Burt nodded at the major. He couldn't argue with his plan, but that wasn't what the Commonwealth Defence Command had in mind. Rather, the plan designed at the time was to separate their forces across the entirety of Panzara. Obviously, they didn't care -what- the Gaelics were doing. The Commonwealth needed their presence in every sector.
'It has to be us,' Burt thought, 'someone else might get it wrong.'
Deciding to finally speak, Burt went on, "Commonwealth vehicles, such as the Combat Eagle and the Badger transport are designed with ease in mountainous terrain in mind. That isn't a worry. The worry I currently have is that the Commonwealth Defence Command wouldn't like to be designated one specific region. As I said, our forces were to be spread across all territories, for the ease with defence."
For a moment, he paused. His brain was processing every piece of information that he had just received from the major, thinking of the best way to respond.
"Nor am I saying that all of our armoured units be in the mountains. Rather, I'm saying that the plan was to expand to multiple territories. I have it understood that the Gaelics are defending the southeast, and, if I know the CDC, I'm sure they don't care what they're doing." Burt shook his head. He needed to actually say what it was that the CDC wanted, rather than blurting out whatever came to mind.
"Allow me to rephrase: the Gaelics are defending the southeast. I'll surely deploy a unit to defend the mountains. If you can give me locations on a map, I'll move units there. And don't worry about roads; we're bloody experts."
'It has to be us,' Burt thought, 'someone else might get it wrong.'
Deciding to finally speak, Burt went on, "Commonwealth vehicles, such as the Combat Eagle and the Badger transport are designed with ease in mountainous terrain in mind. That isn't a worry. The worry I currently have is that the Commonwealth Defence Command wouldn't like to be designated one specific region. As I said, our forces were to be spread across all territories, for the ease with defence."
For a moment, he paused. His brain was processing every piece of information that he had just received from the major, thinking of the best way to respond.
"Nor am I saying that all of our armoured units be in the mountains. Rather, I'm saying that the plan was to expand to multiple territories. I have it understood that the Gaelics are defending the southeast, and, if I know the CDC, I'm sure they don't care what they're doing." Burt shook his head. He needed to actually say what it was that the CDC wanted, rather than blurting out whatever came to mind.
"Allow me to rephrase: the Gaelics are defending the southeast. I'll surely deploy a unit to defend the mountains. If you can give me locations on a map, I'll move units there. And don't worry about roads; we're bloody experts."
Civilian Airliner flight 0972 | Toiletia, Pooped'On | 0550 hours
Alistair stared out the window of the large, civilian airliner. The water glistened below him, shining in the light of the reflected Luna. It was beautiful, the white background with grey spots distorting itself in the waves of the vehicle.
Alistair laughed within himself. Thus far, the operation had been too easy. Boarding the aircraft and passing through security was easy, obviously, and their flight had gone entirely uninterrupted. Though it was clear: 'The only easy day was yesterday'. They certainly weren't done yet. Of course, with Alistair's service record, it was hard to go against it. Undergoing operations in Southeast Asia, major sabotage during the Second Scorpion 'War', and the ranking officer of the Sealand operation. How he longed to return to the minute ten-second window in which the Sealandic Little Bird was pushed back from the explosion of his Crown's M323. Not merely watching the helicopter spin out of control, but rather, the recognition he received back in the Commonwealth Defence Command for having shot down a hostile helicopter with a grenade launcher. Of course, at the time, he was merely a Warrant Officer Class 2. Nowadays, he held his Brigadier emblem as a crown jewel.
And even then, his career wasn't over. The SAS had always been one for keeping their best operatives functional for as long as possible. The reasoning was obvious, and you couldn't go against it. How could Alistair ever retire at this point?
This mission was, of course, a bit different. Back in Sealand, the operation consisted of nearly an entire troop of marines from Ireland, and a small fireteam of SAS operatives. The idea wasn't sabotage - it was seizure. It had been a thorn in their side, and Alistair was tasked with capturing it. That was easy. Go in, shoot some buggers, tag their weapons, and leave the marines to their work. This mission required him to move in with five other SAS operatives, integrate themselves into normal society, and sabotage. Done. And in this case, their weapons weren't brought over. Bloody Command said operation could be hampered with smuggling of weapons. Of course, these guys weren't going empty-handed. Their 'pockets' were full, and the Black Market was a splendid source of weapons, even if they were second-grade.
For now, the Commonwealth had erased his records. Not just his, but their entire team. All of their SAS files were erased, stuck in some file somewhere, where only the top echelons of the SAS could know where to find. They were given new identities. Alistair Beckham suddenly turned into Alistair Stanley, Santherese citizen. It was nearly impossible to distinguish him from a regular civilian. In fact, with the SAS' handiwork, it was impossible. The SAS knew infiltration better than most.
He shifted his head left, down the large, carpeted aisle that rolled out next to him. He looked across at the other seats; within the other sections lay other SAS agents. The rest of his team. First-Class was nothing compared to the SAS' fiscal budget, and this operation was crucial; no expense was spared.
"We'll be landing in a few moments. Please fasten your seat belts and prepare for landing." The pilot's voice was calm and coordinated as it rang over the multitude of speakers across the different classes of the aircraft. Economy class, further back, was still blaring the films they had been watching for over six hours. It had begun to get on Alistair's nerves, thought at least the flight was ending soon.
Turning off the console he had been occasionally reading to observe news and other details of the surrounding area, primarily Toiletia, he sat up straight in the polished leather seats, and fastened the black-and-grey belts that rested at the head of the seat. He dragged it over his chest, above the white tank top, and clicked it into the other side. He pulled lightly, smiling as the belt's limit had been reached.
The force of the aircraft landing was like all the other times he had been moved from one location to the next. He was pushed up against the seat, closing his eyes and swallowing saliva constantly. Finally, the screech of the wheels impounded their ears, and his eyes opened, immediately drifting off to his right to look out the clear window. The airport's lights lit the entire sector up, and the aircraft rapidly moved from the tarmac to the terminal. As they arrived, he heard more wheels screeching; another aircraft had been landing. Probably why his airliner moved so quickly off the tarmac.
"We've arrived at the terminal," the captain spoke again, "please grab your luggage and begin disembarking the aircraft. Have a pleasant day, and enjoy your stay in Toiletia."
Alistair stood rapidly, watching as the other agents followed suit. They quickly removed their suitcases from the overhead, and plopped them on the aisle. Their black wheels rolled as the silver logo on the front of the suitcases glowed brightly. Moving quickly, Alistair took the lead of the five other men, and began walking out through the gate and to security.
"So, we've arrived," Gaz whispered, resting his hand on Alistair's shoulder, "now what?"
"Now we go sightseeing," Alistair coded to Gaz. 'Sightseeing'. A common tourist phrase utilised to refer to looking at the city and viewing the landmarks the city had. To them, it meant search for critical positions in the Toiletian government and prepare themselves to carry out sabotage missions there.
"Sounds expensive!" Harvey joked, poking Gaz on the back.
"It's going to be. Not just money, but time consuming. Of course, I'm sure we'll enjoy it, considering we came here with cargo ships of free time," Alistair responded.
"How about transportation?" Nate asked, genuinely.
"Covered. Rented a few vehicles here and there," Alistair looked back, waiting to see if anyone had any more enquiries to make.
"I'm assuming you've got quite the schedule planned?" Ethan asked, partially to annoy Alistair, and partially because he actually wanted an answer.
"I'll show you guys at the hotel."
"Sorry, Al," Harley said, "I don't know what I'm supposed to ask." The small group shared a weak laugh, as they continued down the aisles to reach the security passes. As they walked, Alistair turned his head right. Past the windows and the aircraft, he could see the light emerging from the multitude of buildings in Pooped'On, the capital. Smiling, he looked back and continued walking.
"All right," Alistair said, "everyone split. We'll meet up on the far side."
"Sure," they responded in unison. They all separated, going to different counters and beginning the process.
As Alistair arrived at his, he flashed a smile at the employee, and said, "Greetings," with his delicate British accent. He placed his passport and citizenship identification card on the table, and handed them to the employee, and said, "I'm a Santherese citizen. I've come here for a few months on vacation."
Alistair laughed within himself. Thus far, the operation had been too easy. Boarding the aircraft and passing through security was easy, obviously, and their flight had gone entirely uninterrupted. Though it was clear: 'The only easy day was yesterday'. They certainly weren't done yet. Of course, with Alistair's service record, it was hard to go against it. Undergoing operations in Southeast Asia, major sabotage during the Second Scorpion 'War', and the ranking officer of the Sealand operation. How he longed to return to the minute ten-second window in which the Sealandic Little Bird was pushed back from the explosion of his Crown's M323. Not merely watching the helicopter spin out of control, but rather, the recognition he received back in the Commonwealth Defence Command for having shot down a hostile helicopter with a grenade launcher. Of course, at the time, he was merely a Warrant Officer Class 2. Nowadays, he held his Brigadier emblem as a crown jewel.
And even then, his career wasn't over. The SAS had always been one for keeping their best operatives functional for as long as possible. The reasoning was obvious, and you couldn't go against it. How could Alistair ever retire at this point?
This mission was, of course, a bit different. Back in Sealand, the operation consisted of nearly an entire troop of marines from Ireland, and a small fireteam of SAS operatives. The idea wasn't sabotage - it was seizure. It had been a thorn in their side, and Alistair was tasked with capturing it. That was easy. Go in, shoot some buggers, tag their weapons, and leave the marines to their work. This mission required him to move in with five other SAS operatives, integrate themselves into normal society, and sabotage. Done. And in this case, their weapons weren't brought over. Bloody Command said operation could be hampered with smuggling of weapons. Of course, these guys weren't going empty-handed. Their 'pockets' were full, and the Black Market was a splendid source of weapons, even if they were second-grade.
For now, the Commonwealth had erased his records. Not just his, but their entire team. All of their SAS files were erased, stuck in some file somewhere, where only the top echelons of the SAS could know where to find. They were given new identities. Alistair Beckham suddenly turned into Alistair Stanley, Santherese citizen. It was nearly impossible to distinguish him from a regular civilian. In fact, with the SAS' handiwork, it was impossible. The SAS knew infiltration better than most.
He shifted his head left, down the large, carpeted aisle that rolled out next to him. He looked across at the other seats; within the other sections lay other SAS agents. The rest of his team. First-Class was nothing compared to the SAS' fiscal budget, and this operation was crucial; no expense was spared.
"We'll be landing in a few moments. Please fasten your seat belts and prepare for landing." The pilot's voice was calm and coordinated as it rang over the multitude of speakers across the different classes of the aircraft. Economy class, further back, was still blaring the films they had been watching for over six hours. It had begun to get on Alistair's nerves, thought at least the flight was ending soon.
Turning off the console he had been occasionally reading to observe news and other details of the surrounding area, primarily Toiletia, he sat up straight in the polished leather seats, and fastened the black-and-grey belts that rested at the head of the seat. He dragged it over his chest, above the white tank top, and clicked it into the other side. He pulled lightly, smiling as the belt's limit had been reached.
The force of the aircraft landing was like all the other times he had been moved from one location to the next. He was pushed up against the seat, closing his eyes and swallowing saliva constantly. Finally, the screech of the wheels impounded their ears, and his eyes opened, immediately drifting off to his right to look out the clear window. The airport's lights lit the entire sector up, and the aircraft rapidly moved from the tarmac to the terminal. As they arrived, he heard more wheels screeching; another aircraft had been landing. Probably why his airliner moved so quickly off the tarmac.
"We've arrived at the terminal," the captain spoke again, "please grab your luggage and begin disembarking the aircraft. Have a pleasant day, and enjoy your stay in Toiletia."
Alistair stood rapidly, watching as the other agents followed suit. They quickly removed their suitcases from the overhead, and plopped them on the aisle. Their black wheels rolled as the silver logo on the front of the suitcases glowed brightly. Moving quickly, Alistair took the lead of the five other men, and began walking out through the gate and to security.
"So, we've arrived," Gaz whispered, resting his hand on Alistair's shoulder, "now what?"
"Now we go sightseeing," Alistair coded to Gaz. 'Sightseeing'. A common tourist phrase utilised to refer to looking at the city and viewing the landmarks the city had. To them, it meant search for critical positions in the Toiletian government and prepare themselves to carry out sabotage missions there.
"Sounds expensive!" Harvey joked, poking Gaz on the back.
"It's going to be. Not just money, but time consuming. Of course, I'm sure we'll enjoy it, considering we came here with cargo ships of free time," Alistair responded.
"How about transportation?" Nate asked, genuinely.
"Covered. Rented a few vehicles here and there," Alistair looked back, waiting to see if anyone had any more enquiries to make.
"I'm assuming you've got quite the schedule planned?" Ethan asked, partially to annoy Alistair, and partially because he actually wanted an answer.
"I'll show you guys at the hotel."
"Sorry, Al," Harley said, "I don't know what I'm supposed to ask." The small group shared a weak laugh, as they continued down the aisles to reach the security passes. As they walked, Alistair turned his head right. Past the windows and the aircraft, he could see the light emerging from the multitude of buildings in Pooped'On, the capital. Smiling, he looked back and continued walking.
"All right," Alistair said, "everyone split. We'll meet up on the far side."
"Sure," they responded in unison. They all separated, going to different counters and beginning the process.
As Alistair arrived at his, he flashed a smile at the employee, and said, "Greetings," with his delicate British accent. He placed his passport and citizenship identification card on the table, and handed them to the employee, and said, "I'm a Santherese citizen. I've come here for a few months on vacation."
![[ National Flag ]](https://i.imgur.com/7vADKOP.png){kind=link}
