Hidden In His Coat Is A Red Right Hand [MT, ATLAS ONLY, IC]

[Brytene]

Contwaraburg

---

The Silver Birdcage
There was a raucous clamour in the casino. This casino never closed, and whilst in the small hours it only ran some of its tables, it was the early afternoon and people were already crowding the dark room with its bright flashing lights and glittering furniture. This was not one of the ultra-luxe casinos, with a sleek atmosphere and antique furnitures. It was mid-range at best, with the shallow appearance of wealth, but that was precisely what Duomnovall Weirwall wanted.

He was a tall, slender man with pale red hair and an angular face. Stubble spread across his chin and up his cheeks, whilst his hair was long at the top and short on the sides. Dressed in a navy blue suit with a cream shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, he lounged at a table with a glass of scotch. As he took a sip, his companion finally arrived. He was a big man, of average height, but broad where Duomnovall was slim, with huge shoulders and thick limbs, a square shovel of a face and a clean-shaven face. He had a bottle of imported Carlosian beer in his muscular hand. Thumping down into the chair beside Duomnovall, he took a sip and grimaced at the first taste of the day. For a moment he just contemplated the man across from him, and then he spoke. His voice was clipped and precise, deep but not overly so.

"Tell me why I'm here, Weirwall." he said, his tone casual but with a faint hint of impatience. Duomnovall glanced away and stared into the crowds around them. He did not answer instantly, but laced his fingers together and thought for a moment. Then he rolled his eyes back to the man and offered the most lacklustre of smiles.

"I think we both know why, George. Before you start barking, let me remind you that I am not some raw private you can scare witless. That being said, yes, there has been a delay."

The big man scowled. "There bloody well has been, yes. Even if you're ready to move now, we'll have to wait until at least this weekend."

Duomnovall shrugged. "Well we're not. There's troubles abroad. The supply line is a little...choked. But not to worry. The blockage will soon be removed."

There was a silence. Both men sipped at their drinks. "It had better be. How the fucking hell are we supposed to move forwards without this?" demanded George, his snarling tone making one or two nearby patrons glance up from their tables. Duomnovall frowned, faintly irritated at the soldier's brash attitude, and then waved a hand placatingly.

"Not to worry. In the meantime, we have arranged for a stopgap solution." he said airily, finishing his drink and smacking his lips appreciatively.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" demanded Lieutenant Colonel George Hearst, commander of the 2nd Regiment RIDER. Duomnovall did not answer him, but instead stood, straightened his jacket, and left.

Eorlingas Holdfast

---

2nd Regiment Barracks, Quartermaster's Office
It was late in the evening but there was still plenty of work to do. The regimental quartermaster, Sergeant Major Aksel Vaelled, was working in the dull light of a cheap lamp, a couple of candles and his computer screen, reconciling the various purchase orders for the regiment. The Lieutenant Colonel had been finding a range of unbelievable deals lately, and whilst the troops were happy with the additional equipment and non-essentials that were flooding in to the barracks, Sgt Vaelled was a little uncomfortable with it. The prices seemed too good to be true, and they were always in odd amounts from a variety of small, hitherto-unheard-of vendors, many of whom he suspected had forged their Fleet Approved Retailer credentials.

The boss' word was final, however, and so here he was, trying to tidy up the regiment's finances yet again and get the stock in some kind of order. Vaelled's brow furrowed as he pulled an invoice towards him. He had been seeing a few of these, from a company called Jormungand Holdings. Hardly an auspicious name, but what concerned him more was that he didn't recall seeing any actual items from them. He read over the contents and some of them didn't make sense. One was for Multi Ammunition Softkill System replenishment munitions, but those were only mounted on warships, which the Anglaland Light Infantry Regiment did not operate, unless something had changed whilst he had been hunched at his computer.

He reached out for his mug of tea and took a sip. It was fuller than he expected, but he shrugged - he had probably just lost track during this marathon filing session. He clicked open a new file on his computer but was then distracted by movement at the door. His colleague, who was in all but name his assistant, Lieutenant von Eisenwald, was at the door, smiling in that ingratiating way she had. Again, he didnt know why he disliked her so much, but he just did.

"Enjoying your tea, Aksel?" she said. He frowned. She was technically his superior officer, but in reality he had been doing this job for years and she was his apprentice, his acolyte on the path of endless paperwork. She was always eager to please, almost too much so, but never so casually informal. He straightened and looked at her. Or tried to. He felt dizzy as his head came up, and suddenly he was struggling for breath. Before he knew it, he was on the ground, his vision fading. As he watched, von Eisenwald casually tipped one of his candles onto the huge collection of paperwork in his office. She waved daintily at him and then turned and strutted from the room, triumphantly, her swaying form lit by the sudden eruption of flames in the cramped room...

[Greater Hudian Republic]

---

Outskirts of Sufiyapara, the Greater Hudian Republic.

---

"So, can someone tell me why we're raiding an abandoned warehouse?"

There was this tone of annoyance in Hamid's voice. Jawad couldn't quite explain it - it was the kind of annoyance you'd expect from a mall employee sick of your shit, or perhaps, an angsty teenage son whose girl left him for someone marginally better. It was the kind of annoyance that lashed out at someone, clawed their insides, and almost arrogantly demanded a response for them. Not that this degree of annoyance deserved some kind of response, but Jawad - the responsible squad leader - was happy to oblige.

"Reported security threat. We've heard of two, three unregistered trucks making passes in and out this warehouse, and according to some of the locals who stay around this area, they're the very shady kind."

"Two, three trucks? No one else could handle this?"

"Why, let's think about it, shall we, you bastard? The army's too loud for this. The police are too inexperienced with this. God, I wonder which unit in the Greater Hudian Republic happen to be both extremely subtle, well armed, well trained and are responsible for most unconventional operations in the state? Oh, of course, Task Force Bagh! Now, quit asking questions. Follow my lead, we'll get there soon."

Hamid sighed, leaning back onto his seat. They were on a light utility vehicle of sorts - a few more were following right behind them. In total, Jawad estimated, it'd be roughly five vehicles and twenty five men. The vehicles zoomed through the rather empty Sufiyapara roads, its passengers holding on to their rifles with a sense of familiarity. Thankfully, the warehouse wasn't very far - or at least, even if it were a fair distance away, it didn't sit on top of a hill like a few settlements around these parts. They wouldn't have to negate a hill, Jawad assured them, going over the briefings repeatedly with his team.

"Alright, so Team A will hold the road. We've got cops diverting traffic to other roads leading to and from Sufiyapara, so expect limited bystanders. Team B will fan out near the warehouse surroundings, find high enough vantage points from there and provide cover fire from there in case things go awry. Team C and D will infiltrate the warehouse from two sides - I believe there are two sides. Team E will search through for trucks and suspects outside the warehouse." Jawad said, presenting to his team images of the warehouse taken by a drone a day ago.

The men reached the warehouse in five minutes. It was an old warehouse - they'd probably have stored raw materials here, something like jute, Jawad thought. Four words were painted in bright red - FAKHRUL MIYAN GARMENTS LTD. - the words were emblazoned on top of the main gate, which faced the road that the team had come from. The white paint of the warehouse appeared to have started to fade away, leaving behind only a nitty-gritty shade of concrete grey. The doors were rusted and dilapidated, and Jawad knew the team had a lot to get done to get them open - but that'd need metal cutters and that might alert whoever was inside.

"Team C, on me! We hit them from the roof and get this gate open for Team D."

The team started forming up - there were no external stairs in the warehouse leading to the roof, and no one had need for a fire exit. Therefore there were only two points of entry - the great, dilapidated main gate, and hopefully a doorway in the roof. And if they didn't have a doorway in the roof, an infuriated Jawad would have carved one out of the ceiling. The team members grappled their way up, lightly stepping on the aging nitty-gritty grey concrete walls.

"This is Team C, we're inside."

"Alright lads, on me. Try to seize as many suspects as possible."

The inside of the warehouse seemed to be a lot worse than the outside. The walls were dank, covered with what seemed to be moss. Something smelled - yes, there was a distinct smell, although it was something that no one in Team C could identify.

"It's unusually quiet here, don't you think?" Hamid whispered, turning on the flashlight. A ray of sunlight shone through one lone glass window - the window wasn't exactly very large, and had somehow managed to keep itself standing strong in what had basically become a ruined warehouse.

"This is Team C, no sign of anything around here. We're opening the door for Team D." Jawad said, gesturing at two of his men to look for some way to open the gate. There was a solitary button to the left of the main gate, obscured from view. With the press of a button, the great gates swung open, and Team D walked into the warehouse.

"No one here. My men have scanned through each and every bit. What are we going to-"

The walls around the warehouse began to crumble, and within moments the entire ceiling fell in. Team C and Team D had no time to react. The soldiers tried to dash towards the exit - a futile effort, I assure you - and had ultimately been consumed by the carcass of the ageing warehouse, much to the horror of the Task Force team members surrounding the perimeter of the warehouse, who watched their fellow comrades get buried alive in a grave of nitty gritty grey brick and asbestos.

Little did they know that there sat a man in Husseinabad who knew of the task force's mission, and also knew that the warehouse was going to collapse the moment that two teams walked into it. Little did they know that the trucks and suspects they had been after had already zoomed through the roads down south, towards Husseinabad, readying for a lengthy journey to a country far, far away. The stopgap solution, the man in Husseinabad remarked, had managed to endure the obstacles presented by the Greater Hudian Republic. And, he finally said, triumphantly walking around his office underground,

They couldn't have done it without him.

[Allied Connurist States]

Two men sat at the table, giving the appearance of professionals enjoying a break in the early afternoon, maybe a quick stop for travelling businessmen. They wore fitted suits, but not the top range kind you would immediately associate with a class above the ordinary management types. And for men involved in pulling the strings behind the scenes of the illustrious world stage, they looked to be finding no issues with their all day brunch, complete with bacon, sausage, egg, hash browns and beans. They had chosen their table carefully, sitting in a quiet corner with no-one immediately around to eavesdrop on them. From a distance, it would look like they were talking about something as innocent as their families, the rest of the work day, or football, not the nefarious plots they sought to craft.

The Allied Castarcian States had not always been led by a monarch in recent history, and certainly not one who was as content as Emperor Connor I to leave most of the day-to-day stuff to the elected Imperial Council. It was only a few short decades ago that there had been a military regime, one that the two men had been part of trying to re-install in the civil war. It just so happened that militaries and their hierarchies lent themselves much more naturally towards taking orders from above, coupled with the fact that military types weren't often all too concerned with governance. That made their regimes more easily manipulated than the will of the general public or the will of one singular royal head of state. And in the games that these men played, it was manipulation and control that were so central to their philosophy. They had tried to orchestrate an overthrow a decade ago, shortly after the Emperor had began his reign. It had been in theory the opportune moment to strike, he was still new and vulnerable in the transition phase. It had however been an obstacle that he and the people had overcome. They could not afford to be so brazen and deliberate from then onwards. The focus had shifted towards media campaigns and the like, trying to analyse every last detail of his public actions and shine the negative lights upon them, though that had failed to meaningfully erode his popular support. People had been understanding of why he kept to himself in the aftermath of the conflict. Of course, the media campaign had continued when he had remarried, this time targeting his new partner just as much as the man himself. It had almost became a fact of life that if you were one of the nobles who remained in his circles, the media would put you under scrutiny too. They weren't children who didn't know how to manage and maintain a public image, but put someone in the spotlight for long enough and the slip up will come eventually, a truth not just in journalism but criminal investigations too.

It was the topic of media campaigns that had brought these two men together today. One of them represented a man who owned almost half of all the major news platforms in the country, as of course the man himself wasn't going to turn up in a pub like this in broad daylight, so he sends his right hand man. The other was their connection to the secretive society they liked to co-ordinate their plans with. And it was the other who led the conversation, almost speaking to his colleague as if he was his underling. Truth be told, he was an underling, but one that belonged to someone else entirely.

"It's about persistence." the less senior one insisted. "Rumour and hearsay are what we have for now and it's worth publishing, because when we hit that jackpot, we'll be able to jump out and say to the whole country that we told them so."

"It's your own money you're spending, so put as much effort in to that as you want. It's not my problem" replied the other. "We're just thinking of beginning other operations in the country, so we'll need you to be careful on how you report on some of our future activities." He sipped his pint of coke that came free with the meal. It wasn't coffee, but at least it still had caffeine.

"And what might they be?" came the inquiry, followed up very quickly by "We can't be of much help to you if we don't know in advance what we're embellishing and what we aren't." It was useful to clarify further what he meant. He didn't want to come across as too intrusive, too uppity for his position.

"If you're done with your food, come join me outside for a smoke." came the retort, the man standing up, straightening his suit jacket and making sure he hadn't left any of his meal on it. "I'll fill you in with a few details before we go our separate ways." The rest of the instructions would come much closer to the time, when these plans were actually in motion instead of just on the drawing board. It was a drawing board with potential, however, with two main plots.

Thirty seconds later, they were sat in the smoking area, the only two people there at all. The man who'd suggested they come out here offered his counterpart a cigarette, for he knew that he didn't have any of his own. Social smokers were looked down upon, but hey at least they were a cut above people who didn't smoke and tried to tell you how bad it was. It wasn't as if anyone didn't know that already, just a matter of whether you cared or not.

"First of all..." the main man began, gesturing that he wanted his lighter returned in a timely fashion, "... we should start questioning the longevity of the monarchy. The Emperor and Empress have been married for over six years now and we know what they're like together, except they still have no children. We know that isn't the Emperor's fault because he got his first wife knocked up just fine, did he not? If they live their lives without any they put the country at risk. If we push that angle, we put pressure on the man to find another appropriate partner, perhaps someone of our choosing."

The other man nodded. He dared not make notes, leave any physical recording or evidence of the words in their exchange. It was just a matter of memory.

"That's a more long term hypothetical scenario." the first one continued. "The other is that we simply get people of interest who work for us into his social circles. Like get one of our men into the upper workings of the football club he owns. Or get him introduced to some of those musical performers that he enjoys so bloody much. Something like that. And if we do that, we'll need you to make sure these people don't get slaughtered in your papers."

"Very well. I'll inform the boss. Seems doable enough."

They stood and finished their cigarettes, before going their separate ways in the car park.