before the border. They would have an extraction base in the Glisandian hills, just in case things got hairy. More arms were in the back of the Saab SUVs.
Hjortssen had indeed been the man to have on their side. Besides the arms, he had made sure to bring them through one of his common crossing points at the border. Whether he paid off guards, or just knew the timing of their patrols that well, they'd never know. Now that they were in, they only had to worry about it on the way back out and there were more important things on their minds, just then. Hjortssen didn't have time to answer, as he'd mentioned that he needed to be off to check with another client. He'd seemed rushed getting to the meet as well. Captain Owen had the distinct feeling that they were sharing Baldur with a competing team, and considering the circles they went through to make contact with Hjortssen, he had a feeling he knew who that other client might be.

The plan was to roll north and east, as two of the three sites they had been given as possible lab sites were in that direction. Hjortssen had come through yet again with a rented lodge south of Tankjel, the closest he could get to a midpoint for them.
Jitpuuri was in the first, lead Saab with Captain Owen and four others. A Glisandian radio station droned on, still in strong range to not be jammed by the local authorities. A DJ was talking between songs. Carlos Salazar was driving, and reached to turn the radio to another popular station to find a tune.
Jitpuuri sat in the back seat and was just about to doze off when he bolted upright.
"Paska! Stop, Carlos! Keep it there. Turn it up."

"Awright, amigo, relax." Salazar complied.

Owen, in the passenger seat turned around, but didn't speak, watching Jitpuuri as he stared out the window, concentrating. Finally the Finn looked at the Captain.
"I think I know where the lab is, Cap. Well...maybe"

"OK. Great. Where?"

"I need a map." Owen reached up and grabbed it out of the glove box. "Here."

Sgt. Vari Jitpuuri stretched out the map, tracing his finger along the northern coast.
"OK, I think...well, they didn't say it was exactly this town, but we have two options besides the lab site in the Southwest. One is on an island, and they didn't mention anything about an island. The other is Bjelnorg. They said it was near a 'northern coastal town'. I'm going to toss a coin and guess Bjelnorg. Yeah. Some kind of disturbance there, maybe a riot? They didn't know, Government is shutting down, doing a news black out. Apparently a Glisandian reporter already disappeared that got close to the area. So...best guess."

"I like your guess. That would be my pick, too. That's based on the information passed on from our client, who thought that the lab where most of the work was done was in the northern half, not a far drive from the Capital." Owen turned front, keying his encrypted comms to relay the message back towards the other cars. The convoy kept along for a few more klicks, then, instead of taking the Tankjel split, they headed due north to the Bjelnorg area.

They still had some driving to do.
If that turned out to be a dead end, they would head due East towards Ankkeyja Island, the other proposed lab site in the northern half of the country. It also depended on how far they could get towards the crisis area before having to stop due to high home security activity. They'd already seen two flights of MiGs go overhead.
We may be pretty conspicuous in three similar SUVs heading towards a secure area. I will have to make the right call on when to pull off the road and de-ass the vehicles before we hit any checkpoints.

RAVEN'S NEST

The three NESA agents walked in and listened as Flight Captain Haytam spoke. They didn't offer their names in return. He continued,
"Undoubtably as you have heard, Dr. Heydrussen has been kidnapped by, as of yet, an unknown party, or parties. We'd like to hear what you think we should do at this very moment; several people have suggested that we conduct a small recon of the crime scene."

Mastroni nodded, looking at his fellow agents, then he turned back to Haytam,
"Well, unless you have anything better to go off of, that might be a good start. I think it's going to be real hot, though. How close do you think foreigners are going to be able to get? They're going to be real riled up right now.
I think you should probably know, they nabbed two of our people at Tankjel International. Operating 'smooth and cold' is going out the window fast, here. They might start hunting down anyone who looks different or talks funny. Possibly, we should try to get into the town first, look for where the rentals are, or maybe the industrial side of town and an empty warehouse. They couldn't have gotten too far with all this heat. Then, if they did, we start working further out in a radius in small teams. Do you have a police scanner?"

[Riysa]

Raven's Nest
Flight Captain Haytam nodded at the agent's words. "I am sorry to hear about the intercept; just as you've said, the window is closing fast. In fact, with this recent raid, I wouldn't be suprised if it is virtually impossible to enter the country from now on. We've just inserted our paratroopers into the country, and from the radio chatter, it would appear their helicopter was intercepted on the way out of the country. As for a police scanner, we in fact do have some, set to "scan" YSR military and PLO frequencies. That's how we've been keeping up to date with the recent events."

The Captain beaconed the agents to the litter that was lying on the table. It was a map of Bjelnorg, with satellite images of the local area flanking it. "As we can see, gentlemen, here is Bjelnorg. Its a moderately-sized town, nothing too big, which is much harder - larger towns allow us to blend in more. Somewhat to the west is this fortress over here - this is where we believe the labs are. Due to this raid, we can be completely certain we won't be getting a mile near it without being spotted and attacked. In fact, I doubt we'll be getting into Bjelnorg like this - we'll stop and hide our vehicles a few miles out and then proceed on foot. As the good agent over here mentioned, we should look into rentals and empty warehouses, which can be found in places such as the industrial area... or here, by the dockyards. In fact, the dockyards could provide a decent means of escape, as long as naval and military traffic isn't too heavy. Keep this in mind when hunting her down, and if/when we complete our mission. Make sure you take your weapons, and stay alert at all times. There's always the risk of being caught, especially now, and if you are caught with a gun at least you have a chance of making it back."

"So, the plan for right now is that we scout out the area. I'll take the majority of the team to Bjelnorg, while Liwa and Yassir go and help assist the paras in moving north. The majority of the team will dismount once we get there, while Hamid and Hashim will stay behind with the vehicle to "listen in" on YSR communications. The NESA agents will be free to go with whoever they wish. Any questions?"

Somewhere in Southern YSR, Hour After Raid

Sergeant Thawr sipped some water while a couple of his riflemen searched the local area. Luckily, no one had yet been spotted, although unfortunatly their transport had been intercepted on its way out. It was strenuous, making their way up north, but he had been promised that the AFID agents would attempt to make contact and drive them up, shortening the travel time. They'd be meeting up somewhere near the center of the country. He hoped that they wouldn't encounter any hostile forces, although with the firepower they were bringing, he felt confident he could shoot his way out of any problem.

The purpose of the paratroopers were to provide heavy punch to the Riysian operations in the area. The AFID agents could fight, sure, but they were spies, not soldiers. The paratroopers would most likely be inactive for the slight majority of the operations, but with armed groups operating in the area, they would certainly be in use.

"Sir, no one in sight."
"Lets move out, squad. We've got a schedule to make."

[Brays Bastards]

The drive to Bjelnorg was a long one, especially with four well-built men wedged into a sedan with little to talk about aside from guns, girls, and past exploits both martial and otherwise. They rolled into town just as the sun was setting, Marcus behind the wheel, Dom's large personage in the front passenger seat, and their two SEAL escorts (Pat and Josh) in the back two seats. Pat was passed out, snoring lightly as the street-lights kicked on and they drove towards Heydrussen's address.

The 'burner' (pre-paid disposable cell-phone) had sat in the cup-holder, silent, for the entire drive, expect when Dom spilled some of his coffee on the thing after they'd stopped for chow at one of the local fast-food joints...

"We there yet?"

Dom was rather unhappy about being wedged in a car this small. The big tattooed Samoan-Apache had been riding most of the way with the Raven Concealment kydex holster holding his pistol digging into his right hip, and he'd had about enough of it. A large, inked paw grasped the 'oh shit' handle of the vehicle as he looked outside, taking note of the number of people on the streets. Traffic was a lot lighter than he'd suspected there'd be for it being this time of week...

"GPS says so. Then again Garmin has a reputation for being a stupid bitch when she can't get a signal..."

"True. Hey, traffic seem a little light to you?"

"Yeah, come to think of it, it does. Kill the music and find a news station..."

Dom man-handled the radio knobs into cooperating until the national news came over the radio describing a raid on a government facility that had taken place earlier that day...

"Sound like our girl?"

Josh Croft was the first to reply from the back seat, sipping a styrafoam cup of coffee of his own...

"Probably. She's a big-shot research doc of some kind, isn't she? Seems like a target for radicals and such. One thing terrorists are never short on is guns and martyrs. One thing they're always short on is a working knowledge of how to manufacture bio-weapons or whatever super-cool mass-casualty toy they think will further their cause..."

Croft had a point, like usual. He didn't speak much, unless it was to his spotter, Patrick Mosley, who was presently sawing logs with his face against the glass of the window...

"Insightful as usual, Josh. Looks like we'll still need to go by her place, though. It's likely there's a journal or something related to her work there they might go looking for if they think the same way we do. If we're lucky, we can snatch one of the fuckers for a little impromptu interrogation..."

Dom was a scary-looking individual, and rather handy with the large Randall fighting knife he packed with him. He'd employed it as quite the interrogation tool in the past as well. Not one of his favorite methods of making people tell him what he wanted to know, but one that worked more often than it didn't.

They arrived at the residential address shortly after they got into town, and sent Josh on a walk down the sidewalk past the place for some up-close recon, sans his sidearm in the event the security was overly protective. The other three parked a good hundred or so feet down the street to observe the place. Pat handed Dom a small digital camera from the back-seat...

"What do you see, Dom?"

[Eternally Warring Spartanians]

At the port control facility, a call came in from a ship they'd been tracking. Patrol boats were already closing in as they responded.
"Sea Star, negative. Bjelnorg is restricted and off limits to foreigners. Do not approach the shore or you will be fired upon. We are calling a tug to tow you to the next closest port, Mamjoltor, just north of Arkjelstad. Please follow the YSR Naval commands."

The patrol boats of the YSR Navy closed in. On the lead one, a couple officers stood at the stern as it puttered slower, close to the large cargo ship. One officer held a mike in his hand. As he spoke, the signal went out over loudspeakers on the con tower and over the open channel, simultaneously.
"Sea Star, this is Captain Hjemborn of the YSNS Framherji. Cut your engines and prepare to be boarded. You are in restricted waters. We need to inspect your vessel for safety reasons. Please comply."

"Commander?" The message had played loud enough for the whole bridge to hear and the radio man looked back at Bi'lia for orders.

"Comply. Shut down engines. Make sure the control room below cuts power to all electrical systems to military equipment and devices. Tell them to shut the doors, both sides. Just encase they want to take look below to. And make sure that out of the damn crates on this boat they don't open that one." Bi'lia was pointing to a white cargo crate in a stack of three right below the crane. Below it was a red one, and above it was an identical white one. "You all known the contingency, its a fucking cargo ship and we're the crew, its why we are wearing these damn jump suits. While they are on board I'm Captain, say Commander and I'll ring you fucking neck if they don't kill us. And where the hell is Ta'halla? I want her showing whoever is in charge around."

The last sentence put a smile on the faces of the men as they all complied with orders, one leaving to go get Ta'halla.

The engines of the ship were put slightly in reverse to stop their forward motion and put them at a stand still before shutting them down.

The radio man respond. "We will comply engines are being shut down as we speak. We appreciate the assistance. YSR personnel are free to come aboard." He then switched to the frequency of the in the cargo container with the rest of the gear. "Keep all quite YSR personnel coming aboard." After getting a roger in reply he quickly returned to the previous frequency in case the YSR had something to radio in once again.

Below the deck was all the cargo ships normal engine works and systems along with an extra bay. The extra bay was usually used for carrying personnel and equipment, and even the triple AAA units and their elevator mechanisms that were usually installed on the EWS transports. However due to the sensitivity of the mission and the possibility of being searched as they were now it contained naught, but empty cargo bins. One cargo bin had been placed strategically in front of the door to the command room that was behind the wall of the bay. One had to go through the cargo bin to reach the door, though it was dark enough in the bay that if one were to simply look in they'd never see the port hatch at the back.

All systems in the command room had already been shut down from previous order. They had closed the cargo bin door as well as locked the port hatch inside it. They then rechecked all systems to ensure it was all off and they simply waited.

Ta'halla had been laying in one of the bunks above deck and below the bridge when she was awoken.

"You've got a job to do."

Ta'halla simply sat up with a scowl on her face. She wasn't the only female on board, but apparently she had be declared the most beautiful. Usually such a thing would be a compliment, or an achievement, but in this case she hated it. She had been chosen, because of her beauty, to be the temptress to keep the dock manager's attention and get him to comply with things.

"We haven't even docked yet though."

"Nope, but we are getting searched, and Captain Bi'lia wants you to escort the man in charge while they look around."

Ta'halla's only response was a loud groan as the man gave a laugh and walked out of the cabin.

She stood up and let her light brown hair down, giving it a quick comb. She then reached under the pillow of the bunk and pulled out clear lip gloss and applied. Lipstick would of given to much away. After all why would a ship worker, female or not, be so done up. She unzipped the jumpsuit down to her belly-button. She had a white cammy on underneath giving your breast support, yet still low enough to show off some cleavage. Looking at herself in the mirror she simply murmur "By the gods I hate this bullshit..."

Ta'halla headed out onto the railing, she was still a floor up form the deck. She was waiting for the YSR to come on board so she could determine who the man in charge was and do her job accordingly.

[Gragastavia]

The resident orderly injected Heydrussen with another dose of the sedative. They didn’t need her conscious, although if they were to hold her for a while, they might need to contemplate an IV drip. The orderly had managed to scrounge up some plastic tubing from the storage closet and he could probably make one from the various widgets they had on hand.

Junaid, again the safe room, was on the phone with High Command. Their instructions remained the same, hold the position. He was starting to feel like he was being given bullshit, as opposed to orders. The GLO oath, though, had him pegged to heed every command of General Alinejad’s subordinates. It was very where when General Alinejad would appear, usually only for the plotting of major operations. At this point, he simply served as a figurehead. Each of the GLO departments had their own objective and they would carry out their mission as best they could.

He got off the phone now. His instructions were simply to hold the position, a restatement of the last, and an update on relief. Three days, barring any unforeseen developments. Junaid walked over to the only window out into the world, the camera over the door. It was a tiny device, concealed by the shadow of the overhang above the door. He steered with the joystick; nothing was out of the ordinary.

The bulbs flickered a little as he left the safe room, power eventually restoring after a few seconds. Perhaps he would request a better assignment when he was next relocated. Al Duhaba was pretty good for GLO agents; the law enforcement was incompetent and could easily be paid off if he was discovered. It was the GRITS that they had to worry about. Even then, though, he would either be shot on the spot, could take a cyanide pill, or interrogated for a few hours. Not many of the GLO agents had much to live for. Dangerous assignments were always given to single men when the luxury was available.

His nerves were on edge as he paced through the safehouse. It was a matter of time before they were discovered; he had seen the news coverage. Someone, if not a whole bunch of people, were after them. The phone rang again: High Command. Junaid walked back into the safe room, “Mohammed Junaid.”

“Mr. Junaid, release the five agents that did the raid.”

“Two’s dead.”

“Doesn’t matter, get the four, then.”

“Any particular way?”

“I don’t care. Just get them out. Alinejad needs them in Gragastavia. We’re planning a big attack.”

“Where?”

“The Big Lobster.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll see to it.”

The Big Lobster was a codeword for Al Shakara, one of the major coastal cities in Gragastavia. It was likely that Alinejad wanted to take out the major oil refinery based there, although it could be a score of other reasons.

And so, the four men were given civilian clothing, kicked out the back door with a few Skel notes and made to find their way home. With any luck, they would make it into a Arkjelstad behind El-Hashem’s car and would integrate with them.

Junaid hung up and sat down in a chair near the phone. It was now a waiting game.

[Yellow Star Republic]

NEAR ARKJELSTAD

There was a small military base to the southeast of the capital. You couldn't get there by civilian road. Taking the inland road from the Capital, on the route to Mamjoltor and Bjelnorg, one would pass by a blocked side road with a swinging bar gate and a NO TRESPASSING sign bolted to it. If one ignored that, busting the lock on the gate, they would come upon a bus blocking the road a kilometer on, probably passing by an unnoticed position, a half-sunken bunker with a well armed squad that acted as overwatch for the roadblock. At this point in the road, there would be no room to run off into the ditch, as the trees came right up to it. There was a pullback spot cleared for the bus, but that was it. Going further a 2 km, one would finnally come upon the proper guard shack, across from a pillbox with a PK machine gun poking out. The guards would check a visitor or cleared personnel's ID, permitting access to the secret installation.

A brigade of JaegerFlok drilled, shot and trained here. A rotor attack squadron maintained their Hind gunships there, which were now on constant rotating patrol, a never ending flood getting refueled, maintained and sent back out on the hunt, sometimes with a troop of JaegerFlok on board. Two other companies had been trucked to Bjelnorg, where they set about patrolling and scouring the surrounding woods.

55 km down the road, taking the Tank-Ark Highway split NE; away from the eastern road to Tankjel; All the way to Bjelnorg, there was even more flurry of activity.

In the air around the recently raided town, along with the secret bases Mi-24 gunships, MiG patrols streaked overhead. They were constantly flying in from the bases near the capital, or near Tankjel.
On the ground, besides the JaegerFlok special forces soldiers, the RLO had agents and their own Special Division troops out in heavy force.
Gerta led one of the teams herself, she was tired of sifting through the lab and looking at her failure, which she didn't even deserve. Plus, if Mattiesen showed up, she didn't really want to be around.

RLO agents were thick on the streets, so much so that whatever unessential business Bjelnorgians had, they didn't attend to, opting to stay in and avoid a sweep to the temporary detention center - mobile trailers set up across the road on the government facility campus. Something malevolent had happened, and all the citizens knew was that it was a very bad time to live in their town.

40km SOUTH OF BJELNORG

One of the Mi-24 helicopters buzzed over 3 SUVs down on the road, somewhat spaced apart They had just cleared the part of the run that ran through the foothills, bottoming out towards the plain. SUVs weren't that uncommon around the area, but with the level of paranoia cranked up to the north, they didn't want to take a chance.
"Örnen Base, this is Örnen Three-Two."

"Copy. Go ahead, Örnen 3-2."

"Örnen Base, we have three civilian SUVs approaching from the south, should we just let them hit the roadblock a few klicks ahead?"
There was a pause on the other end as they processed that info and conferred.

"Örnen 3-2, go ahead and swing around and buzz them again. Try and get a closer look."

"Roger that, base, out."

They complied with Örnen Base.

30km from the SOUTHERN BORDER

"Base, this is Örnen 5-1, we brought down the enemy or unknown helo."

Base had been listening to the interchange on the open channel and were aware that 5-1 never got an answer to their hails. They were now talking on the secure comms, though.

"Roger that, 5-1, nice work. We want your flight to work the area, crank your sensors up and look for ground forces. We think that helo may have been dropping something or someone off...or possibly picking up. We're sending a team out to check out the crashed chopper."

"Roger that, base." The pilot didn't bother relaying that to the other birds, who were in on the channel. They started a grid search. Black smoke poured from over the hill where they had downed the unidentified chopper. He hoped the scientist they were looking for wasn't on that chopper, because her chance of survival was bleak and next to nil.

BJELNORG HARBOR

The YSNS Framjerji pulled up closer, and a zodiac dinghy was launched out with a boarding crew. Sailors manned the mounted guns, pointing towards the cargo vessel. Captain Hjemborn had decided to come with the boarding party this time, to satisfy curiosity. His XO and Captain Sundemann on the YSNS Landkönnuður could coordinate the blockade while he was away. Besides the three patrol boats closing in, a tug was streaming out from the harbor to tow the cargo ship, if it was indeed necessary, in order to get it to Mamjoltor.

Hjemborn, a middle aged, brown haired man, pulled out a bullhorn, as the party sat alert, AKMS' at the ready.
"This is Captain Hjemborn. Prepare for boarding by the YSR Navy! Your cooperation is essential."

MIKILL BORG HOTEL
ARKJELSTAD

The RLO team of agents arrived at the downtown hotel. Two split off to the stairs, two to the elevators and the other two went behind the counter.

"Excuse me! You can't just-"
They pulled out their badges as they grabbed the keyboard and shoved the front desk clerks out of the way.

The manager spoke,
"Oh, well. Can I help you maybe? what exactly ar-"

"NO. Back the fuck out of the way and be quiet. No phone calls or texts."

One of the agents lightly bapped the counter after a few clicks on the computer.
"Got it. Room 536 and 538!" He called out to the agents who had called down the elevator, they held the doors and the two by the stairs headed up. The agent who had spoken stayed behind the desk by the manager, as his partner dashed around the counter and held out his hand.

"Oh! Teknik! We love him. He's very pop-"

"We said shut the fuck up. Get out your master pass key. Good. Hand it to him, dumbshit." He did and the agent grabbed it and trotted over fast to the elevator to join his comrades.
"Good. Now I wait with you."

One of the desk clerks started to pick up a phone and the agent smiled,
"So, you want a trip to the lower levels of Teningur? That's cool. I will make that happen."
The clerk dropped the phone.

[Eternally Warring Spartanians]

BJELNORG HARBOR

The YSNS Framjerji pulled up closer, and a zodiac dinghy was launched out with a boarding crew. Sailors manned the mounted guns, pointing towards the cargo vessel. Captain Hjemborn had decided to come with the boarding party this time, to satisfy curiosity. His XO and Captain Sundemann on the YSNS Landkönnuður could coordinate the blockade while he was away. Besides the three patrol boats closing in, a tug was streaming out from the harbor to tow the cargo ship, if it was indeed necessary, in order to get it to Mamjoltor.

Hjemborn, a middle aged, brown haired man, pulled out a bullhorn, as the party sat alert, AKMS' at the ready.
"This is Captain Hjemborn. Prepare for boarding by the YSR Navy! Your cooperation is essential."

Ta'halla came down to deck level and headed to the side of the ship the that was being hailed from. She looked over the side at the patrol boat. Of course noticing the heavy machine guns being pointed at them was the first thing that attracted her attention. "Well that is just peachy..." She stared at them for awhile, though she didn't show signs of fright. After all this wasn't her first time, it actually made her a little excited being the adrenaline junky she was.

Eventually her eyes drifted downward to the smaller boat and murmured to herself. "Think you boys are badass with those fine pieces of death machines in your hands don't you... Maybe this won't be so bad..." She raised her hand and waved to the dinghy. "You can climb up over here!"

She threw a rope ladder down over the side of the ship. "Your more then welcome on board! Captain gave me orders to show you around personally!"

[GHawkins]

Enroute to YSR
(Out or radar range)

The massive C-17 pierced through the sky, supported by its four massive engines. They were now directly on a course that would bring them past the edge YSR's territorial waters, but not through them. Its navigation lights were turned on, as they strobed, flying high above the cloud layer at thirty-thousand feet. With not a bird, man made or by nature, in sight, the pilots briefly allowed themselves to relax.

"Regular supply run my ass" the navigator commented as he had just verified their position on the GPS.

"Makes you say that?" the pilot replied as he kept one hand on the controls, the other on the throttle lever. The aircraft literally rested in his hands.

"Have you seen what they brought on board when we were on the tarmac?"

"No, neither should you" the co-pilot merged into the conversation, as he looked over his shoulder towards the navigator, whose seat was at a console behind the two pilots.

"Just saying. They got boats and stuff. And these guys aren't air force, I'm telling you!"

"Mike, just shut up and check our position again. Our escort should join us soon." the pilot said, looking outside the window into the darkness.

As on signal, to their left two blue-orange flames ascended, leveling off besides them. The greyish hull of the aircraft reflected slightly in the moonlight as it banked a bit. Combining the reflection with the outline of the plane, the pilot of the C-17 could see that it was an F-111 Aardvark.

Their radios crackled.

"This is Angel flight. Leveling at your port at fifty, carom zero. Uh.. How copy?" a rather heavy voice, slowly spoke through the radio.

"Solid copy Angel flight. Glad to have you with us tonight." the pilot replied through his headset.

"Uh... pleasure is ours Falcon. We're taking up position to your front, carom twenty. Out."

The F-111 banked and opened the throttle, bringing itself up over the C-17 as it sped forward a bit.

"There goes the Aardvark" the pilot commented as the F-111 banked.

"See? Supply run... why would they sent an armed escort to a simple supply run?" the navigator announced, after setting the next waypoint in the GPS.

"They didn't.." the Co-pilot dryly remarked. The Navigator turned at him, a skeptical look.

"What do you mean they didn't..?"

"What I'm saying with it. It aint an Aardvark. It has no weapon mounts" the co-pilot, who had been intensively staring out of the window, replied, "It has something attached under its belly... I think it's a Raven.."

The cockpit remained quiet for some time.

"A Raven...?" the Navigator started, "You are telling me they're sending an Electronic Warfare plane on a supply run? Like hell"

"Mike... shut up and stick to your console" the pilot shot back at him, ending the conversation.

C-17 Cargo hold

The nine men were busy loading up their gear into the Zodiacs and fastening it tightly. The pair of zodiacs were rigged with two parachutes each, on bow and stern. They were fitted with pressure sensors, so they would deploy without any human interaction at a set altitude. Large bags were fastened in the interior, strapped tightly, checked and then rechecked, before being checked again. Inside the bags, military gear was stowed, as well as miscellaneous items such as MREs and sleeping bags.

The Zodiacs were set on pallets, their outboard motors also fastened inside of them. The plane vibrated slightly under the engines that carried it through the sky. They were lucky to have little turbulence, so that made the men's jobs a whole lot easier.

They SWOB men had recently finished reading through the briefing. Each had memorized the details and objectives and loaded them into their computer hard drives. They had done so in silence, each man processing the information in their own way. When everyone was confident they knew the data and had the right info on their hard drives (not everything was transferred, only objectives and GPS markers and map data), they had quietly burned the papers in one of the trash bins, having taken out any other flammable first, not wanting to set the plane alight.

Diving and parachute gear was hung to the fold-up chairs where the man had read their briefing. This included the actual parachutes, wet suits, respirators, face masks and fins to name a few.

On one of the chairs, Staff Sergeant Owen Higgins was looking at his wrist display. He had connected to the satellite network that powered the devices and was now receiving pictures from a recent satellite run over YSR. The MILSAT had been programmed to take regular and infrared pictures of several of the Yellow Star's Republic's airbases (those that GHawkins intelligence could find because of the obvious print runways leave in the landscape). As the pictures slowly downloaded, he looked at them, observing the activity displayed on each of them.

[Falkasia]

The Airport
Several Hours Prior...

"I can't believe it worked..." Vitaly told Sergey.

"I can't believe you didn't think it would!" he replied.

"And I find your lack of faith disturbing," Lev added, mocking a favorite character of his.

From his position in the driver's seat, Evgeniy briefly took his eyes off the road and turned to face them.

"You did a good job Lev, I'll give you that..." he sighed, "but we're not out of the woods yet."

After vacating the airport, the four of them had quickly procured transportation. It was a rental car, by no means the best or preferred method of travel for four agents in a hostile country. But it would work, as nothing else was available for them to use.

"Where are we staying at again?" Sergey asked inquistively.

"Dunno," added Vitaly.

"Should be the..." Lev fingered through an accordian folio.

"Mikill Borg Hotel." Evgeniy finished. "Its very nice, probably moreso than our usual standards."

"Sounds like a glorifed bar..." suggested Lev.

"I bet it does have a decent bar... most hotels of this caliber do." Evgeniy described. "I'm sure it has every bit of alcoholic drink imaginable."

He turned again to face his crew. Only Sergey had the look of ravenous starving child on his face.

"Oh that's right... we're on the job... which means... no.... alcohol. How unfortunate...." he smirked, crushing their hopeful dreams.

"Ouch... that was kinda cruel.." Sergey moaned.

Lev and Vitaly grinned. "Need some ice for that burn?"

"Fuck you guys. Fuck all of you..." he curled up, pretending to be hurt.

Evgeniy ducked down, craning his neck to see underneath the windshield. He removed one hand from the wheel and pointed forward.

"There it is... I think..."

"Only one way to find out," Lev declared. "Let's get our things together..."

======

Mikill Borg Hotel
About an hour ago

The four agents stood still, as if the very air was poisonous. Evgeniy did the talking, much to the amusement of them all.

"Hello," he started, "I am checking in!"

The concierge merely glanced at him.

"Me..." Evgeniy pressed his hands to his chest... "check in here..."

The concierge raised an eyebrow. Sergey had to withold a giggle. The stupid foreigner tactic was working. Lev stepped forward, bombastically approaching the desk and shoving Evgeniy aside.

"Hey there my man!" he called cheerily. "I'm Teknik... pleased to meet you!"

The concierge's face lit up, instantly recognizing (or thinking he recognized) the man.

"Yes sir... yes sir!" he stuttered... "Checking in tonight, as we sir?"

"You got it!" Lev shot him a double thumbs-up. "Two rooms; one for me and one for my three associates!"

"Very good sir... very good," the concierge confirmed, glancing down as he tapped out something on his computer.

He reached behind him to grab two keys before turning and handing them Lev's way.

"Here you are sir! Rooms 536 and 538 are waiting!"

"Excellent work man!" Lev added, before tossing one key to Evgeniy.

He stared to walk away, but was stopped by the Concierge.

"Uh...sir... my daughter is a huge fan of your's... would it... would it be too much trouble to get a...uh... autograph?" he asked very meekly.

"An autograph?" Lev boomed. "AN AUTOGRAPH?"

The concierge shrunk back, fearful he had upset the imposter.

"Of course! I'd be happy to!" Lev smiled, signing Teknik's name on a scrap of note paper and handing it to the man.

He beemed. "Thank you sir! Enjoy your stay! If there is anything else I can do for you, you have just to let me know!"

======

Mikill Borg Hotel
Present

"Are you all set?" Evgeniy asked.

"I believe so," a strange fifth voice replied. "It only took me a lifetime to get off the fuckin' plane. I don't understand how you guys do it... all the fuckin' time!"

"Believe me, when you're travelling on a budget you get used to it..." Sergey said.

"Its not that bad," agreed Vitaly.

"I can't imagine how you guys do it all the time. If I were the Premier, you'd be my number one expense!"

Lev laughed. "See... we are... well... the agency is... its just that the agency doesn't give a shit about us."

"I don't understand it! I just don't!"

The telephone rang.

"I got it!" Vitaly announced, pacing across the antiquated wooden floor to the nightstand.

It went silent as soon as he arrived. The room went silent as each agent turned towards one another.Their eyes met, faces growing white.

"Its time to go," Evgeniy declared with only a tiny bit of panic in his voice.

"Wait... what... what's going on?" the fifth voice asked very concerned.

"No time to explain... we've outstayed our welcome. Get you shit together... game time has been moved up!"

The four agents quickly tore around the room, packing up gear getting ready to go. If they were quickly enough, they could make it by the hair of their chins. The room was turned upside-down in an instant, as any trace of their presence was removed. The door slammed, signalling the evacuation of Sergey and Vitaly as the disappeared in search of an escape route. Evgeniy and Lev remained behind, making final preparations.

The large grandfather clock down the hall ticked by. Second after second after second passed, and it seemed the two men were'n't going fast enough. Lev quickly stripped out of his costume, putting on the business suit he had arrived in. Evgeniy backpedalled out of the bathroom, clad in a heavy leather jacket with the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He motioned to Lev, who followed suit.

"Wait... guys... where are you going?" the fifth voice asked.

"We're leaving, that's where." Evgeniy replied, forcing the words out despite his adrenaline rush.

"But guys... what about... what about me?"

Evgeniy patted him mock reassuringly on the chest as he backpedalled towards the door. "Just be yourself!"

In the same instant, the two agents were out the door leaving the fifth man bewildered.

"What just.... happened..." he asked aloud, wheeling on his heel to survey the room.

"OPEN UP!" a call came from the other side of the door.

"Coming," he automatically replied, walking cautiously towards the door.

He grasped the handle with his hand, unlocking the deadbolt as he opened it. A glove hand shot through the crack, causing him to recoil out of shock. The door was forced open as several armed men came through.

"Who the fuck are you?" they bellowed at him, unleashing torrents of questions.

"I'm... I'm... I'm Teknik... you know.... the guy here for the concert?" he meekly replied.

[Neu Engollon]

35km SOUTH OF BJELNORG
USG PMC TEAM

They drove on in silence for a bit, looking at the tundra. There were little patches of trees here and there, but the landscape was pretty scarce here. It was nothing like what their intel said it would be like closer to the coast. Captain Owen was on edge. They wanted to get a little closer, but he had no idea how far out they had checkpoints and were expanding their perimeter. There were sure to be some. With a totalitarian regime trying to crack down after a dramatic raid on their most prized facility, it was bound to happen. If he judged it wrong and they came over the rise to find a roadblock, they would be done. Even should they turn around immediately, they would be in sight of the roadblock and the YSR would have troops or police or even aircraft on them within minutes.
"All right...All right in five minutes, lets find a place to tur-"

Salazar cut him off.
"Shit! That's a Hind."
The YSR Russian-made gunship zoomed right overhead, just off east of the highway.

"Shit!"

"Damn!"

Owen snapped to it. He keyed his comm link, "OK, that changes the plan. Wilson, you there?"

"Yeah." Lt. Wilson, in the follow up SUV, answered.

"You have the Azra in your car, get it ready if he comes back, but don't haul it out until I say so..." Hjortsen, the black market gun runner, had hooked the USG mercs up with the Pakistani-made MANPAD. It was the heaviest ordnance they carried besides three medium machine guns and a couple sniper rifles. "I want everyone to act like dumb tourists. Roll your windows down and wave if they buzz us again."

"Roger that, sir."

Sure enough, the Hind came back circling and then it hovered in front of David Owen's lead SUV, facing it. They all waved out the window and the Hind was still for a moment, then the tail rotor waggled. The helicopter rose up and circled, then continued to the south.

"Soooo....What now, boss?" Jitpuuri asked.

"We're not done and in the clear...They probably just vectored ground vehicles onto us to haul us out and question us. We're going off road. Carlos, head that way." Captain Owen pointed off to the northeast. It was unspoken that if they were stopped by authorities with all the gear they had in the vehicles, questions would be completely unnecessary. "We grab as much gear as we can and we go on foot, abandoning the vehicles. We have about 40 or so klicks to go, but we're pros, we can do a quick hike like this in our sleep."

"Yes, sir."

"You got it, Cap."

RAVENS NEST, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
NESA TEAM

"Yes, the plan is sound, Captain Haytam. I think we can manage that, we will go with you to the industrial district."

Team Leader Mastroni nodded to Agent Minon, who held a big duffel. "We have weapons. I need to make a phone call to our own safe house, then we'll be ready to leave. If you'll excuse me." Mastroni walked into the next room, towards a corner. It wasn't totally private, but he didn't much care if he was overheard. He pulled out an encrypted sat. phone and dialed a couple numbers.
Back in Tankjel, Agent Vamaix picked up the other line, but as per training, no names were mentioned on either end of the line. Even on a supposedly secure line, they were still in a potentially hostile nation.
"Hey, I need you to get the other two out of the pool, tell them to join you and him. Grandpa should be at the park now and we don't need them getting the lifeguard mad. Be ready to move after they get there. I will call once more to check, then don't call me back until I call you. If none of us calls in the next hour, go to the backup plan."

"I understand." Came back her steady, level voice.

"Good."

Basically, he didn't want Ramaldi and Gerstler wasting any more time perking the interest of every YSR government agency to their presence, especially when there were now Neu Engollon Foreign Affairs Ministry officials on the case. He had faith that the FA Ministry would do all they could to get the release of their team members under RLO lock and key. Once the four of them were together, as long as their cover was still intact, he could decide whether to bring a couple of them closer to Bjelnorg as a backup team, or to leave them to set up possible extraction, or onto another plan. He regretted even having them possibly get on the RLO's radar. It was the wrong decision, made for the right reasons. They couldn't just abandon their comrades to the RLO with no hope. With the Confederacy diplomatic personnel involved, there was hope. The best chance they had now was to get them away from there while they were still free. Also, probably getting them clear of Tankjel altogether before YSR government officials made a grab for them. Unfortunately, they couldn't wait for Ramaldi and Gerstler to drive all the way here from Tankjel and hold up the AFID operation. Time was too short for that. He had made up his mind.
He walked back towards Flight Captain Haytam.
"Okay. We're ready to go, Captain."

[Brays Bastards]

Josh made his stroll leisurely as any man out for a walk might have been, but inside he felt rather naked without the pistol he'd left in the car, along with the ammo and the holster that would have marked him as something other than a civilian. All he packed with him was a decent-sized folding knife, one of Cold Steel's Recon One models with a tanto-point blade configuration.

The house was just up ahead, a car parked in the driveway. As Josh passed, he noted the tags on the windows for a facility somewhere in town. He wasn't sure what it said exactly, but he'd had a naval base tag in the window of his truck for nearly a decade on Virginia Beach, and that was a government access tag if he'd ever seen one.

The lights were on inside as well, so someone was home. Josh caught the occasional flicker of movement as he strolled past. The others drove by in the car to pick him up a block away while they discussed what Josh had seen from his close-proximity recon-walk...

"Somebody's there, just one car. Most likely point of entry is through the front door, maybe two of us hitting the back as well, since I'm not sure how loose you want to play this. I can likely talk my way in through the front if you're against kicking the back door in..."

Scotts nodded, clearly wanting to leave as little trace of their presence as possible...

"Sounds like you're suddenly a god-fearing Mormon, Josh. Yourself and Elder Mosley will be extolling the virtues of Jesus Christ..."

There was a moan of disappointment from the back seat. Pat hated the Moron Routine quite a bit, mostly because he'd been raised Catholic and hadn't set foot in a church since his enlistment...

"This is bullshit, and you know it Marc..."

"You think Dom's big ass would pass for one? Hell no..."

"True. Still bullshit, though..."

Josh had already strapped his pistol and accessories back on, hiding them with a button-down. He and Pat didn't look a damn thing like Mormon missionaries, but it'd at least get the door open and that's all they needed. Hopefully they could subdue the doctor and her security detail without incident...

The four of them parked the car a few houses down, while Pat and Josh made for the front door. It was a late hour for door-to-door stuff and the two of them didn't look anything like their intended disguises, so they'd have to make this quick. Dom and Marc took up positions behind the parked car in the drive-way, after they made sure the streets were clear. It was a late hour, and no-one seemed to be around. The lights in the windows of most of the other houses on the streets were dark as well.

Pat knocked on the door, and smiled pleasantly when it opened...

"Good evening sir! I'm Elder Wong, this is Elder Chan, and we're here to ask if you've heard the word of Jesus Christ!"

The man who answered was clearly an agency member of some sort, but seemed rather groggy, responding in accented English...

"Is late hour. Not time for people to be on street. Go away."

Josh chimed in...

"But sir, I really must insist. It's good for your eternal soul..."

About that time Pat stepped in the door a bit and caught the man across the neck with a light strike to the larynx that staggered their mark. Josh followed the man further inside, drawing his pistol once he was inside the house itself and aiming it at the man's face from a good foot away as he stumbled to get his bearings. Pat followed soon after, drawing his weapon as well and continuing forward to sweep the rest of the house with Dom and Marc as they trailed in behind him...

"Because if you move I'll be sending you to the god of your choice..."

Josh kicked the door closed behind the last man, stepping back slightly and adjusting his angle of coverage as a chorus of 'clear' met his ears. The place was empty, aside from this one guy. Dom returned from the master bedroom, a Makarov in his bear-like hands...

"Found his piece. Still, check him though. I got you..."

After being told to lie face down, arms spread, Josh thoroughly frisked their new friend for hide-out guns, and found none. That fit the image, though. This guy was either a rookie, or an old guy who'd never made the cut to higher callings. Veterans usually hid something, a small gun or a knife, somewhere on their person. Once he was done, he holstered his piece and wrapped the man's neck up in a sleeper hold, until he passed out. It was a little safer than blunt trauma. The man had an identification badge on his person, for an agency Josh had never heard of. Presumably, he was an agent of some sort, and that didn't surprise him. It only confirmed a few of his own suspicions.

Marc and Pat returned a few moments later holding stacks of mail, a few note-books, and a lap-top, presumably because they wanted to get the Hell out of the house as soon as possible. They hadn't found any secret rooms, or any of that spy crap. It was a house like anything else. Marc was busy snapping a few photos with the camera of a few things he found suspicious that they couldn't take with them...

"Drop our friend here in the master bedroom, looks like he lives here anyhow. Quick police-call, too. Can't leave shit behind..."

In a matter of minutes, they were out of the house, back in the car, and off to find a hotel...