De Ochtenden (Mornings)

[Batavië]

Spa
Northeast Batavië

Groeneveld's caravan entered a high-security area, it was where all of the main city government buildings were. With machine gun nests, road blocks and tanks sitting in the streets, he felt a bit more secure. A bit. When he got inside the city's municipal headquarters building, he took off his coat and sat down, accepting a cup of coffee from the office girl.

'Look, what the hell is going on here? I'm being shuttled around the whole frigging country, no one is telling me what I am supposed to do. I have no leads. What the hell do you people want me to do?' he left his coffee untouched, no longer in the mood.

An SV officer, a few ranks higher than Groeneveld, began to speak.

'We're having big issues. This isn't small any more and it poses a threat.' the man pointed to a screen on the wall as the lights went dim. It was a map of the country.

'Spa is a mess. We have control over the government area and about 15 per cent of the rest of the city. Tonight we are sending in the tanks, APCs and a heck of a lot of troops. We're using tear gas, water canons, rubber bullets, and if they shoot at us with anything, we're going hot.'

Groeneveld interrupted, 'Sir, I don't understand, what started all of this?'

'This is the real thing, Detective! The real thing. We've got a frigging revolution on our plate if we don't crush it while we still can!' he stopped shouting and calmed himself down. 'The Batavian Republican Army is being financed and supplied from somewhere abroad. We have intelligence that both Arendaal and Scania are doing this. Possibly from farther away as well. The borders are sealed shut tight, but there are ways, there always are. From what I hear from HQ in Vlaanderen, the entire country is going to be under martial law by the morning if these riots spread beyond Spa. With the explosion and police officer killing in the capital two weeks ago, news is spreading. The people are being coerced.'

'What do you want me to do, sir?' Groeneveld was a Detective Inspector. He dealt with crimes, murders, investigations, not elements of national security.

'I wanted you to see it for yourself, so you can understand exactly what is going on here, DI Groeneveld. And now I am sending you to Windhoek Island. It is 95 per cent military out there Bases, labs, a small city to service the needs of the port and troops. They are loyal. That entire island is loyal. It is a fail safe, a place to withdraw to if things get sticky. You, Groeneveld, are in charge, you will prepare that island for whatever happens.'

Jozef Groeneveld dropped his mug, spilling hot coffee on his shoe, not even wincing.

'I'm...I'm just a detective, sir. I...I can't do that.'

'You will do this, DI Groeneveld. You have been chosen personally by General de Graaf, the Supreme Leader's son. This is a direct order. You have no choice, you were chosen.'

The SV man walked up to the now standing Groeneveld and whispered to him, 'Get your ass to the airport. You have a flight to catch to Windhoek.'

The People's Palace
30 km north west of Vlaanderen

The three nurses were taking measurements by the bedside. The room was dark, dimly lit by a few lamps. Outside the lavishly furnished room a group of men dressed in military uniforms and suits were whispering. Five different groups were talking about five different things. When the doctor walked past them to enter the room of Supreme Leader de Graaf, they fell silent, doing nothing but waiting.

General Peter van Willem whispered to the men standing nearest him.

'Where is Karel de Graaf now?'

A man in a suit answered the second highest ranked man in the country after the two leaders, 'He is in Vlaanderen, sir, being briefed as we speak.'

'He's not ready.'

'Well, General, we are all aware of that, but we have contingency plans in place. Windhoek Island is starting Operation B and he will have us as his best advisers.

Before General van Willem could disagree further, the doctor came out and they all fell silent once more. It was, naturally, van Willem who addressed the doctor.

'Well?'

The doctor put away his glasses and set down his bag.

'I am afraid that the tumour is too embedded near the spinal cord for an operation to be completed, gentlemen. He...he has about a week left, maybe a bit more. He is in pain. A lot of pain. With your permission I would like to sedate him for his last days, to ease the passing.'

'Dammit, he was as healthy as an ox last month! What happened?!' van Willem turned away. 'Do it. We will need to speak with him tomorrow, but after that you may do what you think is best, doctor. The rest of you, get back to your respective offices. We have a revolution to kill.'

 

[Polesia]

Bangabhaban
Kilkila
Vangala

A pleasantly pink building, the Bangabhaban* stood proudly in the green heart of Kilkila, its ornate walls surrounded on all sides by rolling verdant fields that melded seamlessly into rows of tropical trees, which moved slightly and politely in the light breeze of an otherwise warm day. Uniquely combining European and Vangalan architecture of the time, it provided a splendid residence for one of Vangala's many aristocratic families, who had risen to their position through treachery and collaboration. With the owners now buried with many others in a mass grave hidden in the Vangalan countryside, it now served as the official home of the President.

Initially it had been avoided by the Communists who left it to gather dust after looting it of its valuables and murdering the inhabitants. The lingering legacy of feudalism and colonialism could be felt strongly here, especially as many Vangalans lived in ramshackle homes that were littered alongside the main roads going in and out of the country's capital and main cities. Yet with a largely illiterate population it would be of little use as a museum and its elegant design meant there was little practicality in using it for storage. As the Communist elite became more comfortable with power, so it soon became the favoured haunt of the nation's leaders after extensive cleaning and renovation.

While nominally the home for the President, bureaucrats, military officers and other politicians also glided around its marvellous halls, often to see Vangala's most important man. However, the President was famous for his generosity, towards his friends anyway, and many came here to stay, retiring from the daily politicking, irksome families or troubling mistresses for a while, in the charming company of Vangala's most powerful.

Relaxing in the drawing room now were some of these men. First and foremost there was President Moheen Chatterjee who sat on a plush cushion entirely by himself, dressed in the white robes of a Vangalan peasant, admittedly without the wear and tear that toiling in paddy fields brought. On the opposite sofa sat a rather satisfied External Affairs Minister Ajoy Qamaruzzaman, plump from a rich curry shared with the President. Next to him was a brooding Colonel Mainul Dal, head of the Military Intelligence Division (MID), Vangala's external intelligence agency. His weary head resting in his hands, his diet had consisted of nothing but water and cigarettes for the entire day.

"As you know, I did not simply invite you over for a free meal," The President began as ornate, handcrafted cups filled to the brim with tea taken straight from the hills of Vangala was brought in. "I am gravely concerned about the situation in Batavia."

"I have asked Ambassador Baij to convey our support for any action taken to ensure the maintenance of law and order," Qamaruzzaman politely interrupted as he leant over to gently grab his tea, his tailored shirt stretching and creasing around the bulge of his stomach. "I am sure I could contact the Commissariat and make our support more explicit."

All three men knew what was meant: if riot police could not handle the job, soldiers would. Dead students on the front of the world's newspapers would be far preferable to a regime change. The coup in Kyrobaijan had been bad enough.

"Personally I am not quite sure how it could have got to this," Chatterjee continued, ignoring the External Affairs Minister while giving Colonel Dal a disdainful glance. Mainul remained silent, he knew there had been a failure somewhere along the line. The MID had very little on the so-called Batavian Republican Army but Mainul would happily stake his career on the guess the Alliance for a Greater Europe was behind its every move.

Moheen Chatterjee pulled another cigarette out of the fast-emptying box. They were from Marquette, where a diplomat eager for a promotion had sent them back, knowing the President preferred them to the beedis smoked by most Vangalans. The President had hundreds of gifts like this, ranging from Belmontien wine, Scanian suits to a stuffed Kryobaijani yak. The latter was definately among his favourite.

"How easily could we stop them?"

The abrupt question killed what remained of a friendly atmosphere.

"I have very few officers in Batavia, we thought the SV were competent enough to not warrant a huge presence," Mainul answered quickly, his eyes moving from the feet of the President, gnarled and scarred after some brutal torture at the hands of Oikawan soldiers and now resting nakedly on the cool stone tiles of the Palace floor, to the President's own eyes, which were dulling with age.

In hindsight it seemed stupid, Batavia was always going to be a hotbed of activity due its location. Mainul decided not to dwell on the matter, if any official inquiry came from one of the Communist Party's committees, he would blame the Batavian security forces for being lax after several decades of uninterrupted, ironfisted rule.

Moheen grunted and stared outside the huge windows onto the fields, where several squadrons of the Rakshibarga, the President's bodyguards, were practising formation and marching.

"Do what you can about this, Colonel. We cannot afford to loose another ally. Minister Qamaruzzaman, make sure you send my condolences to the family of my good friend and comrade de Graaf about his unfortunate condition. That is all."


*=House of Vangala

 

[Batavië]

The People's Palace
30 km north west of Vlaanderen

The winter birds chirping in the palace gardens and the morning sunlight bathing the Supreme Leader's room did not make General Karel de Graaf's visit any less chilling. His father was lying upright in his bed, dying, sick, weak. The nurses had left and Jap de Graaf and his son Karel were alone in the same room. A rare occasion and most likely the last time.

Karel walked towards his father and sat down by his bedside.

'My son,' the weak voice barely escaped the thin lips of the ailing leader, 'You have been told what must be done. You must continue what I have started, but...' he coughed what seemed like an eternity, 'but you must add your own knowledge and touch to this great country and people. Do what you know is right, my son.'

Karel grasped his father's hand and gave a sad smile, 'Of course, father. I will not let you down.'

Windhoek
Windhoek Island

Jozef Groeneveld had arrived at the military airbase on the island early in the morning. He had no time to admire the island's natural beauty from the air. The mountains and scraggly plateaus were but a blur to him. He was situated in the air base's main office awkwardly standing before a group of officers who did not look pleased by his presence. He had been promoted overnight to Chief Commander, a new and high-ranking role. He was, for now, the highest ranked man on the entire island.

'Gentlemen, you have all been informed of what must be done and I am glad to see that the island is already underway for the necessary preparations. This airbase will be running 'round the clock bringing in supplies and planes and fuel. In the meantime, the soldiers must be drilled for urban warfare. The orders to initiate Operation Lionsgate could come at any time. Today, tomorrow or two months from now. Now tell me what I want to hear.' he sat down as the air base's commander stood up and began speaking to the room.

'Gentlemen, we will be the primary air base for the operation. The air bases on the mainland will receive orders from us. We do not expect them to be near danger. Tankers will be based out of Windhoek as a precaution and also because our strike teams will require refuelling in order to complete their missions from such a distance. The Navy is bringing in more supplies as well. From what you have been told in the briefing, Operation Lionsgate will be a broad counter attack to retake lost land from the rebels, the Batavian Republican Army. Somehow they have been largely successful in smuggling arms and cash from over the borders. The Staatsveiligheid has some suspect countries that are aiding the enemy, but not enough to act upon. Therefore this will remain an internal operation until otherwise noted. That is all.'

Groeneveld remained seated for his final remarks, 'Gentlemen, until the orders come in, you know what to do. As soon as I hear from Military High Command in Vlaanderen, we go.'

Before he could say any more a runner came bursting through the door holding a message hot off the typewriter machines. A bulletin. He handed it to Groeneveld, holding back his tears.

Groeneveld read the message three times before regaining his posture.

'Roerganger de Graaf is...dead.'

The room suddenly became cold and the men inside began passing around the message. Groeneveld, quivering at the knees, collapsed into his chair as did half the room with him.

 

[Serenierre]

Spa,
North-east Batavië

He had arrived in Spa clandestinely, long before the city had become a hotbed of anti-state activity, he had originally been stationed in the country to initiate the sabotage acts planned by the Plantard government, and after the removal of that PM, had been ordered to remain in Spa. Thus, for the past three months he had been in the city, living the life of a shopkeeper. His cover, this time, was one of the most boring ones he has ever had in his five years in the ISE. But he realized that his current assignment was his most important one to date.

Since the uprising, and subsequent encirclement of Spa by the military, he had gone underground, mixing with the other "anti-state elements" and had managed to keep his identity secret. But, late last week, he had been given the go-ahead by his handler in Hilversum to meet with Henk Roos, the commander of the B.R.A. Somehow, the ISE had managed to arrange a meeting between the their agent and the number one man in Spa at a safehouse somewhere in the fortified city.

He walked up to the agreed pick-up point and waited for the middleman to make contact. His pulse was quickening and adrenalin was flooding his bloodstream. He stood anxiously, occasionally looking up and checking to see who was coming. He sat down on the floor and looked down. Since the encirclement of the city began, Spa had really gone to the dogs. He pulled out a cigarette and pushed it in between his lips. He took out a match and lit the cigarette. Once it was lit he inhaled deeply and exhaled a plume of smoke from his nose. It did help to calm his nerves but he remained uneasy.

Upon hearing the sound of heavy boots approaching him, he looked up and waited for the man to say the code. No one could be trusted. "So, is the rain coming?" he said as the man stopped in front of him.​

 

[Batavië]

Spa

Henk Roos arrived by foot so as not to arouse suspicion. The SV still had plenty of undercover agents in the city despite the fact that it was now firmly in the control of the BRA. He looked over his shoulder one last time before entering the café. It was still operating despite the chaos outside and the encirclement of the city by the military.

The man from Belmont was seated in the corner. Roos recognised him from the picture he had. He took a seat, ordered a coffee and tried to relax.

'I am a busy man, Monsieur.' he addressed the foreigner in French. 'We're setting up a volunteer militia to protect the city and maintain law and order. So what is it that I can do fro you, or rather, what can you do for me?'

Windhoek Naval Base
Windhoek Island

Jozef Groeneveld was tired. For the last three days he had been travelling between the various bases on the island, observing preparations for Operation Lionsgate. Today he was at the naval base. It was busy, very busy. The sole and ageing aircraft carrier of the Navy, the De Graaf, named after the now dead Supreme Leader, was in port being loaded with supplies, ammunition, sailors. Groeneveld stopped for a moment to take it all in. Thanks to a Western Ocean current, the southwest side of the island, where the city of Windhoek was located, had a more temperate climate. The sun felt good on his face. He almost smiled, but was cut short in his brief reverie.

'DI Groeneveld? Come up here, will you?' the voice was from none other than Admiral Robert Stuyvent. Well, you certainly didn't respond in the negative to the chief of the entire navy. Groeneveld walked up the concrete stairs to the deck overlooking the harbour.

'Nice of you to stop by, Inspector. As you can see, the main fleet will depart late this afternoon.'

Groeneveld looked out to the aircraft carrier again. It glistened in the morning sun, rocking slightly with the light current of the harbour.

'Admiral, what exactly is the De Graaf's mission in Operation Lionsgate?'

'Glad you asked, Inspector. She will head for the mainland to be within prime operating distance to the north.'

Groeneveld turned to the Admiral just as he lit his cigarette. 'What are her orders then?'

'Oh, I thought you were briefed. Well...' the Admiral took a long drag on his Vangalan cigarette, 'While the Air Force bombs Spa to route out the BRA, our carrier here will be making precision strikes on the provincial roads and rural areas. We know that is where they hide their leaders. That is where they were born. That is where we will kill them. And if anyone gets in their way, they will die with them. You see, they will-'

Groeneveld cut him off, 'Admiral, with all due respect, the Supreme Leader is dead. Is this what he would have wanted?'

The Admiral stared darkly into the eyes of Groeneveld before flicking his cigarette down into the black waters of the harbour.

'What kind of a question is that, Inspector? Of course that is what he would have wanted. Karel de Graaf is in charge now and he personally is leading this operation. There is more to it than leads the eye. And as de facto leader of all Windhoek Island operations, you of all people should understand the gravity of this situation. So get back to your office, Groeneveld, keep doing whatever it is you are ordered to do, stop asking questions, which I know is difficult for you SV type, and come back to the harbour in six hours to see the carrier off. Aye?'

Groeneveld straightened his jacket and saluted the Admiral but glared at him all the same.

'Aye, Admiral. I shall see you later.'

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Later that day as the carrier was being guided out to sea, Groeneveld turned to Joop, his fellow SV partner whom he called in to Windhoek the day before.

'What do you think is going to happen, Joop?'

Joop finished his cigarette and turned away from the departing ships, 'Nothing good, Jozef, nothing good. They haven't even made it known yet that the Supreme Leader is dead. You actually think they are sane over there? Look, you've been travelling a lot this past month. Vlaanderen is not the same any more. There are tanks in the streets. The Government District is a frigging fortress now. People are gathering every afternoon. Clashes keep rising up. The newspapers, they barely mention anything about it. It's like they think that if they don't report it or make it official, it isn't happening. So, no, I really don't know what is going to happen. Let's see what Karel can do.'

 

[Serenierre]

Spa,
North-east Batavië

He stood up and straightened his jacket and looked at the man infront of him. "I didn't think that you would show up yourself... you should be careful, I just saw quite a few people on whom we maintains files. You'd be surprised how many are here... in Spa." he said, referring to the many agents of the SV he had seen in Spa. He took another sip of his hot coffee - not bad, for communist coffee, but coffee back home was much better - and looked at the man in the eyes.

"We can do a lot to help," he leaned in close to Roos and continued to speak, almost a whisper, "Right now, I have orders, straight from the top, to transfer ₣.870,000,000, in cash, to you. Additionally, you can count on the support of our men here in any activities you wish." He leaned in even closer and whispered even softly, "Anywhere in the nation, you want some disturbance to be created... we can do it... that way it'll keep them preoccupied... and hopefully, that will give the Spa militias a breather."

"Also, my sources have said that plans to supply your militias with arms and ammunition are in their final stages and will arrive at a farmhouse 25KM from Spa and from then on it is your job to arrange those weapons to come into Spa. That is something i can't help you with."

25KM from Spa

Agent X38 looked at the contents of the container. The huge box was filled with countless magazines for assault rifles and machine guns. "Good," he murmured under his breath. The latest delivery had been one of the largest and, according to the carrier, this shipment had guns, grenades, C4 bombs and anything else needed to give a jaw-breaking response to any enemy.

It had been one year, six months and eighteen days - yes he kept track - since the simple Batavien farmer had been recruited by the ISE and each day, since then, had been a new experience. Since then, he had managed to collect thousands of Francs and was, finally, able to get some good fertilizers and seeds for his rundown farm. Last summer, he had managed to make a killing, thanks to the funds provided by the ISE.

He looked down at the huge lock, at the door handle of the massive barn. It was just a matter of time before the pick-up would come and transport all the arms to the north and he would get his payment.

​

OOC: * - 1.25 Belmontien Franc is worth 1 USD. So you are getting, like, $696,000,000... if my math is correct.

 

[Batavië]

Spa

Henk nodded after hearing the Belmonti agent's news. It was good, there was no doubt about it and it was quite the contribution. Frankly, Henk Roos didn't understand what Paris would gain from it in the short term...maybe long term, but there was no telling what would happen even next week let alone two or five years from now. He shook the man's hand.

'Thank you. Thank you very much. Your country's generosity will not be forgotten.'

Comisariaat Buitenlandse Zaken | CoBuZa (Commissariat for Foreign Affairs)
Vlaanderen, Government District

Commissar of Foreign Affairs, Arjan van Vliet, was moving about his office at great speeds. His door was closed and his suitcase was filling up quickly. His desk phone rang. He sprang up from the drawers and answered.

'What is it now?' he snapped. The secretary, used to his curt responses, responded calmly despite the unusual manner of her boss as of late.

'Sir, I just wanted to let you know that your flight has been booked. You can pick up your boarding pass at the airport. You car is waiting for you downstairs. Is there anything else you require?'

Being one of the most powerful men in the country the secretary thought it odd that Van Vliet would be booking a last-minute ticket to Wiese on such notice. But it wasn't her place to question him either.

'No, no.' he looked around the room again spotting the leather-bound book he was looking for.

'Actually, yes, there is. Tomorrow some gentlemen from the SV will be stopping buy. Tell them that I had business to attend to abroad. Uhh, say its meetings in Meribia or something.'

The secretary assured her boss of this and severed the connection.

Downstairs he hastily shoved his roller-board bag and leather briefcase into the car. He got in and it pulled out.

'Where to, sir?' the driver asked.

'Airport, but we have to make a pit stop first.'

The bank was small, little known, used only by a few wealthy Elite in the country. Van Vliet was in and out within fifteen minutes carrying with him a duffel bag which he added to his luggage.

The woman clad in KLM's signature blue uniform slid the boarding pass wrapped in its also blue envelope across the counter.

'First class, no checked baggage, non-stop service to Augsburg. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?'

The woman did not recognise Van Vliet with his fake moustache. Besides, a government man of his stature would be flying on a government jet, not a commercial airliner.

'No, nothing else, dank u wel mevrouw.'

An hour later, with his loyal driver in tow, he boarded the plane, took his seat and finally relaxed once they had taken off. 'Do you think this will work?' he asked his driver seated next to him.

'Maybe. Give it a week or two, see what happens, come back when its calm. It's not like you haven't done this before.'

He was just...surviving.

 

[Serenierre]

Spa,
North-east Batavië

He got up. The meeting had been good, quite productive, actually. He nodded at Roos and proceeded to the door of the coffee shop. He stepped out on the footpath and calmly retraced his steps. He noted his apartment wasn't quite far from the coffee shop. He looked up at the nightsky, the new lunar cycle had begun and the sky was dominated only by stars. He sighed, just slightly, this life was taking a toll on him.

He pulled out another cigarette and placed it between his lips. He took out his unassuming lighter and lit the thing. Instantly, the smoke rushed into his mouth and he relaxed, a bit. He knew it was a nasty habit but, it did a heck of a job in calming his nerves. He kept on walking.

Hilversum
South-east Batavië

Since she was recruited by the Belmontien mafia, about five years ago, every day had been driven by fear; her fear of being caught. Her conscious half always questioned why she had joined up with them but, her other half just drove her on to keep doing whatever she was doing. She pulled out the keys from the ignition and stepped out of her tiny car. The small car had great mileage but was a killer for the legs. It was a tight fit for the broad, well built woman. She walked up to the door of her shop and swiftly opened the lock.

Since the beginning of the previous year, her shop had been a cover for more 'sinister' things. Since the previous March, she had received truck loads of shipments from Arendaal. Each shipment, smuggled through the border with Arendaal, was allowed into Batavië when the mafia members bribed the border officials. She didn't know what was being transported to her shop's basement and she never asked. She simply pretended that nothing was wrong and kept about her work, no matter how nervous she was.

She looked down at the stack of newspapers that had been delivered by the paperboys. Each day, it seemed, the country was getting more tense. The army was tightening its grip and, in such tense and unpredictable times, van De Graaf was nowhere to be seen. "Great leadership," she muttered as she laid out the newspapers in the window.​

 

[Batavië]

Strategic Command Centre
Windhoek, Windhoek Island

They were all gathered in the room. General Diedrich Rompert of the Ground Forces, General Peter van Willem of the People's Air Force, Admiral Robert Stuyvent of the People's Navy and even General Karel de Graaf himself, leader of the country after his father's death.

Jozef Groeneveld was sitting in a darker corner of the already dark room. There was a spot for him at the central table where they were all looking over a large map, but he was uncomfortable being around so many military figures. It was only natural, he supposed. SV folk didn't get along with the military that well. So why did they stick me in charge of the operation? he thought to himself. Probably so that if it failed they could blame it on the SV.

Jozef was surrounded by tall filing cabinets and the computers which were generating the electronic and real-time maps being projected onto the walls. It was almost like a little office for him. No one seemed to notice him there as he pretended to look over dossiers of known Batavian Republican Army agents.

He stopped his 'work' to look over at Karel de Graaf. What were they thinking not telling the media or people that the Supreme Leader, Jap, had died days ago? It had been almost a week. Karel was de facto leader but not de jure, not even close. Still, these military men, long in charge of the country, didn't think to report it. Perhaps the shock would be too much for the people during such civil strife.

'All right, now that everyone is here, Staatsveiligheid Detective Inspector Jozef Groeneveld will be given the honours to start Operation Lionsgate.' One of the Ground Forces folk had made the announcement, prompting the uniforms to sit down. Jozef exited his abode and stepped forward. He was brought a telephone.

'Gentlemen, all operations may now commence. Good luck and long live the Supreme Leader.' he set the telephone down as everyone watched the map. The green dots denoting military units on the ground were now marked as active and some of them began to move. A night time assault on the city of Spa would send a message, hoped the commanders. Jozef had a feeling that this shock and awe campaign might backfire. But it wasn't his place to say.

Noord Air Force Base

Four Su-27 jets took off from the icy runway and disappeared into the inky sky. The glow of their engines came as a stark contrast to the darkness. Two MiG 29s were next but they were heading in a different direction.

The Sukhois flew in formation until they came within range of their targets.

'Flight leader I have visual on suspected barracks.'

'Rodger, 2, standby. Mother Bird this is Panther Wing requesting clearance to engage enemy, over.'

The crackle came within ten seconds: 'Rodger Panther Wing, this is Mother Bird. Clearance granted. Limit collateral damage, over.'

'Break formation and engage targets, over.'

The four jets peeled off and armed their payloads. Their job were to use precision strikes against militia barracks, militia checkpoints, militia armouries. They may have taken the city, but the Staatsveiligheid had hundreds of agents and thousands of informants still active. There was plenty of intelligence to go around.

On the ground below the pilots could see the Ground Force units that were encircled around the city. The mortar and artillery fire began immediately after the first pilot fired his missile. A heavy battering all throughout the night was the name of the game. When the four Sukhois hit bingo fuel, a second sortie was right behind them to ensure no let up in the pounding. None at all.

 

[Batavië]

Sjärholm
Skånskige Statsunionen

The Staatsveiligheid agent had no idea that the military was pounding Spa with shells and bombs. He did not know that the Supreme Leader, Jap de Graaf, had died over a week ago. His job required not asking any questions at any time and he was good at it. He had been sent to Scania for one purpose, to eliminate an enemy of the state. The dossier was thick. The Mayor of Sjärholm, Gunnar Hammersjöld, was knowingly supporting Batavian Republican Army affiliates in the town.

The agent, LHM 32, finished his Vangalan cigarette, stubbing it out in the café's ashtray. It was time to go, the mayor had just finished lunch and was walking back to his office. Well, he had a pit stop to make.

LHM 32 kept a good distance. Not too close, not too far. He carried with him a local newspaper. The weight of his pistol felt comforting against his chest. The mayor turned down a street to a mostly empty car park and headed towards a small, green car. His mistress was waiting for him inside.

LHM 32 Let the men get inside the car. He withdrew his pistol and attached his silencer, checked the clip, turned the safety off and began to walk towards the car. He arrived at the car. The occupants were not aware of his presence. They were already at it. Pigs, thought the agent.

He tapped his gloved hand on the rear window. The mayor and his mistress turned around to view their soon-to-be killer. The surprise on the man's face was priceless.

'What is the meaning of this!? Who the hell are you?!' he began to pull his pants back up and the woman tried in vain to cover her exposed breasts with the man's shirt.

LHM 32 yanked the car door open and said in crystal clear Scanian, 'I'm just the messenger.' He levelled the pistol to the mayor's head and fired once into the skull. The woman didn't even have time to shriek for the second bullet penetrated her brain hardly a second later. LHM 32 checked the pulses just to be sure and when satisfied with his work, shut the car door and began to walk away.

His superiors would be pleased. Another BRA weapons depot had been shut down.

 

[Skånskige Statsunionen]

Sjärholm
Skånskige Statsunionen

Agent Åsa Grönsjöld of the Säkerhetspolisen or Säpo was hot on the trail of a Batavian secret agent that had slipped across the border into Scania. It wasn't uncommon for Staatsveiligheid to make incursions into the Scania and the Säpo would usually just follow them closely in a game of cat and mouse until them slipped back into the shadows on the other side of the border, whence they came from. The regional director for the Northern Provinces had assigned Åsa to shadow this agent and report on what his business was in Scania. She enjoyed her Årtsoppa in the local cafe as the nervous Batavian eyed the local mayor. It was odd for a Staatsveiligheid agent to be so interested in such a lowly official like a local mayor of a town of just 10,000 people. Still, Åsa wrote it down with Scanian efficiency. She had a reputation in the office for her extremely, almost overly detailed notes. She had even asked the chef before what the agent liked to order. Åsa thought about a saying her grandma had told her when she was young about food and a person's character...she couldn't remember all the details though.

She watched as the local mayor got up to leave and the Batavian following just behind him. She finished up her soup and headed for the door, making sure the agent didn't notice she was following him. He probably did notice before, but didn't care. It was the nature of the game. The agent got into her unmarked white Saab car and began to follow the agent who was following the mayor. She stopped and got out of her car and headed to her viewing point on the top of a local building. She pulled out her standard issue binoculars and watched the agent creep up on the green car were the local mayor was enjoying the local prostitute. Immediately, she noticed the agent had a gun with him and radioed into police headquarters of the town.

She gave the description of the man just as the gun went off and she could see in graphic detail the mayor and his whore dead in the car.

The chatter on the radio announced that the border was being sealed and the roads in and out of the town were being closed. She noticed that the agent got back into his car and was speeding off.

As a Säpo agent it was not her job to arrest the suspect, the Polis would do that. However, she thought to herself that it was doubtful the agent would make it out of the town. Dead or Alive...
​

 

[Batavië]

Sjärholm
Skånskige Statsunionen

LHM 32 returned his car to the rental agency and paid in cash. The bribe he gave the owner earlier ensured he didn't need to provide names or papers. With the car now out of his hands LHM 32 returned to the SV safe flat by foot. The Säpo was the single most known about foreign service for the Staatsveiligheid. The agent had known about the Säpo girl tailing him. She wasn't obvious, no. On the contrary, she was quite good. But not good enough. The Staheid maintained the belief (whether it was true or not it was hard to tell) that they were the best intelligence service in the region. He knew her middle name. She was not important as it were.

The safe flat, therefore, was not the same one he had been using all week while he was making observations and preparations. That was a decoy. The flat he was entering now was the real safe flat. He would lie low, enjoy a couple weeks of the food stash and the books left for him to read. So long as he didn't show his face, he was fairly certain he would be able to leave the country after the trail went cold and he was seemingly nowhere to be found. Right under their noses. Why should they expect him to remain in the town? Even if they did, they wouldn't find him if he stayed indoors.

 

[Skånskige Statsunionen]

Sjärholm
Skånskige Statsunionen

Within a few hours it was clear that the agent had somehow avoided capture. Agent Åsa was once again assigned to the case to flush out the agent. She hated when she had to do 'arrest and detain' work. It was not her forté, but she did it anyways.

Her first instincts told her that the agent ditched the car somewhere. Therefore, she decided to have the police make a radio announcement that the force was willing to provide any person with information leading to arrest 1 million kronas in compensation. In such an economically depressed town, such as this one, everyone person and there dog will be providing information. She also had the police run the photograph she took of the agent on local television and had the radio announcement instruct the residents to watch the television for the photograph.

She was sure that someone in the town had seen the man and their internal sense of profit would override any bribe or loyalty they may have.

She decided to retire to her office to file a bit of paperwork and then had into town at the last place she had seen him to start more work.

 

[Batavië]

Sjärholm
Skånskige Statsunionen

LHM 32 switched on the television, leaving the volume low. The window shades were not drawn. He didn't want to arouse suspicion. Located on the third floor of the small flat building, he felt rather safe. Then he saw a decent photograph of himself on the screen with a large reward for information. He knew that the rental car agency owner had already blabbed. That would give them a lead, but not a location.

Then he remembered the little old lady that lived across the hall from him. She was returning from the grocery store when he entered the flat. She had a good look of his face. She watched the news around this time too. He shut it off and waited patiently. They wouldn't be long and there was nowhere to go. It was too late.

 

[Skånskige Statsunionen]

Sjårholm
Skånskige Statsunionen

The mainline to the police began to ring, it was an informant who had seen the photo on thetelevision and had recognised someone going into a flat near the centre of town who looked just like it. Within a few minutes all the police cars in the area and locked down the area and began to move slowly towards the location in case the suspect fleed. Nothing moved though, slowly they advanced on an old decreipt building and broke down the door. They quickly marched up the stairs and announced to the agent that it was the Scanian Police and to surrender himself into Police custody, they informed him that he had legal rights in Scania and that there was no where to run. If he resisted arrest, they would pursue him and could not guarantee his safety.

 

[Batavië]

Sjårholm
Skånskige Statsunionen

LHM 32 had seen them arrive from down below. He turned away from his window as they entered the building. His room, luggage and body was clean of any identity, standard procedure for agents in the field abroad.

The door was banged on. He listened to the message. He had about five seconds before they forced entry. That was plenty of time. He removed the glass capsule from his drawer next to the sofa. He placed it in his mouth by his molars. He bit down. The glass cut his gums and cheeks and the cyanide entered his bloodstream. The door broke down, the Säpo agents stormed in, just in time to catch the falling body of Agent LHM 32. He lay limp and dead. They were not to get information out of him.

 

[Skånskige Statsunionen]

Sjärholm
Skånskige Statsunionen

Åsa received the call from the police inspector who found the body of the dead agent. She was furious at them for announcing themselves as the police. That was an instant way to end up with a dead agent. They should have overwhelmed him and taken him out alive. All that useful information was gone. Still, Målmöholm will still be happy to have the body of the agent in the photographs to show AGE allies.

From the persistence of calls from the Chancellor of Justice himself, the Government was gearing up for something. Still, her work was now complete. The agent would be described in her paperwork as Killed in Action. Pity, really.

 

[Batavië]

Strategic Command Centre
Windhoek, Windhoek Island

The Generals, aides and Jozef Groeneveld were once again situated within the command centre. News of the botched up Staheid assassination in Scania had reached the island. The military bigwigs did not look pleased and Groeneveld noticed a glare or two shot in his direction.

General Diedrich Rompert was the first to speak. He pointed to the border with Scania on the map.

'Comrades, there is no doubt in my mind that the Scanians are going to use this fuckup of an operation to do something rash and stupid. But we are going to be ready for them. I want the border with their capitalist country mined heavily. I want the defence line to be put on full alert. Make sure the bunkers are fully stocked. Fresh troops should be sent and make sure that we place decoy SAMs in the hills and real ones, of course, too.'

General Peter van Willem of the People's Air Force took his turn to dispatch orders.

'All air bases are to be put on full alert. I want a sortie in the air at all times by the border. When they come they are going to rely heavily on air strikes. I don't blame them, our Ground Forces are enormous. That doesn't mean we won't have trouble. Their forces are well trained and equipped. We've been studying them for years, though, so we know what to expect, more or less. Our MiG29s are faster and smaller than their standard aircraft so it should keep them busy. Our Sukhois, being larger than the MiGs, will be used for counter-attack bombing raids. I want the tanker fleet in Windhoek to be on standby. I also want the tanker fleet on Maarten Island on standby. Windhoek might be hit, but probably not until later.'

Finally the leader of the People's Navy, Admiral Robert Stuyvent, took his turn around the table.

'Our aircraft carrier, De Graaf has been recalled from its current area of operations in the north. It will be brought to the waters between Windhoek and Scania. It will be used for interceptions if and when they try to bomb Windhoek Island. We cannot risk sending the carrier closer to their mainland for offensive operations. It would be within range of their Air Force. I want the subs, destroyers and supply ships on her as well. As for Windhoek Supply routes, coal shipments must continue. We will get a couple destroyers on their ferry route. Oil shipments from Vangala will be escorted in when they approach Windhoek. As for our domestic natural gas supplies, we only have three rigs up and running. As you know, they are all close to Scania. They will be shut down starting tomorrow with crews evacuated. They will not be rigged with explosives. They won't be able to make use of the rigs as the pipelines to them connect to Batavië. Mainland production will continue with high security around the compounds.'

Groeneveld took his turn, but it was short.

'Any questions?' a pause. 'Good. Operation Lionsgate will continue to keep the BRA on the defence. However, it will be slimmed down. Air strikes will halt. I think it would be best that the Air Force have all the planes it needs for homeland defence. We also don't need as many troops there. Comrades, military defence is not my field of expertise. I will continue overseeing Operation Lionsgate, but I will not be participating in defence.'

They all nodded and stood, on their way to dispatch their orders and put the country on high alert.

 

[Danzig]

Ministry of Defense, Secretary's Office

The atmosphere of the conference hall is best described as cold and serene. Marble pillars towering from the tile floor to the ceiling, the echos, paintings and massive statues of prominent politicians, generals and other historic figures stood in front of the windows while soft light of the evening fell on ground. Several people sat there, not saying a word, waiting until the secretary of defense was done reading several papers, lying on front of him. He was tapping with his pen on the side of the table. A woman sat next to him, I don't recall her name, but I believe she's the shadow-secretary or some other important occupation. The secretary finished reading, polished his glasses and looked at me.

`The very fact you are not employed at a bank or financial institution, have considerable diplomatic skills and have done this work before... Makes you a prime candidate for this function,' he began. `However I must note, and stress, that this will also be considerably more challanging. Difficult, if you prefer. Are you content with such an assignment? And do I need to point out your work is off the record and confidential?'

`Of course not excellency. I believe such things come in natural with my line of work.'

`Good. A few details. Your name, when you travel to Batavië, will be the same as on your passport. I don't quite think going there will be easy but I have contacted the Danzig embassy in Batavië and they're working hard to let a military attaché enter without too much trouble. Since we do not have any - official - diplomatic connections with either party, that will go smoothly... At least, that is my personal assessment. You are aware of this?

`Indeed I am excellency. I have gotten into contact through some my personal associates with several of the Batavians who were released on a bail and they'll spread the name Leon Dömöter back to Batavië. A little publicity never hurts.'

`Ah, excellent,' the secretary replied. `Your connections are clean, they will be aware of your work at the Ministry of Defense which will carry some weight over there. A war is brewing and we cannot pass up this opportunity to do some business with a doomed nation. Batavia is a potential partner in the coming war. In as much as Skånskige Statsunionen is, but they will be contacted in due time. We must focus on Batavië from this point on.'

`Your excellency,' I said, `I am aware my mission is to get them to contact Danzig arms dealers. Surely they have their own connections?'

`Quite so Leon. But on the contrary, when war breaks out, it will be a lot more difficult to arrange the paperwork. We're at a crossroads here and now. We have a bunch of shell companies doing the paperwork for us, make it look like humanitarian aid, I even set up a phony branch of the Danzig Red Cross and use ships carrying their symbols. We'll fly a flag of a Danzig charitable shipping company registered in a neutral country of our choice. On paper everything will be clean as a whistle.'

`I am confident it will eventually be a lot harder than it seems right now, your excellency. Not to be negative about your preperations... They are, as always, perfect'

`Thank you Leon. Visa, passport, cash, documents, everything will be arranged when you go to Danzig international airport. A diplomatic airplane will be chartered to bring you safely to the Bavatian capital city of Vlaanderen. A driver we can trust will bring you to the Danzig embassy where a contact of mine will await you to brief you further on your mission. You do agree?'

`Of course I agree your excellency. Otherwise I wouldn't be here in the first place. The compensation is also fine. If something happens to me, my family won't have to worry about anything for the remainder of their lives. That was the deal.'

`My colleagues can confirm we have signed that contract. On a confidential basis. However, I don't like it you forwarded a copy to your attorney and a notary's office - and did not inform us about it. Neither did you give us the names of their companies or the companies they work for.'

`A little insurance. We're cooperating, but that doesn't mean we can entirely trust each other, your excellency. But I am ready for a challange. As far as I'm concerned, I can leave tomorrow morning.'

 

[Batavië]

Country Estate of Constantijn van Arsdale, Interior Commissar
30 km north-west of Vlaanderen

The meeting of many of the country's top officials was private, confidential and unknown to the news leader of Batavië, General Karel de Graaf. Interior Commissar, Constantijn van Arsdale, had arranged for the little get together on the suggestion of his wealth manager. The great room of the country estate was filled with old men drinking scotch and brandy, all discussing the impending conflict. They needed to be back in the capital by early evening to resume their work. For now, however, they had to take care of a few things.

Constantijn entered the room and drifted through the cigarette smoke. He stood before the large bay windows overlooking the farmland behind him.

'Gentlemen, thank you for coming. As you know we have very little time. Totally off the record, there is a possibility that the People's Republic will face a loss in the impending war with Scania. Therefore, on the suggestion of a few wise-minded gentlemen, we all agreed to take care of our families and personal assets. My man in Wiese has arranged for private and confidential accounts to be set up in the Papal States. They don't ask questions, there is plenty of land and estates and there is a high population of foreigners on their main island, making blending in easy.'

The men in the room continued to drink and smoke

'You will all receive passports upon arrival. You will travel through Eiffelland to limit suspicion. No one will leave unless it looks as though it will be necessary. Until that time, we will do our best to defend the homeland. If it appears as though defeat is the only way down, then be assured, there will be flights out of Windhoek to Eiffelland. Transporting yourselves to Windhoek is your own business. However, it is likely that once the war starts, many operations and personnel will be relocated there anyway. Vlaanderen is near the border and will be bombed very early on. So be ready for frequent movement and remember, don't utter a word of this to anyone outside this room, lest you wish to be shot.'

A general murmur filled the room as they began to filter out, back to their cars. Constantijn, while feeling more secured, couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt and treason course through his body. And where the hell was Arjan van Vliet? The Foreign Affairs Commissar had disappeared almost a week ago. He probably got out while he could. Cheeky bastard. He didn't expect to see him again.