Confidentiellement

[Serenierre]

BASE GAMOINETTE (BG-106)
Somewhere in Tréguier,
Central Belmont

Brigadier Daguerre looked at the map spread out on his table. With pencil marks of varying shades and hues demarcating the various zones and regions of security needed for what was being planned for the abandoned air base dating from the Great War. Already Military Engineers had been to the site and started work on destroying the ancient runway. Much expanded, the base would emerge modernized and fitted for the special deployment. Daguerre looked at the map again and penciled yet another security check post in. Already, the army had sealed off much of the surrounding area, though risk of civilians gaining access to the site was remote - they were after all in one of the most remote areas of the country.

He put the pencil back down and sat back in his chair. Picking up the cigarette he had placed on the rim of the ash tray, he placed it between his dry, thin lips. Now he had to wait for the representative to come and take a look at the map. After his OK, the map would be diligently copied and dispatched back to the higher ups and the deploying unit. He was quite satisfied with his scribbling on the map, usually he would have asked his secretary to do these mundane things but orders had been plain and clear; no one is to know of the operation. In fact even the guards who would protect the base weren't in the know. Absolute secrecy, that was key, that was the most important part of the operation.

He looked at the clock.

There was some time before the representative would arrive. He looked at the desk in front of him, covered in all the papers and maps and files, it was an example of what the Breotish would call "organized chaos". His gaze fell on the back of the name plate. He picked it up and looked at his name, in bold black, staring back at him, rank and all. The path from simple infantry to this had been hard but it had changed his life.

When he first joined the army in 1976, he was little more than destitute, his parents divorced and living in different parts of the country with their new families, he was alone. Out of college just as the recession of '75 hit, finding jobs had become next to impossible for him - at least not with his specifications. The past five years had been wasted. For a few months he had stumbled, with ego beaten and pride seething, to his father's, down south in Orleans. There, after a failed interview, he had seen army recruiters and immediately he had been tempted by the money which was on offer.

Since those days, that desperation had ended, now he was well off, living the middle class dream. A nice house, two cars, a devoted wife and loving kids. Wearing the golden wings had certainly been a godsend for him.

He reclined back and smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment. He took another puff of the cigarette.

Later on, almost an hour from then, Daguerre's secretary would come and inform him that the representative's car had entered the base. And thus would begin the operation.

 

[Beautancus]

The weather here, in one of the bits of the Occident that didn't seem entirely riddled with godless infants, suited Marszałek Konstanty Rola just fine. There'd been something of a blizzard on when he'd left Stary Hrodino for the airport in Misłika, one of the few in the nation that hadn't had every flight grounded without question, and without exception. Though it would be folly to say that the weather bothered him, he'd grown up acclimated to such harshness after all, it would likewise be folly to say that he wasn't enjoying the slightly more pleasant skies of Belmont.

Some of the Special Weapons Division men that formed his security detail didn't seem to take to it, creatures of habit that those cold-hearted butchers were. They "had just gotten used to the damned taiga and tundra fatigues," a transition from the "summer gear" of the Imperial Armed Forces that was as old as the modern military establishment. The promise of saucy Belmontien wenches was enough to quiet their protests, as was the quality of the Gitanes that they'd been issued upon disembarking from the "Czarnyponton" strato-fortress that had ferried them here, halfway across the super-continent.

Rola would no doubt partake in such delights himself, while he was in the Kingdom. "Might as well," he spoke aloud- to nobody in particular, since he wasn't sharing this portion of his stretch-SUV's cabin with anyone. Striking a painfully old-fashioned match and lighting a cigarette of his own, a Mocne (which were universally acknowledged as being the harshest cigarette in the civilized world) and thumbed through the files on Base Gamoinette that his aides had put together before his departure. The place couldn't have been better situated geographically, and had all the makings of a linchpin in the defense of True Civilization. Try as he may, even he couldn't remove the capital letters at the front of those words- words that typified a Cause that he'd had a large hand in forging.

It would, without a single doubt, speak volumes to the Empire's Belmontien allies that Rola was coming to handle the startup business personally. Being, realistically, the second most influential figure in the Imperial Hierarchy (after the Emperor himself, nonsense about the influence of that rat-faced prig of an Imperial Chancellor notwithstanding), the level of commitment belied by his presence would be unquestionable. Much the same with the special deliveries that should already be on their way in from the sea- having set out weeks ago, when this plan was first hatched.

Satisfied that he had all the details firmly etched in his iron-trap of a mind, Rola stubbed out his cigarette and promptly lit another one. He toyed with the idea of having a drink, but decided against it...wouldn't do to perpetuate that particular stereotype, despite the definite ring of truth that it held. Sarmatians were base creatures after all, and would have been amongst the meekest in the world had it not been for the Will of the Almighty- giving them an arsenal and will to wage war that the Heavenly Hosts (or perhaps more accurately, the Legions of Hell?) would envy.

The driver didn't really have to inform him that they'd arrived, but he went through the motions anyway. Taking a moment to ensure that no stray ashes had clouded the near-black of his green dress uniform, Rola readied to step out into the breathtaking brightness of the Belmontien sun.

 

[Serenierre]

The walk from Daguerre's office all the way to the main entrance of the building was a good fifteen minutes - ten if one was fast. Daguerre had, at that moment, not been informed who his guest was by the higher ups, simply that an important man from an important country was coming, his presence there was simply to show the technical aspects of the matter, which he had been made aware of. His district was rather remote, called a backwater by some, but ideal for the operation to be executed. Hatched by someone in higher offices of power, but from what he knew, rather cunning, he had to admit.

As Daguerre and his secretary walked, they were joined by some additional members; foremost among them, Minister of Defense Taugourdeau. Emerging from the sitting room, smelling of smoke, the stout man - a former general who had spent much of retirement undoing the fruits of a lifetime of fitness - smiled as he looked at the district commander. He was a kind man, very unlike the other generals he had met, very down to earth and rather pleasant as a person, though fully capable of "going tough" when needed. Daguerre was rather intrigued by the man.

As they walked towards the main entrance, where the Sarmatian motorcade, pretty discrete, made up of some of the most common models on the Belmontien roads, Taugourdeau turned his head slightly towards Daguerre and almost whispered to him, "You know, I've spoken with our guest in advance... met him a couple of times as well... he's tough but polite. Pull through this, I can guarantee you a promotion that'll knock your socks off."

"Amen," he thought to himself.

The defense minister strode forward, leaving Daguerre to follow him, he stood at the top of the stairs, just as the doors of the cars opened. Out stepped many bodyguards, all dressed almost the same. Bodyguards just didn't have panache in the way the army did, he though to himself. The fat man stepped down the stairs, with arm extended towards another whose own arm was stretched out. Both, smiling wide. Clearly they had some level of acquaintance, that was obvious.

"Rola, great to see you getting some sun," he heard Taugourdeau say, with his arm on the guest's shoulder.

So his name was Rola, he thought to himself. Though he was still unsure from where the man hailed.

Daguerre stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for both men to come up and for him to be properly introduced. It just wasn't proper for him to speak to the guest unless introduced, one of the more formal element of Belmontien etiquette.

 

[Beautancus]

As a rule, Rola generally despised the circle-jerk nature of these sort of meet and greets- though in this case, he was more than willing to make an exception. Taugourdeau was one of the first Occidentals that he'd ever had any dealings with- stretching back in his career more than two decades now- and it had been that one man that had convinced him that the entire lot of Westerners weren't absolutely rotten, and worth nothing save a swift bullet to the base of the skull. He was nearly as easy to take as a Sarmatian, in fact...Belmontien sensibilities notwithstanding. And so, with a broad, genuine, and entirely uncharacteristic smile, Rola vehemently pumped the Belmontien Defense Minister's hand.

"Indeed so Taugourdeau, indeed so. It's downright frigid back home, and I would have been entirely unlikely to even see a hint of the sun for some months...and all that aside, the possibilities encompassed here today, and in the near future are simply too great for me to not have come in person."

Though most Sarmatians would have had to fumble about in German, the only language the two nations might have a common knowledge of, or rely on the quick thinking of some academic translator, Rola had long since taken the time to learn French properly, to the point that he was comfortable in the decidedly idiomatic Parisian style he spoke that particular language with.
Carefully eyeing the unknown man- Daguerre- Rola paused to light another cigarette, and carefully turning away from the sun.

Though it certainly was welcome, it was a bit of a burden to his eyes, accustomed to the equally stereotypical "grim darkness" of the Sarmatian tundra as they were. "I received confirmation that my care packages had arrived in your Kingdom upon my arrival...with a certain high level of comfort. Those lovely machines are as much my babies as anything that I've ever sired."

And that much was entirely true. Where Rola normally exercised a generally laissez faire policy towards the development of new hardware, he'd taken a more than active interest in the development of this innovation in the general Sarmatian ability to wage warfare anywhere in the world. It was a point of very real pride for him, and he was eager to discuss- show off in all reality- his newest song and dance. It had been a very heavily calculated decision to employ that particular, and as of yet entirely mysterious "innovation" here in Belmont, which was yet still the Empire's newest, but potentially most high-value ally...but it was one that he had been mostly comfortable about from the beginning. As he'd just told Taugourdeau, the possibilities for the near future were simply too great.

Rather than continuing on with that bit of discussion, Rola made another calculated decision, and moved on to another subject, but one that was rather closely tied to the decisions that he'd made in the days and weeks prior to his journey to the Occident. "Am I also correct in my understanding that life will become impossibly interesting for you lot in the short run? I was almost under the impression that we Sarmatians were having all the fun there was to be had in the world, and here you are preparing to show me different. I salute you sir, these developments will prove to be most pivotal in the struggle for the Triumph of True Civilization."

"So, introduce me to this eager young fellow, and let us get down to the bones of this matter. I am anxious to see the world afire."

 

[Serenierre]

"It is great to see old friends again," the retired Belmontien general began, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket cigarette case, "Yes, the possibilities are great. As you know about us, we never shut the door when opportunities call..." he puffed out the smoke, "So I hope the family's well?" he asked. The Belmontien man, when he was the Chief of the Army in the late 1980s had led the efforts to thaw and normalize relations with Greater Sarmatia, during those days he had met Rola and a friendship had been struck.

"Yes, the "packages" have arrived in Belmontien airspace... though there is still some time till they reach here. I know how much you like them." he said smiling. The delay in the arrival had been caused by the desire of all involved to keep the hardware as secret as possible and thus the route being taken was planned to avoid any major urban areas. Now walking towards the sitting room in the building, in hushed tones he answered the Sarmatian man, "Aren't they already?" he asked, half jokingly. "But seriously, yes, the plans stand... as we have discussed previously in detail. Yes, this is a priority for us here, the problem can't be allowed to fester for longer than it already has."

He looked at the brigadier, "This is Brigadier Daguerre, commander of the 12th Brigade... incharge for augmenting the defenses of the base. An able commander and someone who I imagine shall rise in our ranks."

Now sitting in the air-conditioned sitting room of the HQ of the 12th Brigade, with drinks served and cigarettes lit, they sat indulging in comradely conversation till the time that they would be transported to the air field where they would see the entire package arrive. The call came exactly forty five minutes from then, and soon they sat in the jeep of Brigadier Daguerre, with the security detail on all sides. The ride from the HQ to the airfield wasn't too long, just ten minutes, and once there, they would be uBaghaed into the control tower. From here they would see the package(s) arrive.