“Szomorú Vasárnap” (1932)It is autumn and the leaves are falling
All love has died on earth
The wind is weeping with sorrowful tears
My heart will never hope for a new spring again
My tears and my sorrows are all in vain
People are heartless, greedy and wicked...
Love has died!
The world has come to its end, hope has ceased to have a meaning
Cities are being wiped out, shrapnel is making music
Meadows are coloured red with human blood
There are dead people on the streets everywhere
I will say another quiet prayer:
People are sinners, Lord, they make mistakes...
The world has ended!
~ R e z s ő S e r e s s
The Dirty Fat Cat
Scauri
USG Secret Base Island
Xavier walked into the pub and nodded to the barkeep, an old grizzled Uli veteran named Jonah. Due to this being one of the favorite spots of the General, they had become well familiar with each other. On first meeting, Jonah had believed Xavier to be a ‘fancy dandy’, one of those who didn’t rub shoulders with the common rank and file. Upon more contact, he’d realized that it was one of the trappings of Intexa Director Xavier Marchand’s job that he always wore fine tailored suits and jet set around the globe. The more he got to know him, the more he realized Marchand could blend in with any social level and tell bawdy jokes with the best of them. He could also take a barb or jab from anyone with a smile and a snappy retort or a peace offering, as the moment might call for.
Perhaps their initial differences lay in the fact that the rank and file USG troopers rarely had contact with the higher agents and officers of the Intexa, who were their support in every way. The Intexa handled the legal issues, logistical, recruiting, purchasing/supplying, contract initiation, reconnaissance and really any other task that didn’t fall to the regular troops of the USG Security Corporation. They were so behind the scenes that the higher level personnel were often in and out of a client nation or target before the regular USG ground troops even arrived. It was easy to feel disassociated with those that you never saw on the battlefield next to you.
Whatever the case, it had come down to a challenge and a simple conflict resolution. A chokehold followed by a singing contest had smoothed over the differences.
“Howzit, Jonah?”
“Ah, the same ol’, Zav. Ya know?”
“I do.”
“Can I pour ya one?”
“Yeah, I’ll take a Chateaux (a Burgunden Breu pilsner with a moderate ABV). Family’s good?”
“Ya got it, Zav. Yeah, family is great. Thanks for askin’.”
He grabbed a slightly hour shaped tall glass and began to pour the beer from the tap. Chateaux was a popular choice among the Neu Engollian troopers, that or Golden Cross, the working class lager that was also an easy drinker. Therefore, both were also popular choices with the other nationals that had joined the ranks of the USG over the years. They were the beers shipped overseas to USG cantinas when contracts called for a longer stay.
“Is he here?”
Jonah nodded out towards the deck as he sifted off the head of the beer that had crept over the lip with the flat edge of a knife and set it out onto the bar. The silhouette of a man’s head peeking up from the seat back of a lounger was visible through one of the windows that had its blinds raised up.
“Dankmerz. We’ll talk later, eh?”
“You betcha, Director.”
Marchand headed out through the door to the back deck of the pub. He nodded to some nearby off duty troopers that raised glasses in salute to the infamous Intexa Director. He raised his glass back. “Provici!”
The view out onto the bay was breathtaking. It might not be beautiful to most people, with a view of the industrial docks and the large utilitarian cargo ships that were constantly in and out, delivering supplies that were needed by the large PMC. To those like General Nelson Tell, it represented the best of industry at work, men working simple tough jobs to enable extraordinary feats. At least, that’s what Xavier could gather of General Tell’s interest in making the longer journey from Campobello to Scauri to get to this particular out of the way pub that was a favorite with the dock workers and the armory staff. The USG Main Armory was not too far off and just a little inland at this part of the Island. There were plenty of pubs within Campobello, which contained a lot of the command and control for the island. Accessible pubs where a lot of the officer corps chose to grab a drink before heading home for the day, or in-between missions, but these days Tell seemed to eschew those pubs when left to his own time in favor of this out of the way island joint.
A quad based cane rested next to Tell’s lounger, a necessity after his injuries during the Hutanjian War. He looked up and smirked at Marchand, waving to the chair next to him, then slowly returned his gaze to the shipping in the channel.
“Ah, Zav, ya found me.”
“It wasn’t hard, Nell.”
“Sit down, have a spell. Tell me where the wind blows these days.”
Marchand pulled up the lounger next to Tell and put his pilsner glass down on the small table between them.
“I must confess that leisure and fine conversation is not what brought me here.”
“Of course not. I know you bring business. Always business with you.”
“Security is a going concern somewhere on the planet at all times. The need for security never sleeps.”
Nelson Tell chortled, then agreed,
“Absolutely. You’ve got me there, friend. So then, I’ll let you get to your point. Business?”
“Yes. To the north. Right here in Teremara.”
General Tell rose an eyebrow at that as he picked up his pint glass.
“Provici!”
“Provici, Sir!”
They clinked glasses.
Tell carried on with the topic at hand.
“So...the far north?”
“Yes, where they’ve had plenty of troubles. Glisandia to be exact.”
“Hmmm. The Grand Duchy. They’ve had their troubles in spades. How are they recovering these days?”
“Ehh...Not so well. They are still in the grip of a brutal civil war with the Evangelical insurgency, the former GGA (God’s Glisandian Army), which call themselves the Holy Domain these days.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of Borinkrijn, the would be despot that calls himself the Holy Father. He has legions at his command. A whole shadow government. I don’t know that I wish us to commit to something of that magnitude, Xavier. Echoes of Hutanjia, you know...We don’t need to be helping to fight another long drawn out war against a massively popular insurgency.”
Hutanjia had been brutal and bloody, causing massive death on both sides to the Cardwithian separatists, the Hutanjians, and to their respective backers, the Falkasians and New Edomites, not to mention the contracted USG which had also fought first for the Hutanjian monarchy, then the succeeding Hutanjian Republican government.
It had nearly seen the death knell of the USG as the home island in Teremara had been overtaken by a Falkasian/Cardwithian commando force, which was a diversion from the main attacks. Pock marks still speckled many buildings around the Island. The Dirty Fat Cat was one of the few institutions that had been barely touched during the invasion. Just a few hundred yards away, a defensive bunker had been vaporized by a Falkasian naval missile. It was during that battle that General Tell had received the debilitating injuries to his hip and leg.
Marchand waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
“No, no, no...They don’t want to contract us to directly fight the Jesus freaks....The Holy Domain, although we may run up against them in the course of fulfilling the contract. This contract is more residual from the big war. When their socialist neighbors invaded and took some things..”
The Yellow Star Republic had invaded Glisandia about four years previously in an effort to finally absorb their cantankerous cousin and foe of many centuries wars past. A multinational peacekeeping coalition that had included Neu Engollon had finally thrown out the invaders at great cost. It had also broken the back of the YSR military and finished them as a regional player. At least for a long time to come. A coup had occurred in the final days of the war in which the Intelligence director had overthrown the Socialist Politburo. The new regime under the Director General still declared themselves to be hardline socialist, but were more pragmatic, if anything.
The YSR would not be an instigator or troublemaker for some time to come as they worked to rebuild their nation post-war.
“I’m listening.”
“They want to recover some of the artifacts and pieces that were looted from the capital, Rikijdrottin, to fund the YSR war effort. They haven’t had much success on their own, losing most of their intel teams in the process, so they want to hire some of our operators for recovery operations.”
“They know where these pieces are exactly? While the Holy Domain of Glisandia is one thing, the Yellow Star Republic, a badly mauled, but still nuclear armed and potent totalitarian state is another, not to mention parts south.”
“No, well...possibly some are there, but they don’t know exactly. They could be anywhere in the region - hell, around the world, but they have some good leads. That’s where our teams will come in. It’s going to take a bit of strong arming balanced with some detective work. They want our boys...and girls...to be the muscle. The protection.”
“And you want me to sign off on this? That’s routine. You don’t need my verbal approval. Having to dispatch a couple spec ops teams is hardly worth my scrutiny, Zav.”
“Yes, normally you’d be right, Sir. But...We don’t actually have all the personnel to pull this off. A lot of our special small team operators are out on mission right now. I need you to authorize us to borrow some Guild hitters and maybe some free lancers to fill the gaps and fulfill the contract. We’re all ready to send out feelers through the industry network.”
“Ah...I see. We’re farming it out. And we’ll get the top commission?”
“Yes sir, of course. With the rest going to the commissions of the Guild partners lending out their shooters and pay out to the contractors themselves. It’s a solid, well funded open ended contract, so everyone, Guild operators and the free lancers, are going to pull down some serious coin.”
“Really? How is the struggling Duchy going to swing that?”
“Well, from what I understand it will be a combination of re-routing some of their foreign recovery aid, along with funds from some wealthy philanthropists that want to see the artifacts returned to their rightful place.”
“That would do it. Did you already send an initiator?”
“Yes, Sir. Singh will handle the coordination and initiation duties. It could get a little hairy as it may bring the teams through the YSR like we discussed, but also Falkasia and possibly even Gragastavia.”
At the mention of Falkasia, he thought again of that raid, and of Admiral Yashin. A stay on the FNS Kazyenko and displays of both might and mercy.
“Singh is a good man. I approve. Do it. Make sure we take some precautions for deniability. Last thing we need is another Falkasian raid on this island.”
“Well, these are free lancers. There won’t be any uniformed personnel. We’re letting them bring or choose their own equipment. There will be little connection other than their word.”
“Right. The rest is on the Glisandians then. But you know me, I ultimately don’t really care whose border we cross as long as the job gets done. Did you need my scribble?”
“Yes Sir, right here.”
Marchand pulled out the appropriate document and thrust it onto the General’s lap.
He then pulled out a fancy ink ball pen and dropped it into Nelson’s hand.
Tell inked the document and handed back both the paper and pen to the Intexa Director.
“Keep me updated. This sounds interesting. You have more time?”
Marchand downed the rest of his pilsner and set down the glass on the slightly rickety wicker table.
“Ah...I’m afraid I don’t, Nell. I have to run as there’s a couple other contracts in the hopper. I’ll probably be in touch soon if another one pans out, and I think it will. This one was a no brainer as we really don’t have to contribute hardly any resources.”
“Absolutely. Capital work, Zav. Carry on. I’m going to keep watching the ships and then maybe the sun set, before I burn the midnight oil looking at yours and the S2’s reports..”
“Roger that, General. Get some sleep. Till we meet again.”
Marchand headed back in through the doors leading inside to the main pub.
And so the call went out. Intexa's recruitment division assigned agents who in turn gave notice through all the usual channels that they sought operators for a high priority contract. Some of those channels were through the NS PMC Guild who had member companies throughout the globe. Some were filtered through other industry connections. Emails were sent out to these contacts, floating along the layers of the deep, dark web.
Several layers below the regular surface bustle of the herds dumbing themselves down on Twunter, Fakebook, Instaspam and other such drivel, the emails began to reach their marks.
Business was simple in these realms. People offered services and were hopefully straightforward about their capabilities and experience. Groups and employment opportunities also made their needs known. Somewhere in the middle, connections were made.
In this particular case, an undisclosed large private military firm sought experienced operators for a longer term contract with a base fee of NSD$ 250,000 for the first leg and an escalating mission/goal based commission. Interested contractors could email to obtain more information.
Vetting process step one. Responding emails were traced back by the Intexa's cyber warfare/intel branch along cyber routes to the most likely origins, confirming their connections to known Intexa/USG contacts.
Those that were the most obvious links to IP addresses of foreign governmental agencies trolling for information were weeded out. Others that were too obscure and routed through layers of encryption, proxies and Internet cafes meant that they were attempting to hide something. Not worth the USG's trouble and so they were shunted aside, as well, along with other emails that didn't pass muster for various reasons. Promising applicants who had passed the first check were emailed back with a phone number to call.
Vetting process step two.
Intexa personnel interviewed the applicants who called in, armed with a vast database of information on militaries, conflicts and incidents collected by agents stationed across the multiverse. With valid applicants, they were able to corroborate the stories, and to verify certain details such as comrades in arms, commanding officers, local customs and mission goals and events. It was then that it was revealed that the hiring firm was the USG Security Corporation. More details about the contract were revealed. Details such as that it would be through multiple nations; that it was in pursuit of various artifacts and possessions taken from the Royal Glisandian government and its institutions; that they would be facing a variety of hostile factions in these nations that likely had no clue as to their mission, but disliked foreigners on sight and if not targeting them for termination, at least denied them freedom of movement on general principle.
Vetting process step three would come when the applicants stepped off their various transports and the first images could be used with facial recognition software to known national and contractor operators.
It wasn’t a 100% perfect guaranteed system, but it was the best they had. Could certain undesirable agents slip through? Certainly. But they would need an ironclad fabricated identity.
Those that checked out after the preliminary vetting process were given a certain day and time span to arrive in Rikijdrottin, the capital of the Grand Duchy of Glisandia. Word was given during that responding call that there would be no customs check, so should the chosen applicants be able to charter a private flight with connections, refueling and be able to clear customs in the multiple countries on their way to Glisandia and/or Teremara, they would be able to bring their own specialized gear and weapons into the Grand Duchy.
