Tereš drudged her way through the sea of cubicles in the analytics department. There was always a clear division between the half dead bureaucrats doing full reports and the operators who were given connect the dot puzzles as busy work by the way they all huddled around the vending machine giving her sweet eyes. She would never get a glance out on the street, but whether she was in the field or the office, military men were always drawn to the steely gaze of her bleak green eyes and frazzled dark brown hair. Maybe it was just the way she carried herself.
"Miss Darožnija?"
She turned around to see a sharply dressed man, probably from higher up standing behind her. "Yeah, that's me."
"I'm aware. You've been called for at Tunnel," he spoke in a robotic military fashion. Tunnel was the literal basement of the Ministry; the home of the Directorate's Bureau of Special Activities and whatever other shadow organizations that lay in the depths of the Ministry. It's where all the operators went after five o'clock, and it was a place where none of the other analytics workers like herself would ever really want to find themselves. "Come with me."
She followed him down the hall to an elevator locked by an RFID terminal, and from there it led to a basement hallway to the office space in Tunnel. It was the room that everyone said 'doesn't exist,' but she was being called down for something bigger than herself.
What awaited her was an office occupied by an older man in No. 2 Fatigues, no doubt dangerous if you were on the wrong side of things. His nameplate read 'Col. Orenov.' "Miss Darožnija, is it?"
"Yes, sir. May I ask why I was summoned?"
"We'll get to that, take a seat," his voice sounded like gravel. He sighed and slid a file over to her, “You’re aware of the situation in the Green Union, Miss Darožnija?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” he opened it up. “Now tell me. How did you slip under our nose before? You have a very handsome college transcript, C1 fluency in Sanarian, Ekaterinan, and Arsenian, Native fluency in Žeknijan and Jelenik, C2 Fluency in Markish and Acivic, and B2 in Emerstarian? Tell me what we in this department looked over your file for?”
“I believe it was squeamishness, sir,” she felt ashamed in this seat, like she was just being judged.
“Ah yes, well I have good news for you. We have an assignment for you where you won’t have to see blood,” he unveiled an unsettling half grin. “If you look at this proposal dossier, we need someone to act as a graduate teaching student with a university study group.Your job is to ensure that this group passes customs. You’re a smart girl, Tereš. If there’s someone who can pull this off it’s you.”
“Who would I be working with?” She slipped on her reading glasses and began studying the paper.
“Twenty royal marines, four of my own, and another female attaché. Small mission, enough to make some sway,” He sighed once again, “Will you take it?”
“Will I get a promotion?”
“I’ll make sure it goes in the books.”
“You’ve got a deal, sir.”
Approaching into FyrlandThe engines of the charter jet hummed a little lower as they began their descent, the marines had either been sleeping or bullshitting around Tereš, a couple had even asked for her number, and her response was the same every time, “In your fucking dreams.” But in the back, there were the four EKSG men, dead silent, of the Grenadier/Recon variety no doubt. Their presence was eerie, no doubt, but their job as far as she was concerned was not too entangled with hers.
As they landed, taxiied, and parked, the plane suddenly went quiet. The whole unit knew it was game time. They all descended the stairs, with Miss Darožnija in front, and the operators in back. Through the swirling, biting snow the new arrivals were greeted by harsh spotlights and armed C-Sec security in their yellow reflective vests, ushering them past without a moment to dawdle. After a moment the Phoenixians found themselves bundled past into a small reception building, a tired looking ethnic Vilhalan border guard staring at them from behind his desk. He looked up at Tereš first, waving her forward.
The man took her passport, giving her a lazy stare. “What is your business in the Green Union, Ms. Nakarov?”
“We are a foreign relations class from Vietschen Modensad University under Doctor Jarin Verevodić,” she slid over a manifest provided a week earlier by the Directorate.
The man’s eyes snapped up, scanning the entire room as if only noticing the twenty four military aged males standing in front of him. “You, uh, are all together?”
“Yes sir, I’m their graduate student teacher,” she pointed at the manifest, not skipping a beat.
He just frowned, clearly too tired and possibly high to properly puzzle this out. “You do know there is a war on, correct?”
“We’re a foreign relations class. We’re studying the geopolitical effect of wartime foreign policy.”
The man shifted suspiciously, eyeing them up. “Into a warzone. With a load of military aged men.”
“You mean college aged men. All of these students have signed up to come here for their undergraduate theses. I feel we are being discriminated against, sir, that men who look like they should be in the military cannot be scholars? These are some of the finest undergraduate students I have ever
seen.”
The border guard was utterly unconvinced. “I’m going to need to see you in the back room, ma’am.”
“Why? We have all our papers from the university right here?” But the man was already standing, gesturing for one of the heavily armed security officers to come over.
“Sir, please. We’re just trying to make it through, we’re as tired as you. And you’ll be rewarded for your time if you just help us a bit,” she gestured to a briefcase in the hand of one of her ‘students.’
The man hesitated for a moment before waving off the guard, taking the case and giving the contents a quick once-over. “Well ma’am, you’re fortunate. It seems this was just the type of entry documents you needed.” He hurried then to slip it beneath his desk, waving them past. “Enjoy your visit. I hope it’s educational.”
“Thank you, sir. Have a good night,” she said as she began leading the group through the terminal. Thank god they didn’t get caught with all the guns they had packed. At the front of the terminal was their local attaché. Behind the wheel of a large tour bus a small man sat bundled up, nestled down in his oversized winter coat and mittens. It was only as she and the men approached that he raised his head, dark eyes almost twinkling in excitement at the sight of them.
“Mr. Khadim? I’m Tereš,” she swung her scarf around her neck as she approached the doors.
Already on board in the front row was her supposed partner for this mission, "Jolina, it's been a good little bit." She sat down next to her.
"Good to see you, Tereš."
[Made with the help of GU]