Smash and Grab (Ordis)

[Toishima]

Niihama City
Greater Empire of Yamatai
December 2016

Niihama. The largest city in Yamatai and north-west Escar, home to over 9 million people, Niihama was one of those cities that never slept. Located in the southern part of Yamatai, one of the busiest ports in the world, Niihama sat in that climatic band between subtropical and temperate. The result, for this time of year, was a near-perpetual torrential downpour that was accompanied with the odd icefall, resulting in streets caked with a half icy slurry and a - often literally - hard driving rain. This was one city that could not afford to hibernate through winter, however, and the streets were still choked with endless traffic and the countless black umbrellas that covered the perpetually bleak expressions of the nation's drones.

Moving south-east, to the Old Docks areas, the glass-and-steel skyscrapers gave way to shorter concrete multistories with night markets and roadside stalls crammed into every spare space between buildings. The rain could not stop the endless transaction of money for cheap food, cheap products - legal or otherwise - and other cheap services - legal or otherwise. The perfect place to disappear entirely was not to flee into the northern plains and farms, or abroad. Definitely the best place to hide in Yamatai would be amongst the countless faces of the eternal crowd that blanketed Niihama.

Nestled into the ground floor of a building that also held a professional photocopier and some small businesses was an unassuming sushi bar, one of a thousand in the city. Sushi held a special place in Yamataian society, located both at the top and bottom of the scale of fancy food. On one end would be the delicate Fugu and grandiosely decorated dishes found in upper Heian society, perhaps even served to Her Imperial Highness Herself. On the other end, sushi could also be a poor man's food - such as here. Yamataians were traditionally maritime peoples, and raw fish was of course readily available to everyone. And so in Yamatai sushi also held the same space that hamburgers and tacos held in other nations. How ironic that many other nations bought into the idea that sushi was exclusively an upper class dish.

And it was there that the small congregation sat. An odd meeting in a corner of the cramped sushi place, consisting of two Yamataians and several foreigners, speaking in hushed tones and dressed inconspicuously to the point that it was obvious that they were trying to be inconspicuous. But that was why they were here in Niihama. Inconspicuous was the fate of every metropolitan resident amongst 9 million other faces. And so, nobody paid attention to the group of mercenaries going over the final details of their latest job, not even with the Type-89 rifle leaning against the table. Guns were legal in Yamatai. Not that particular one, but they were legal, and that was enough.

Leaning against the wall, a potent cocktail of clear sake and soju in one hand, was Hideki Yamamura. Early forties, well-built, muscular and with a scar running down one cheek, the man was obviously some kind of veteran. The moustached operator was never too talkative about his past, but everyone knew he was former Imperial Security Agency TokuSa - Tokushu Sakusen Butai - the elite special forces of the state internal security apparatus. Also rumoured to be a kill team for the ruling political party, the Empress, the Prime Minister... Conspiracy theories naturally surrounded such special forces groups. The man radiated an aura of control despite his apparent roughness; if there was a leader of this motley group, it would be him. But there was no actual leader; these were the top mercenaries of the world. Each had a reputation to uphold.

Yamamura eyed his compatriots for a moment before putting down his glass, then placed his smartphone in the middle of the map laid out in the middle of the table. Alongside the map were more documents, a half-finished platter of sashimi, a bottle of soju, and everyone's drink glasses. Someone had put a knife on the table as well. His phone, a cheaper local model, showed off the e-statement of an offshore bank account. Sure enough, five million had recently been wired in.

"Alright. Downpayment's in," the ex-commando's voice was a gruff as his appearance, "I assume the same for everyone?"

He paused to let the others check, before withdrawing his phone and pushing one callused finger against the map.

"Let's go over this again. The job's simple. Smash this government warehouse, take out the artefacts, and meet our mysterious benefactor's ship out at sea," he leaned back in his chair, "I usually don't work for a boss who doesn't reveal his face, but we all know why we're here. Again, it's two million per piece we get out. Fifteen pieces. Fifteen million bonus if nothing is damaged. We're splitting that. Location is this unnamed island in the Northern Islands. Fucking ice-covered rocks at this time of the year. The island itself is also home to an Imperial Navy radar station, luckily we're not going anywhere near that. Anti-aircraft covers the entire thing and the whole are is a no-fly zone. So we're going in by boat, and going out by boat."

"Our benefactor has an uncanny knowledge of what is supposed to be a black site, for a supposed civilian collector," Yamamura raised an eyebrow and looked around at the others, "first line defence is supposedly ISA tactical operatives. Basically civilian SWAT operator level, or worse. Second-line reinforcements are the garrison of marines from the Naval base, one company. They have no heavy vehicles but may have utility vehicles with machine guns. Better hope no alarms are raised."

"But, this is the ISA we're talking about, and our hirer did not factor this into his intel. If we cause any alarms, third-line defence will be ISA TokuSa fast-response teams, we're talking tier-one operators here, these guys are the real deal," he looked up again at his fellow mercenaries to drive the point home.

"What, like you?" The only other Yamataian at the table, Shinji Hijikata, ex-Imperial Marines, quipped.

"No, less handsome," Yamamura shot back, "but these guys are not to be messed with. They will also come in in a Mi-12, it's just like a Mi-24 but worse. Any fuckin' gunship coming into play would be a shitty situation for everyone. I don't even want to think what fourth-line defence will be. Maybe the entire Northern Fleet will blast the shit out of us."

The man suddenly seized a pair of chopsticks with his free hand, nimbly selected a piece of sashimi off the platter, and brought it straight into his mouth with surprising dexterity and speed.

"Our mysterious benefactor wanted us to use this disused service dock near the storehouse. But we all know that's a stupid idea. So we're landing on this beach here, it looks to be relatively clear of anything and is less than a five minutes walk away from the perimeter fence. Once we land, we break into the facility, move through this helipad area, then get into the storehouse via this entrance here. From there, we'll go loud. Steal a truck and bring all this shit down to the docks," glancing up at the others' faces, he doubled back, "I don't know how big the things we're stealing are so we may not need the fucking truck. Anyway, things are going to be pretty insane at this point. Then we grab one of their boats, head out to the naval rendezvous point with half the Imperial Navy on our asses, then signal our mysterious friend."

Twirling his chopsticks for flair and deftly placing them onto his drink glass, Yamamura leaned back in his chair, the cheap plastic creaking slightly. He'd already gone over this idea before. They had laughed the first time.

"Simple. Suggestions?"

[Kolintha]

The loose assembly of mercenaries huddled around Yamamura in the run-down little Sushi bar was a diverse group, but by nature of simple geographic proximity, it was no surprise that three were native Yashiman speakers. Only two of these however, were Yamataian; the third was a Shirakawan by birth nationality; Middle-aged, with black hair just slightly over royal army regulation length, fringe parted on the left and held out of her face with two white pins. Her rough, lightly scarred skin was uncommonly dark for her country of origin, and her eyes a clear, watery blue. These characteristics, combined with her northern mainlander drawl when speaking her native tongue, clearly marked her out as a Shinjumin, a member of the large Kashtun minority concentrated primarily in the Duchy of Tezo, where thousands of Ashkaran rural poor had fled seeking a better life in the mid-1800s, forming a unique community that grew in size and strength of identity throughout the following century. Of course, this later led to their social exclusion, a status quo that would persist right into the modern day.

Thus, like most spurned minorities in the Kingdom, the more ambitious of the Shinjumin turned to the army as an institution that would accept them regardless of background. And when the army dramatically downsized in the 80s and 90s, and no longer accepted them quite so readily, they turned to the closest equivalent they could find – mercenary work. Some founded successful corporations focused on more mundane pursuits, such as military consultancy, logistical work, and arms manufacturing. Others signed up by the dozens into the well-paid private militias of the megacorps or the fellowships of noble houses. And others simply went wandering, sometimes disappearing from the public record entirely, and taking jobs of far more dubious legality; bodyguards for Ryūketzoku underworld magnates, hitmen for Qalini cartels, or enforcing muscle for radicals feuding in the backwaters of the globe.

Kana Rōhana was a soldier of the latter variety; she had left the forces in 1999, and although she had initially attempted to find legitimate alternative employment, she soon found herself drifting further and further out of the civilian realm, and into the underground; there she continued to move from job to job, slowly building her résumé, until she found herself a home under the Kairys family – there she built up an impressive reputation, which reached it's extreme upper limit in the '10s, with a notorious shootout in Kaigan. From that point on she was called 'Rōhana the Grim' by her patrons.

The Shirakawan state on the other hand, picked for her the affectionate epithet of 'dangerous terrorist suspect'. And so there were no more adventures to be had there for her.

She had been skulking around the rest of western Escar ever since, and in the last two years she had taken a liking to Niihama in particular; it was a city equally as rife with (often morally questionable) opportunity and as easy to melt away into as Kaigan had been on the mainland. And it was here where she had been asked to join the ex-TokuSa operative and his international band of merry men on a lucrative new job. Initially she had refused; she preferred to know who precisely she was working for, but a combination of the Yamataian's leader-like charisma and the highly enticing bounty she thereafter learned would be provided before and after the mission's completion succeeded in pushing her over the edge into accepting.

Throughout Yamamura's little presentation, the Shirakawan sat quietly and cheerfully, polishing a Royal Army-issue combat knife with the sleeve of her thick off-pink cardigan, occasionally holding it up to the light to admire the shine along it's edge. Then, as the issue of the downpayment for the job was brought up, she placed the little tool down on the table while she flipped open her little silver phone to confirm she had got her share.

Finally, as the veteran finished his briefing and asked around for questions and suggestions, Rōhana raised a hand.

“Plan as a whole is good for me. I've got no issues brawling it up with some puffed-up aw-per-ay-turrs...” She began, with a wry smile, “...but I do have some concerns 'bout the possibility of our mystery-man bailing on us at the rendezvous. I feel we should settle on somewhere to run in the event he doesn't show. Or worse, in the event it turns out we've been scammed, or something in that vein.”