Political Dissident & LGBT Activist Assassinated(Semi-Open)
Posted: Fri Jan 01, 2021 4:51 pm
OOC
Written with the help of the illustrious Polish Prussia Commonwealth
Aragon
Commonwealth of Palmyrion
The time, according to Shamil Nurgaliyev’s watch, was 0732 hours.
The watch was well-built, reliable, and accurate. It was a model that was issued solely to agents of the General Reconnaissance Bureau if the bat logo with its unfurled wings over a globe was any indication.
As Shamil counted down the minutes, the meaning behind the GRB’s insignia was not lost on him. The General Reconnaissance Bureau had its fingers everywhere, from Lyras to Holy Marsh to Somalia after all. The long wing of the Bat stretched out far away from its homeland indeed.
Today, however, they were carrying out a more physical mission rather than a subversive one. They had to carry out a ‘termination’, as the GRB’s put it, on a certain individual that had run afoul with the Crown, and she was not only a traitor but also a disgusting dyke.
How typical. Disgraceful, yet unsurprising, since those nations like Cassadia who assented to the Natural Order had no lack of enemies. Though, unlike other previous nations, the Cassadian Crown-Government held no qualms about divorcing its mortal enemies of their lives, in the most painful and gruesome of methods. However, this course of action was seldom pursued against those who had settled in countries far away from the
Krillin region, as the Crown’s prime intelligence agency rarely ventured outside of Cassadia’s home region.
But perhaps, this was one of those rare occasions.
Major Shamil Nurgaliyev was not the only one participating in this operation. Originally they had entered Palmyrion claiming the sales representatives of a wine-making company that had its registration and address in the Kingdom of Yulmata. Four other clandestine agents were with him, tasked with locating and identifying a certain Person of interest, and then establish an embed monitor said the figure, embedding wiretap in the personal electronics of this now-disgraced judge after which they were to exfiltrate with whatever information the implanted sources would have been feeding to the agency. However, right after they had completed the mission, their orders were suddenly changed to a ‘’C-812’’; the operational code for an assassination.
It was a frustrating predicament, but they had to suck it up. A GRB field officer never complained; they soldiered on, even though they had to overstay their visas by a week.
The operation had a rather quiet start. They had at their disposal a safe-house, a speedboat, and two cars, that were acquired as leftovers from a previous intelligence operation that had been tasked with monitoring the newly established Rainbow Network. Overall, they had an excellent pool of resources on their hands, which would be instrumental to their success.
Shamil lowered his binoculars as he shifted his head towards his colleague, a young man named Anatolyi, who was nearing 30, having graduated from the Academy just shy of a year ago. This was his first time in the field.
Anatolyi’s stare was still fixed on the target’s house, located in a rather pleasant suburban neighborhood. Shamil appreciated this; after all, his colleague needed to prove himself now, if he was to ever rise through the ranks.
‘’Target is leaving the house. There appear to be three additional non-designated bystanders with her as well.’’ Anatolyi stated.
Shamil glanced back at the house, which sat about two dozen meters from where they had set up shop. He raised his binoculars once again towards the entrance of the door.
Their target, Adlopovna, a disgraced and criminal former judge, had just exited the building, lingering outside at the doorstep, leaning in on the doors to keep it open as her ‘’wife’’, a younger woman by the name of Gloria Ventura, a marketing executive native to Palmyrion came out of the house along with their….two kids.
Anatolyi felt a burst of disgust through his being for the target they were about to kill, though personally, he did not see the point of this. Sure she was a traitor and had defected, but unlike others, this Adlopovna was not some Abolitionist Army terrorist or a heavyweight dissident who commanded influence all the way back in their disgraced country.
Sure, this former woman was of the Law and used to sign on death sentences or convictions of similar weight by the stack-loads on a regular basis. But now all she would really do would be to write a column or two about the blight that was Cassadia’s policies, which she decried as ‘’intrinsically anti-human’’ or some other drivel about the plight of the anathema that was her kind.
Like all honest Cassadians, Anatolyi was a man who always strived for the moral righteousness demanded by the Christian Faith, and he held these unrepentant creatures in the deepest of contempt.
Yet he felt bad for one thing, in that these creatures had adopted these two innocent children and deprived them of the natural structure of a nuclear family. Two boys, even, one of which looked no older than his son, Simeon, who had just started 1st grade.
He felt as if a pile of bricks had filled up his stomach the moment he saw the four people head toward the automobile, a Ford Focus station wagon. Shamil and he had snuck up in the wee hours after midnight to rig an explosive device under the car, which had been fixed underneath the hood so that it would be detonated in synchronization to the ignition of the engine. Of course, since they had so little time to prepare for this, they had to be present for this, as they never knew if the explosive would even detonate upon start-up off the ignition, or if it would detonate in the first place. That’s why there were two back-up plans when the team gathered round to deliberate on the action plan originally.
‘’Target’s entering the vehicle, the other three non-designated bystanders as well. Shit, I feel so sorry for the kids.’’
‘’I know, I see them - hope this works or this is going to become ugly,’’ Anatolyi replied drily to Shamil’s heads-up. He followed with his own binoculars of what would be the last moments of a woman who thought that she could stand up to one of the world’s last and greatest monarchies. Those whose monarchs commanded absolute power over their governments and subjects alike.
‘’Kamak 2, phase two is a go, I repeat, phase two is a go - be ready to move out on my signal, over?’’
‘’Copy that, sir.’’ A short reply came over Shamil’s earpiece. It was his two other colleagues in the Citroen SpaceTourier van. They were to be part of the last resort in their backup scheme if it ever came down to it.
They were all hopeful that it would work; everything was supposed to work the first time around.
Both Shamil and Anatolyi threw their binoculars on the back seat as each prepared for what would happen next, while Nurgaliyev prepared to start the car,his gaze transfixed on the Ford Focus as everyone entered the car. Anatolyi reached for the glove box and pulled out a brick-shaped, green metallic box that resembled a walkie-talkie. However, it lacked buttons or the screen that displayed frequencies and had two antennas on the top, with a plastic tiny wheel. On the long, thin, the side was what a layman might call a switch.
Both powerfully built men were glued to observing the target and her ‘’family’’, their eyes glistening with sparks as they observed how they closed the door and watched the car start...
Only for nothing to happen.
Shamil’s irises shrank to pinpricks as he witnessed how the car, which was supposed to be a flaming wreck, instead moved out of its parking space. He gritted his teeth, while Anatolyi felt a cold drop of sweat make its way down his brow. The GRB team leader hit the ignition, and the car gave off a rumble, after which Shamil hit it into gear as he pulled up the car into the road forwards, giving over the wireless a ‘’Velinus’’ word, a code word that the first phase had failed and that they had to link up with them as they were about to execute the next step of their plan.
Shamil did not let his eye off the Ford Focus in front of him, gripping the wheel as he drove the car into tailing the one in front of them - the one belonging to their target. Just behind the Citroen Van followed their lead. As this happened, Anatolyi armed and adjusted the detonator’s radio frequency for the explosive.
‘’All Green.’’ He said calmly. Even in the face of potential danger, Anatolyi managed to keep his cool - a desirable trait for any successful GRB agent.
The ‘batmen’ would not fail; they rarely did. Shamil and Anatolyi had G3KA4s in the door accessory pocket. The last-resort was something they prayed they would not have to resort to. If the bombs failed, they would need to overtake the vehicle and stop it, then go out of the car and have to kill them off by themselves. This was known euphemistically in the GRB as the “mechanical method’’.
Their SUV closed in on their target. Uncomfortably so, perhaps, but it was necessary in order for the explosive to be detonated.
‘’DO IT NOW, OR IT’S NEVER.’’ Anatolyi heard his superior bark. He felt as if the whole world around him froze, almost like those sequences in the action movies. As if by instinct, he inclined down under the dashboard as Shamil did the same while he hit the brakes since the vehicle had come to a halt in front of a red light before an intersection, rubber rubbing off the asphalt as it kicked smoke and tacks.
Then he pressed the button.
A fireball consumed the car in front of their Hyundai, with the explosion sending bits of pieces of metal flying in random directions as the blast wave blew back the SUV’s windshield, with the glass shards flying back
through the saloon as it ripped the leather off the upper parts of their seats.
‘’HAHAHA, great jobmoy dragoi, otlichnaya rabota.’’ Shamil let out a maniacal burst of laughter as he peeked at the results of their work - fiery, blazing wreckage that was once a car.
He switched the car into gear again as the car backfired forwards, the rear wheels spinning and kicking up smoke as the car skirted around the wreckage undisturbed, the Citroen trailing them close behind as the two cars set course for their exfiltration point.
A yacht berth.
Ten Minutes Later
Karinksky looked back again at his watch as he looked on at the guardrail. It was close to a driveway that led into a berth, within which dozens upon dozens of private yachts were moored. Theirs, while not a yacht, was definitely a fast boat, or a speedboat- a Wellcraft Scarab 38KV. Sure, it was an expensive thing, but it was fast enough to escape anything that Palmyrions could throw at them.
Suddenly the rumble of engines could be heard, as the two vehicles he was waiting for frantically pulled up in front of the dock, all four of their occupants disembarked them in a hurry as they jog-walked to the dock, each with a rucksack on their back, and their personal weapons on had.
‘’Oi, did you get the fucking lesbo?’’ he called out.
‘’Sure we did, and now she’s on a long journey to Hell.’’ Shamil boasted proudly with a hearty laugh as the men jumped into the boat. Karinsky took no time in starting up the boat, as he piloted the fast beast out of the berth and into the open sea, where they had to cross a bay before they were out in international waters.
“Has our track-clearing mechanism been set up, Nurga?’’ A team member of the GRB squad asked. It was an important question; after all their apartment contained a great deal of information regarding who they really are.
Nurgaliyev glanced at his watch. “The safe-house is to be a blazing inferno by 8:30, likewise with the cars.’’ He declared. Compared to carrying out the operation, covering their tracks was much simpler.
As the boat exited the berth and set for the open seas, Karinsky decided to gradually increase the boat’s velocity, as it picked up speed through the calm waters of Boracay bay.
The speedboat’s rocky skid across the water reached a crescendo as it reached its limit, as the speedometer showed that it could not go over the limit as the hull smashed through the wavy water of the bay, passing in between several shipping freighters while they were at it. The GRB team had picked an opportune time; usually, drug smugglers transported their cargo in the wee hours of the morning or the dead of night. Now, however, the Palmyrion coast guard patrols had moved either further out or along the coast.
After four hours had passed, with the boat had entered the open sea, Karinky looked down on the vessel’s instruments as he slowly dialed down the boat’s engine as it glided through the water, and eventually slowed to a halt.
‘’You sure these are the coordinate our folks gave us?’’ Karinsky turned to ask Shamil.
‘’Positive.’’ Their team leader replied, confidently.
As the men anxiously stood there, looking for any sign of their deliverance, Shamil’s statement would be proven correct. After a few minutes, a sudden sound, made from the depths of the sea, came to life. Then a large, pitch-black behemoth appeared out of the water like a great serpent.
This was their ticket to safety. A Cassadian submarine of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, dispatched across the oceans and seas, arriving in this little spot to pick up the Crown’s elusive, nameless defenders.
Karinsky fired up the engine as he steered the speedboat towards the far larger vessel, bringing it to a halt as it gently bumped into the submarine. Each of the agents disembarked the speedboat, and onto the hull deck of the submarine, climbing up the ladder of the conning tower, where the hatch to the dark vessel's interior lay. Waiting for them there was the submarine’s Commanding Officer, and his deputy, both gruff-looking men with chiseled features, molded from years of endless patrols in the sunless depths.
The ‘’batmen’’ got on the ladder, climbing it up on the conning tower to line up before their superiors, saluting the Admiral.
‘’I suppose your mission has been a success, gentlemen.’’ He said, returning their salute
‘’Indeed, it has sir.’’ Major Shamil announced it to the Submarine commander with pride in his chest.
‘’Excellent, we’ll transmit this to Carthage and have you rested for some R&R’’ The Admiral declared, to the silent, glad reaction of the GRB field agents.Their gratitude having been written all over their faces as each entered into the submarine, the hatch hermetically closing from the inside as the long, black submarine descended back into the blue abyss of the ocean below.
Setting a course for home, towards the Holy Kingdom.
Written with the help of the illustrious Polish Prussia Commonwealth
Aragon
Commonwealth of Palmyrion
The time, according to Shamil Nurgaliyev’s watch, was 0732 hours.
The watch was well-built, reliable, and accurate. It was a model that was issued solely to agents of the General Reconnaissance Bureau if the bat logo with its unfurled wings over a globe was any indication.
As Shamil counted down the minutes, the meaning behind the GRB’s insignia was not lost on him. The General Reconnaissance Bureau had its fingers everywhere, from Lyras to Holy Marsh to Somalia after all. The long wing of the Bat stretched out far away from its homeland indeed.
Today, however, they were carrying out a more physical mission rather than a subversive one. They had to carry out a ‘termination’, as the GRB’s put it, on a certain individual that had run afoul with the Crown, and she was not only a traitor but also a disgusting dyke.
How typical. Disgraceful, yet unsurprising, since those nations like Cassadia who assented to the Natural Order had no lack of enemies. Though, unlike other previous nations, the Cassadian Crown-Government held no qualms about divorcing its mortal enemies of their lives, in the most painful and gruesome of methods. However, this course of action was seldom pursued against those who had settled in countries far away from the
Krillin region, as the Crown’s prime intelligence agency rarely ventured outside of Cassadia’s home region.
But perhaps, this was one of those rare occasions.
Major Shamil Nurgaliyev was not the only one participating in this operation. Originally they had entered Palmyrion claiming the sales representatives of a wine-making company that had its registration and address in the Kingdom of Yulmata. Four other clandestine agents were with him, tasked with locating and identifying a certain Person of interest, and then establish an embed monitor said the figure, embedding wiretap in the personal electronics of this now-disgraced judge after which they were to exfiltrate with whatever information the implanted sources would have been feeding to the agency. However, right after they had completed the mission, their orders were suddenly changed to a ‘’C-812’’; the operational code for an assassination.
It was a frustrating predicament, but they had to suck it up. A GRB field officer never complained; they soldiered on, even though they had to overstay their visas by a week.
The operation had a rather quiet start. They had at their disposal a safe-house, a speedboat, and two cars, that were acquired as leftovers from a previous intelligence operation that had been tasked with monitoring the newly established Rainbow Network. Overall, they had an excellent pool of resources on their hands, which would be instrumental to their success.
Shamil lowered his binoculars as he shifted his head towards his colleague, a young man named Anatolyi, who was nearing 30, having graduated from the Academy just shy of a year ago. This was his first time in the field.
Anatolyi’s stare was still fixed on the target’s house, located in a rather pleasant suburban neighborhood. Shamil appreciated this; after all, his colleague needed to prove himself now, if he was to ever rise through the ranks.
‘’Target is leaving the house. There appear to be three additional non-designated bystanders with her as well.’’ Anatolyi stated.
Shamil glanced back at the house, which sat about two dozen meters from where they had set up shop. He raised his binoculars once again towards the entrance of the door.
Their target, Adlopovna, a disgraced and criminal former judge, had just exited the building, lingering outside at the doorstep, leaning in on the doors to keep it open as her ‘’wife’’, a younger woman by the name of Gloria Ventura, a marketing executive native to Palmyrion came out of the house along with their….two kids.
Anatolyi felt a burst of disgust through his being for the target they were about to kill, though personally, he did not see the point of this. Sure she was a traitor and had defected, but unlike others, this Adlopovna was not some Abolitionist Army terrorist or a heavyweight dissident who commanded influence all the way back in their disgraced country.
Sure, this former woman was of the Law and used to sign on death sentences or convictions of similar weight by the stack-loads on a regular basis. But now all she would really do would be to write a column or two about the blight that was Cassadia’s policies, which she decried as ‘’intrinsically anti-human’’ or some other drivel about the plight of the anathema that was her kind.
Like all honest Cassadians, Anatolyi was a man who always strived for the moral righteousness demanded by the Christian Faith, and he held these unrepentant creatures in the deepest of contempt.
Yet he felt bad for one thing, in that these creatures had adopted these two innocent children and deprived them of the natural structure of a nuclear family. Two boys, even, one of which looked no older than his son, Simeon, who had just started 1st grade.
He felt as if a pile of bricks had filled up his stomach the moment he saw the four people head toward the automobile, a Ford Focus station wagon. Shamil and he had snuck up in the wee hours after midnight to rig an explosive device under the car, which had been fixed underneath the hood so that it would be detonated in synchronization to the ignition of the engine. Of course, since they had so little time to prepare for this, they had to be present for this, as they never knew if the explosive would even detonate upon start-up off the ignition, or if it would detonate in the first place. That’s why there were two back-up plans when the team gathered round to deliberate on the action plan originally.
‘’Target’s entering the vehicle, the other three non-designated bystanders as well. Shit, I feel so sorry for the kids.’’
‘’I know, I see them - hope this works or this is going to become ugly,’’ Anatolyi replied drily to Shamil’s heads-up. He followed with his own binoculars of what would be the last moments of a woman who thought that she could stand up to one of the world’s last and greatest monarchies. Those whose monarchs commanded absolute power over their governments and subjects alike.
‘’Kamak 2, phase two is a go, I repeat, phase two is a go - be ready to move out on my signal, over?’’
‘’Copy that, sir.’’ A short reply came over Shamil’s earpiece. It was his two other colleagues in the Citroen SpaceTourier van. They were to be part of the last resort in their backup scheme if it ever came down to it.
They were all hopeful that it would work; everything was supposed to work the first time around.
Both Shamil and Anatolyi threw their binoculars on the back seat as each prepared for what would happen next, while Nurgaliyev prepared to start the car,his gaze transfixed on the Ford Focus as everyone entered the car. Anatolyi reached for the glove box and pulled out a brick-shaped, green metallic box that resembled a walkie-talkie. However, it lacked buttons or the screen that displayed frequencies and had two antennas on the top, with a plastic tiny wheel. On the long, thin, the side was what a layman might call a switch.
Both powerfully built men were glued to observing the target and her ‘’family’’, their eyes glistening with sparks as they observed how they closed the door and watched the car start...
Only for nothing to happen.
Shamil’s irises shrank to pinpricks as he witnessed how the car, which was supposed to be a flaming wreck, instead moved out of its parking space. He gritted his teeth, while Anatolyi felt a cold drop of sweat make its way down his brow. The GRB team leader hit the ignition, and the car gave off a rumble, after which Shamil hit it into gear as he pulled up the car into the road forwards, giving over the wireless a ‘’Velinus’’ word, a code word that the first phase had failed and that they had to link up with them as they were about to execute the next step of their plan.
Shamil did not let his eye off the Ford Focus in front of him, gripping the wheel as he drove the car into tailing the one in front of them - the one belonging to their target. Just behind the Citroen Van followed their lead. As this happened, Anatolyi armed and adjusted the detonator’s radio frequency for the explosive.
‘’All Green.’’ He said calmly. Even in the face of potential danger, Anatolyi managed to keep his cool - a desirable trait for any successful GRB agent.
The ‘batmen’ would not fail; they rarely did. Shamil and Anatolyi had G3KA4s in the door accessory pocket. The last-resort was something they prayed they would not have to resort to. If the bombs failed, they would need to overtake the vehicle and stop it, then go out of the car and have to kill them off by themselves. This was known euphemistically in the GRB as the “mechanical method’’.
Their SUV closed in on their target. Uncomfortably so, perhaps, but it was necessary in order for the explosive to be detonated.
‘’DO IT NOW, OR IT’S NEVER.’’ Anatolyi heard his superior bark. He felt as if the whole world around him froze, almost like those sequences in the action movies. As if by instinct, he inclined down under the dashboard as Shamil did the same while he hit the brakes since the vehicle had come to a halt in front of a red light before an intersection, rubber rubbing off the asphalt as it kicked smoke and tacks.
Then he pressed the button.
A fireball consumed the car in front of their Hyundai, with the explosion sending bits of pieces of metal flying in random directions as the blast wave blew back the SUV’s windshield, with the glass shards flying back
through the saloon as it ripped the leather off the upper parts of their seats.
‘’HAHAHA, great jobmoy dragoi, otlichnaya rabota.’’ Shamil let out a maniacal burst of laughter as he peeked at the results of their work - fiery, blazing wreckage that was once a car.
He switched the car into gear again as the car backfired forwards, the rear wheels spinning and kicking up smoke as the car skirted around the wreckage undisturbed, the Citroen trailing them close behind as the two cars set course for their exfiltration point.
A yacht berth.
Ten Minutes Later
Karinksky looked back again at his watch as he looked on at the guardrail. It was close to a driveway that led into a berth, within which dozens upon dozens of private yachts were moored. Theirs, while not a yacht, was definitely a fast boat, or a speedboat- a Wellcraft Scarab 38KV. Sure, it was an expensive thing, but it was fast enough to escape anything that Palmyrions could throw at them.
Suddenly the rumble of engines could be heard, as the two vehicles he was waiting for frantically pulled up in front of the dock, all four of their occupants disembarked them in a hurry as they jog-walked to the dock, each with a rucksack on their back, and their personal weapons on had.
‘’Oi, did you get the fucking lesbo?’’ he called out.
‘’Sure we did, and now she’s on a long journey to Hell.’’ Shamil boasted proudly with a hearty laugh as the men jumped into the boat. Karinsky took no time in starting up the boat, as he piloted the fast beast out of the berth and into the open sea, where they had to cross a bay before they were out in international waters.
“Has our track-clearing mechanism been set up, Nurga?’’ A team member of the GRB squad asked. It was an important question; after all their apartment contained a great deal of information regarding who they really are.
Nurgaliyev glanced at his watch. “The safe-house is to be a blazing inferno by 8:30, likewise with the cars.’’ He declared. Compared to carrying out the operation, covering their tracks was much simpler.
As the boat exited the berth and set for the open seas, Karinsky decided to gradually increase the boat’s velocity, as it picked up speed through the calm waters of Boracay bay.
The speedboat’s rocky skid across the water reached a crescendo as it reached its limit, as the speedometer showed that it could not go over the limit as the hull smashed through the wavy water of the bay, passing in between several shipping freighters while they were at it. The GRB team had picked an opportune time; usually, drug smugglers transported their cargo in the wee hours of the morning or the dead of night. Now, however, the Palmyrion coast guard patrols had moved either further out or along the coast.
After four hours had passed, with the boat had entered the open sea, Karinky looked down on the vessel’s instruments as he slowly dialed down the boat’s engine as it glided through the water, and eventually slowed to a halt.
‘’You sure these are the coordinate our folks gave us?’’ Karinsky turned to ask Shamil.
‘’Positive.’’ Their team leader replied, confidently.
As the men anxiously stood there, looking for any sign of their deliverance, Shamil’s statement would be proven correct. After a few minutes, a sudden sound, made from the depths of the sea, came to life. Then a large, pitch-black behemoth appeared out of the water like a great serpent.
This was their ticket to safety. A Cassadian submarine of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, dispatched across the oceans and seas, arriving in this little spot to pick up the Crown’s elusive, nameless defenders.
Karinsky fired up the engine as he steered the speedboat towards the far larger vessel, bringing it to a halt as it gently bumped into the submarine. Each of the agents disembarked the speedboat, and onto the hull deck of the submarine, climbing up the ladder of the conning tower, where the hatch to the dark vessel's interior lay. Waiting for them there was the submarine’s Commanding Officer, and his deputy, both gruff-looking men with chiseled features, molded from years of endless patrols in the sunless depths.
The ‘’batmen’’ got on the ladder, climbing it up on the conning tower to line up before their superiors, saluting the Admiral.
‘’I suppose your mission has been a success, gentlemen.’’ He said, returning their salute
‘’Indeed, it has sir.’’ Major Shamil announced it to the Submarine commander with pride in his chest.
‘’Excellent, we’ll transmit this to Carthage and have you rested for some R&R’’ The Admiral declared, to the silent, glad reaction of the GRB field agents.Their gratitude having been written all over their faces as each entered into the submarine, the hatch hermetically closing from the inside as the long, black submarine descended back into the blue abyss of the ocean below.
Setting a course for home, towards the Holy Kingdom.