Operation Ferrante (E2 MT)
Posted: Fri Sep 27, 2019 4:04 am
February 10, 1953
Kavos, Corfu, Italian Social Republic
Mario Ricci casually slid his sunglasses off and tossed them upon the small wrought iron table of a cafe along the strip in Kavos. The rich Mediterranean sun danced off of the sea and for a moment Ricci was able to simply enjoy his morning espresso, forgetting the circumstances surrounding his visit to this small seaside hamlet. His reprieve was broken by the scrap of an iron chair against the tile as a large swarthy man sat down to join him. Mario sighed wearily and returned to reality, in one gulp finishing his espresso and lighting the first cigarette of the day.
The large man chuckled and said in stilted Italian, “Brother I know that feeling.” He offered his hand and continued, “Ahmed Gujic, Royal Security Bureau.” Mario shook his hand and replied, “Mario Ricci, Servizio di Sicurezza Statale”. With introductions concluded the two men were able to smoke in silence for a moment before Mario said, “So I trust everything is prepared.” Ahmed nodded and replied, “I have been briefed, in an hour we’re due to board the Antelope, they’re already on board.”
As the two men talked the cafe began to fill with tourists from across the Mediterranean Social Confederation; the various national languages spoken within the Confederation were so numerous that it was exceedingly difficult to eavesdrop in the popular tourist locations due to the cacophony of nearly a dozen official languages. The two rose and departed, their seats quickly occupied by a young couple eager for a day on the beach.
Ricci patted his Beretta M1934 as the Antelope came into sight. It was a slightly dilapidated vessel, though Mario knew that it was surely quick and seaworthy. The crew were Bosniaks drawn from the Royal Security Bureau of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia and each man looked to be strong and experienced. Mario was greeted with a chorus of curt hellos in heavily accented Italian which was considered the lingua franca of the Confederation. He offered a brief introduction and the crew quickly returned to work. Gujic lead him down into the cabin and gestured to a neat pile of munition crates and a stack of Thompson submachine guns. There was a surplus of arms and equipment in Greece due to the ongoing civil conflict and infiltrators from the MSC commonly carried weapons of slain Greek Communist partisans.
Mario nodded and after a thorough inspection of the concept of operations provided by Ahmed, they set off. The crew received a final FRAGO brief from Ricci and Gucijc once the Antelope had entered the Aegean. It was a simple mission on paper, the Antelope would skirt the Aegean islands and deposit the Bosniak commandos off the coast of Smyrna, they would be met by a team of Anatolian-Greek Insurgents who would disperse them across the Turkish People’s Republic. The infiltrators would assume identities prepared in advance by the insurgents and the SSS before conducting sabotage, assassinations, and bombings.
While this operation was primarily being led by the Royal Security Bureau, the Servizio di Sicurezza Statale and the Internal Commission of the Kingdom of Greece were each handling a component of the operation. This allowed for a certain degree of inter-agency friction but the various intelligence services of the Mediterranean Social Confederation commonly operated together so as to offer a united front to the Turkish adversary. The Antelope sliced through the docile Aegean Sea and after a day of travel neared the disembarkation point for the Bosniak commandos. Mario Ricci stood upon the deck and gazed in the direction of Anatolia. Smyrna was obscured by a thick haze but a thin dark strip of land was visible. The Commandos departed in a small wooden craft after receiving a coded radio confirmation from the insurgents. As their smaller vessel sped away from the Antelope Ricci and Gucijc both lit cigarettes and cursed, this was only one of hundreds of infiltration operations but both knew that they rarely went as well as planned.
Irakli Samurzakano stood rigidly at attention before his superior Doruk Bakkal who was seated. Bakkal slowly flipped through a stack of papers, signing and annotating in a methodical manner with an occasional grimace. A thick scar running across his face made each grimace particularly striking as it briefly connected his mouth with his right ear. Irakli was unfamiliar with the exact circumstances surrounding the scar but it was reasonable to assume that it was from the war. Photos of the Patriotic War were hung behind Bakkal’s desk with a framed painting of Ataturk and Galip Celik placed slightly above them, staring down at Samurzankano.
After several minutes Doruk set down his papers and said, “Comrade Samurzakano, please sit.” Irakli eased into a cracked leather chair and following the lead of Bakkal lit a wide and poorly rolled cigarette. He exhaled the thick smoke and said in accented Turkish, “Comrade Doruk Bey I trust that you have reviewed the operation order that I submitted regarding the fascist Smyrna Revolutionary Organization. I have come personally to report that we have observed and are currently following a team of Bosnian terrorists who have made contact with Turkish and Greek counterrevolutionaries.”
Bakkal nodded and replied, “Yes.” Irakli quizzically furrowed his brow at the unclear answer to which Doruk replied, “Captain, I am familiar with your reports and in response to this latest information I authorize you to take any action you see appropriate as the Smyrna Regional Commander of Revolutionary Intelligence Service Internal Troops Battalion No. 34 and associated regional offices.” Samurzakano rose, straightened his uniform and replied, “For the People!” before departing.
Bakkal rose and crossed his office to watch the young captain depart, he had been a senior officer in the Revolutionary Intelligence Service (DIS) since the revolution and had known many young and ambitious men. Irakli’s Georgian heritage made him a unique case as the recently instituted Nationality Policy which favored minority nationalities would serve to augment his already solid career. Doruk lit another cigarette and gazed after the departing young man, he would have to keep his eyes on the Captain, it always paid to know a successful man.
Kavos, Corfu, Italian Social Republic
Mario Ricci casually slid his sunglasses off and tossed them upon the small wrought iron table of a cafe along the strip in Kavos. The rich Mediterranean sun danced off of the sea and for a moment Ricci was able to simply enjoy his morning espresso, forgetting the circumstances surrounding his visit to this small seaside hamlet. His reprieve was broken by the scrap of an iron chair against the tile as a large swarthy man sat down to join him. Mario sighed wearily and returned to reality, in one gulp finishing his espresso and lighting the first cigarette of the day.
The large man chuckled and said in stilted Italian, “Brother I know that feeling.” He offered his hand and continued, “Ahmed Gujic, Royal Security Bureau.” Mario shook his hand and replied, “Mario Ricci, Servizio di Sicurezza Statale”. With introductions concluded the two men were able to smoke in silence for a moment before Mario said, “So I trust everything is prepared.” Ahmed nodded and replied, “I have been briefed, in an hour we’re due to board the Antelope, they’re already on board.”
As the two men talked the cafe began to fill with tourists from across the Mediterranean Social Confederation; the various national languages spoken within the Confederation were so numerous that it was exceedingly difficult to eavesdrop in the popular tourist locations due to the cacophony of nearly a dozen official languages. The two rose and departed, their seats quickly occupied by a young couple eager for a day on the beach.
Ricci patted his Beretta M1934 as the Antelope came into sight. It was a slightly dilapidated vessel, though Mario knew that it was surely quick and seaworthy. The crew were Bosniaks drawn from the Royal Security Bureau of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia and each man looked to be strong and experienced. Mario was greeted with a chorus of curt hellos in heavily accented Italian which was considered the lingua franca of the Confederation. He offered a brief introduction and the crew quickly returned to work. Gujic lead him down into the cabin and gestured to a neat pile of munition crates and a stack of Thompson submachine guns. There was a surplus of arms and equipment in Greece due to the ongoing civil conflict and infiltrators from the MSC commonly carried weapons of slain Greek Communist partisans.
Mario nodded and after a thorough inspection of the concept of operations provided by Ahmed, they set off. The crew received a final FRAGO brief from Ricci and Gucijc once the Antelope had entered the Aegean. It was a simple mission on paper, the Antelope would skirt the Aegean islands and deposit the Bosniak commandos off the coast of Smyrna, they would be met by a team of Anatolian-Greek Insurgents who would disperse them across the Turkish People’s Republic. The infiltrators would assume identities prepared in advance by the insurgents and the SSS before conducting sabotage, assassinations, and bombings.
While this operation was primarily being led by the Royal Security Bureau, the Servizio di Sicurezza Statale and the Internal Commission of the Kingdom of Greece were each handling a component of the operation. This allowed for a certain degree of inter-agency friction but the various intelligence services of the Mediterranean Social Confederation commonly operated together so as to offer a united front to the Turkish adversary. The Antelope sliced through the docile Aegean Sea and after a day of travel neared the disembarkation point for the Bosniak commandos. Mario Ricci stood upon the deck and gazed in the direction of Anatolia. Smyrna was obscured by a thick haze but a thin dark strip of land was visible. The Commandos departed in a small wooden craft after receiving a coded radio confirmation from the insurgents. As their smaller vessel sped away from the Antelope Ricci and Gucijc both lit cigarettes and cursed, this was only one of hundreds of infiltration operations but both knew that they rarely went as well as planned.
*
Irakli Samurzakano stood rigidly at attention before his superior Doruk Bakkal who was seated. Bakkal slowly flipped through a stack of papers, signing and annotating in a methodical manner with an occasional grimace. A thick scar running across his face made each grimace particularly striking as it briefly connected his mouth with his right ear. Irakli was unfamiliar with the exact circumstances surrounding the scar but it was reasonable to assume that it was from the war. Photos of the Patriotic War were hung behind Bakkal’s desk with a framed painting of Ataturk and Galip Celik placed slightly above them, staring down at Samurzankano.
After several minutes Doruk set down his papers and said, “Comrade Samurzakano, please sit.” Irakli eased into a cracked leather chair and following the lead of Bakkal lit a wide and poorly rolled cigarette. He exhaled the thick smoke and said in accented Turkish, “Comrade Doruk Bey I trust that you have reviewed the operation order that I submitted regarding the fascist Smyrna Revolutionary Organization. I have come personally to report that we have observed and are currently following a team of Bosnian terrorists who have made contact with Turkish and Greek counterrevolutionaries.”
Bakkal nodded and replied, “Yes.” Irakli quizzically furrowed his brow at the unclear answer to which Doruk replied, “Captain, I am familiar with your reports and in response to this latest information I authorize you to take any action you see appropriate as the Smyrna Regional Commander of Revolutionary Intelligence Service Internal Troops Battalion No. 34 and associated regional offices.” Samurzakano rose, straightened his uniform and replied, “For the People!” before departing.
Bakkal rose and crossed his office to watch the young captain depart, he had been a senior officer in the Revolutionary Intelligence Service (DIS) since the revolution and had known many young and ambitious men. Irakli’s Georgian heritage made him a unique case as the recently instituted Nationality Policy which favored minority nationalities would serve to augment his already solid career. Doruk lit another cigarette and gazed after the departing young man, he would have to keep his eyes on the Captain, it always paid to know a successful man.