From Zinaida With Love

[Ashkelon]

(Or.... How to include a lame reference to a James Bond title for no other reason than it sounded cool. This is an RP that will be including Lesser Sarmatia and Zarmaj in a little bit. But first, just a little internal-ness.)

Residence A, Unity Village, Lozinsk, Zalonarus
0441 Hours

The girl rose in bed to the sound of... something. She wasn't sure what it was, something between the scuttling of a rat and a chicken. But that simply added to the strangeness of the matter. For one, it wasn't natural to have such pests in her room. In fact to say that somehow, a pest had broken through the security of her home within the Unity Village, which was so secure that it didn't even allow such creatures inside, was an insult of an entirely different calibre.

She begrudgingly slipped out from beneath the comfortable sheets to find out what it was. Her feet touched fur carpet, cold from a winter night combined with the cooling effect of the air filter. It sent a chill running all the way to the top of her spine, but she successfully fought back the urge to shiver. She was above mere knee-jerk reactions, reactions that should be under her full control.

The girl walked over to the full length mirror on one side of the room - opposite from the windows, which presently had the curtains draped over them - and examined herself. Beneath the modest pajamas was the body of a blooming woman. The long brown hair, unkempt from a full night's worth of rolling around in bed, was but a short brushing session away from becoming a majestic mane. The groggy golden eyes only needed a quick shower to get rid of the last tentacles of sleep, and the fair little face was- "Hmm?"

A little white shape was quivering at the foot of her bed, clearly visible from the mirror. Finally understanding what had happened, and spotting the source of the until-just-now-mysterious noise, the girl sighed and decided to deal with the issue before it became worse. "Silly rabbit." She picked up the rabbit and cradled it in her left arm while keeping her right free to stroke it and draw the curtain away.

The little white rabbit didn't resist at all. Of course. Why would little Sasha resist? She had already taught him all there was to be taught about not resisting his master.

She looked through the reinforced glass. Outside, there was darkness. And smog. Smog that looked like a deathly version of the fog that tended to permeate the streets of Lunden. There was also a light snowfall, but that didn't really say much. Even the snow was dangerous in Lozinsk. In the distance, beyond the two story fence of her home, soldiers patrolled the snowy pre-dawn streets of the Unity Village, their eyepieces glowing like pairs of green will-o-wisps in the fog. Further beyond that loomed the massive structure that was the Unity Palace, a fortress unlike any other in the Republic.

The girl shut the curtain again and put the little white rabbit back in his cage - albeit an arguably luxurious and undoubtedly spacious one. Even so, the fact was not lost on her that it was still a cage. Even though it could probably count as a walk-in closet if one tried to use the equivalent space in that capacity.

Just like this place.

It was big. It was safe. It was packed with enough air filters, water processors, and aeroponic gardens to ensure a completely healthy living. But it was still a cage. Her schoolmates envied her for it. They didn't say so, but she knew that deep down inside, those other girls were jealous that she lived a stone's throw the heart of the Unity.

She had seen all the members of the Unity throughout her life. They came here more often now than when she was younger, for obvious reasons. Of course they never admitted to being part of the Unity, but she could tell. House guests, visitors, hah. The most pathetic guises of all. There was really no other reason why people would come to visit her father here than important matters. The really funny thing, though, was that the Unity's true faces were of people you least expected to be part of the Unity. They all dressed simply, they all appeared ordinary and nondescript. But the truth was, these were the most powerful men and women in the Republic.

She knew this very well, of course.

When you lived your life in such a position, it was impossible not to understand the meaning of power. She had dined with members of the Unity from time to time. She had even shared the same dinner table with the "Most Humble" Pravadir, who would never dare remove his gas mask, and instead ate his food through a tube. With the exception of the Pravadir, they seemed nothing at all like an enigmatic council of folk who ruled nations, and indeed, perhaps it was this un-intuitive aura that made concealing their identities so effective. But even with these thoughts on mind, there was the ever-present notion lurking in the back of her head, one that said that she could do a much better job running the country than the Unity. And she was proud of that notion.

The girl picked up an electronic device from the dresser and clipped it onto her wrist. The screen immediately came to life with a start-up sequence you could expect from any computer. She navigated through the touchscreen interface to enlarge the clock on the desktop, and studied the time. "A little earlier than usual."

And that was an interesting way for today to start. And perhaps it was a providential sign. A rabbit breaking out of a cage to awaken his master. Highly symbolic, if she could say so herself. Still, it was just an unusual start. The rest of the day had yet to happen, which in a way spoke for itself. If there really was a Man in the Sky like all the adults were talking about, He had a vendetta against her, a vendetta that damned her to a life where all is restricted, and nothing exciting is permissible.

And knowing her present schedule for today, it would most likely be just another day in this monotonous life she lived.

It would be just another day for Zinaida Stukova.

 

[Ashkelon]

Education Institute 3, 4th District, Lozinsk, Zalonarus
1042 Hours

"Now turn to pa- *ahem* I meant scroll down, to Chapter 12, Phase IV of the Golden Revolution." The teacher began to write down some questions on the whiteboard.

From how he had almost instinctively told everybody to turn their pages, it was clear to the girl that he was still adjusting to the installation of desktop units. That was the government's newest little modernization project-slash-experiment. In order to save on paper and space, and generally to increase the connectivity of the Republic, they would choose specific classrooms in specific schools and replace their desks with desktop computers. high-resolution screen, virtual desktop, the works. And of course, there was waterproofing, just in case-

The sound of plastic hitting a surface distracted much of the class, as they turned to see the class mouse (the quiet girl) scrambling to pick up a canteen that had tipped over, spilling its contents over her desk and keyboard.

Yes, just in case something like that happened. The class representative quickly stood up and helped her wipe up that mess.

The girl merely snorted, scoffing at what a disturbance the little commotion behind her was, before clicking the link on the History E-Book table of contents. The text quickly appeared, and much to her dismay - as she had been dismaying for the past few days - it was more about the Golden Revolution. It was this same Golden Revolution that she had memorised every little detail of by heart when she was younger outside of school. This was the Golden Revolution her father, grandfather, and their "house guests" always eventually brought up at dinner, like it was some great event that was impossible to forget about, and impossible to grow tired of discussing amongst friends and colleagues.

The Golden Revolution had indeed gone down in history. But it was something this girl would rather not review for several weeks in high school. Instead, if she could plead with the instructor to just give her in advance all of the quizzes and tests that focused on the Golden Revolution, then things would be perfect as she could get it over with instead of wasting her valuable study time with such things yet again.

The girl liked history. What she did not like was having to repeat the same particular section of history in secondary when she probably knew more details about it than a University Professor. She glanced up at the questions written on the board, five in total, and typed down answers to the trivial ones in less than half a minute, perhaps without even thinking. And that was what made it what it was, rote mastery.

The ones that required more thought, mini-essays of the subjective sort, were finished in a few minutes with word counts of a reasonable length. She had formed opinions about those issues years ago.

"Can anybody tell me why Lozkin preferred a surgical strike on the Royal Palace as opposed to openly surrounding it and taking Ivangrad by force?"

A hand shot up.

"Yes, Alexei."

The boy stood up and adjusted his glasses. Alexei Turovich. Many said he was well on the way to getting noticed by the Unity, what with his talents and ability. The girl shook her head at the idea. Turovich was talented, yes. But it took a lot more than mere talent to get noticed by the Unity. What he lacked was the ambition and zeal to get noticed, a tenacity to rock the boat and bring swift action to the country. She could smell his complacency. No matter how high his scores, if he kept up that contentment, the Unity would never even look at him.

"Lozkin wanted to express the fundamental point of Unity Conquest, taking Ivangrad's heart and soul, instead of using force to take the body."

"Exact words of the text. But do you understand it? Do you believe it?"

Turovich paused. "I... don't know."

"Of course you don't. I doubt anybody in this room would recognise Unity Conquest if it reached up and bit you in the ass." The instructor motioned for the student to sit down.

The girl only rolled her eyes as the teacher continued on his rant. Was he teaching History, or Moral Philosophy? She skimmed the text, only to glance at unfamiliar tidbits of information, of which this plain high school History E-Book had none. The chapter was over in three minutes as she moved on to the next. On another portion of her Desk, a window sat open where she wrote her answers for the twelfth chapter. Such a boring part of the school day...

She glanced outside at the snowy, smoggy school yard. Nobody was playing, of course. It was too dangerous to play there. Just like when she was younger. Never in her entire life did the girl ever see other children playing outside in the school yard. It was only understandable. It was maybe eighty years since those conditions were possible.

The bell rang, and the teacher stopped his monologue about the importance of understanding the Unity Conquest and taking it to heart. "This is due on Thursday. Make sure to pass them on time. I'll accept Teslin and Document Files, but not paper. This is a new school policy, and I'm sure you've heard it all by now." He moved up to his desk and started to pack his things. "Tomorrow, we take up Phase V: The Final Push. Get out of here."

Sophomores stood up from their chairs and filed out of the room, except for the girl. She had better things to do before leaving for the cafeteria. Windows flashed open and shut on her monitor as she worked on requirements that weren't even going to be given for another two weeks. She didn't really care about running out of the choice meals at the cafeteria, or looking like some kind of bookworm who didn't know how to have fun with friends after classes had ended. It wasn't that she didn't know how to have fun either. The girl simply understood that she was a rabbit in a cage, and wanted to get out of that cage as soon as legally possible.

She glanced outside again at the empty school yard, with the white layer of snow covering the black asphalt, and the thick smog hanging in the air like a vulture waiting for someone to just drop dead. And that had happened sometime in the past as well, when some people were foolish enough to ignore the government's warnings and went outdoors without environmental masks.

The girl blinked at an apparition outside, but resumed work when it turned out to be nothing.

The teacher, fully aware of her tendencies, left with nary a word, leaving her alone in the classroom, under the careful watch of the Eye that had been hanging in a corner of the ceiling for as long as she could remember. While she never liked the Eye, it was no less comforting to know that she seemed to have started seeing things.

For just a brief moment, she thought back to that apparition outside, standing just beyond the chain link fence, staring back at her. And just as quickly, it had disappeared into the smog.

It wasn't just the Eye now.

Someone else was watching Zinaida Stukova.

 

[Ashkelon]

1500 Hours

The final bell rang. With that simple sound, the air inside the classroom dramatically changed. A certain sort of anticipation had permeated the class, as each student expectantly waited for the long-awaited announcement. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the teacher replaced the cap on his whiteboard marker and set it down in the pen tray.

"Tomorrow, we'll take up Angles. Don't forget to submit your assignments by 1300."

He paused for a few seconds, waiting for the students to finish copying the contents, those little equations and formulae and... numbers... onto their documents, and saving them onto their disks. Upon seeing the last student finish the transfer and start the shutdown process on her desktop, he gave the signal. "Class dismissed."

Like a fully rehearsed army, the student body of Class 2-B arose and greeted their instructor farewell, before filing out of the room in an orderly fashion. Only one stayed behind to continue doing advanced work on requirements that would not be issued to the class for another two weeks, as the teacher proceeded to erase the board's contents.

She had friends, yes. And she had already told them that she would not be going home with them today, or for the next two weeks or so. The girl wanted to finish these requirements as soon as possible, to eliminate the need of wasting precious time on them later on. She was depositing time in the bank, one could say, in order to withdraw it when she needed it. It was a simple mechanic, was it not?

After finishing with packing his things, the teacher sighed and walked over to the girl at the desk. "Miss Stukova, I'm closing up the classroom. Perhaps you can save these files and just bring them home with you."

The girl did not even bother to look up as she answered, instead continuing her multitasking, switching between several windows to the symphony of rapid-fire typing. "I find that I work better in a school environment. Home makes me feel lazy."

The teacher sighed and shaped up, going into a sterner tone. "Miss Stukova, you don't expect me to lock you up in here, would you? Your father-"

"Would have your head on a silver platter if you did." The girl remained focused on her work, continuing to ignore that basic courtesy of acknowledging a person's proximity through eye contact. Perhaps it was that fact, that she wasn't even acknowledging the teacher enough to look him in the eye, that was intimidating. Or perhaps it was the fact that the alternative that would be horrifying to imagine, that she might acknowledge him, look him in the eye, and through that eye contact, announce that she had had enough of his posturing and would use her connections to make his life hell on earth. Either way, the teacher decided that in this case, discretion was the better part of valour, and waited for her to continue. "I suggest you let the janitor clean up first before closing this room. We have enough dirt outside. Wouldn't want it to collect indoors, would we?"

"I... I think I'll get the janitor to clean up before locking down. Please be done by that time, Miss Stukova."

The girl merely snorted as the teacher left the classroom, somewhat shaken and in a hurry. She continued working, even as the janitor came in and began to perform his duty. She had already finished the homework for Angles, and the essays on every last part of the Revolution were almost done. Science? A trivial affair.

In between these works, she thought to herself about how spineless that teacher was. Well, they'd all break down eventually. They had tried to put her in line in the past, when they didn't know any better. It wasn't just that she was of "blue" blood, that she had friends in high places. She wasn't some spoiled cretin unworthy of being called a child, who would whine to her powerful parents if things didn't go her way.

It was more of the fact that they knew, from the look in her eyes, that she had aims to reach those same high places. They knew, that when she did - not if, when; it wasn't a question of could she, but when she would - she would ensure that those who had crossed her would suffer for the rest of their time on this Godforsaken earth. And that was why the girl could get away with acting like the little empress of this school, no matter who she faced against.

True to keeping her part of the unacknowledged bargain, the girl finished her advanced homework by the time the janitor had finished cleaning the classroom. With the snappiness of a trained soldier, she transferred the remaining work to her PIP, shut down her desktop, and stood up, packing her things and leaving the room in but a few seconds.

She marched down the hallway with this same snappiness, stepping into the mud room and stopping at her locker to retrieve the essentials for survival in the world outside. In less than a minute, the environmental suit had been donned, the sound of her breathing rendered an eerie hiss by the mask. It'd be a great audio cue for a film villain. She slung her bag back over her shoulders and continued her trek through the airlock - a simple design meant to keep the pollution outside, nothing quite state of the art - serving as the main entrance of the school, and finally, out into the smog-infested outside world.

The girl stood in the school yard, a white wasteland devoid of any life. The footprints of homeward bound students had already started to fade away as the snowfall patiently produced a new layer to cover them up. Above this was draped that ever-present smog, a poisonous mist that served as a caesarian scar on this motherland, for her giving birth to modern progress. Behind her stood the school building, two stories of concrete dating back to just after the Golden Revolution, with another Eye hanging just above the entrance watching all who entered and left.

A hundred yards away was the main gate, with its militia-manned guard house, and yet another Eye keeping watch over the streets. She had never played here before. This had always been a dead place to her, one that she had to pass through six days a week, a reminder of the fragility of life. She resumed her march, and nodded at the guards as they raised the bar to let her pass out, onto the streets, where many walked, and many others rode or drove.

Most of these were students, or workers with some other place to go. It was only natural. The day was far from over.

The girl rounded a corner, the usual route home. She had not forgotten about that apparition she saw outside earlier during History class, and her mind continued to picture it. She was determined to find out who - or what - it was. And as if the Man in the Sky had acknowledged her desires for once, she could see, through the throngs of passersby, there stood the apparition on the sidewalk, just outside of an alley. It was a rugged figure with a rudimentary environmental suit, covered with a duster, with hands in pockets.

She couldn't see it, but she was certain, with every fibre of her being, that this apparition was looking at her. And just when she thought it would stand there like a statue for the rest of the afternoon, it ducked away into the alley.

"Hey! Wait!" The girl broke out into a sprint - unencumbered by her environmental suit - and followed the apparition into the alley. Much to her chagrin, by the time she made the turn into the tight path, the apparition had disappeared into the darkness. She ventured deeper into that alley, a small crevice between the rows of buildings.

"I'm not here to play games! Come on out!"

There was no response. Nothing resembling a human sound, anyway. Rats scurried about, somehow able to survive despite this toxic atmosphere. Perhaps they had started to adapt to this, just like cockroaches were said to be able to evolve to match any environment. What a mess. She looked behind a dumpster. Nothing. Where did that apparition go? Was it just a hallucination after all?

No, it couldn't have been. After all, she wasn't on any kind of medication. That apparition was as real as any of those other nameless people on the street. She felt like she had just chased a rabbit down a hole, lost and unable to find it. She checked a nearby door. It was locked.

"I'll give you to the count of three!" It wasn't that the girl was ignorant. She was fully aware of what risks were involved in something like this. But she was nevertheless confident enough to believe she was capable of resolving any problems that might crop up. After all, she was the little empress, the one who had what it took to rise to the top when her day came. And it would come too. She would make sure of it.

"One!"

She raised a finger, announcing her resolve to the void of the alley. One might look at her and say, "Only the rats and roaches can hear you, dear. Why don't you go home?" She would ignore that person entirely.

"Two!" A second finger went up.

Nothing but rats and roaches.

And then, it came, just as she raised her third finger. A rustle from behind, too big to be a rat. Before she could turn around to see who it was, before she could count to three, she was down on her stomach, her mask inches from the grimy snow at the bottom of the alley. Her arms were pulled up straight behind her, close to dislocating. Her legs were folded until her heels touched her thighs. The pain was, at best, disconcerting.

Even then, it never once occurred to the girl that she had perhaps bitten off more than she could chew. She fought back. Even when they - for a single person could not possibly hold her in place that way - ripped off her mask, her long brown hair spilling out and draping over her face, she fought back. Even as the damp cloth covered her nose, she fought back, refusing to inhale what was most likely some kind of anesthetic. But a human could only hold her breath so long while struggling. This went on for the better portion of two minutes.

She eventually lost that struggle.

A sickeningly sweet odour forced its way into her lungs as she finally gave in and inhaled whatever the towel had soaked up.

And just like that, the world faded into an empty darkness, a dreamless sleep.

Someone had just taken Zinaida Stukova.

 

[Ashkelon]

Command Centre C, Unity Palace, Lozinsk, Zalonarus
7 December, 0321 Hours

Three days.

Colonel Glovatskiy had not slept in three days. Sugar and caffeine coursed through his blood as he sat at his desk near the mainscreen. "Well?"

The officer manning the EyeStar relay console shook his head."Nyeh, Pułkovnik. Stations for 29 and 21 have not spotted anything."

All major highways had been tagged. The borders had been locked down. Militia and USZR patrols were scouring the countryside with everything from ground troops, to helicopters, to UAV's. He had even called in favours just to get two EyeStar satellites to look down at the whole scene. The fact that despite all these measures, these kidnappers had still managed to slip off the grid and into the cracks, was not just embarrassing, it was downright frustrating.

Ivankov would have his head for this if he found out that they still managed to disappear. A single EyeStar was usually enough to deal with most searches that necessitated such equipment, but he had asked for two, just to be sure. After all, If they did not retrieve her safely, and in a timely manner, the Premier would probably have all of their heads on a whim if he wanted. At the very least, he had vindicated himself to Ivankov, who insisted on deploying just one EyeStar for the purposes of this rescue.

Of course he would probably just get chewed out for some perceived incompetence and misuse of the satellites in question. Naturally. It was never the satellites' fault. It was the people manning them. More importantly, it was never that the enemy was actually good at this sort of thing. It was that the people searching for them were incompetent. This might have been a little too much, always taking responsibility for something. Or perhaps, it was a good exercise in growing one's potential. Something like that.

Glovatskiy stood up from his chair to stretch, and tapped on his desk, opening up a window on the mainscreen to give everybody a nice view of what events had earlier transpired. As if they needed to be reminded again. "Let's review."

At 1532 hours three days ago, a Voka Camera in the Fourth District of Lozinsk picked up activity in an alley. Apparently some kind of abduction. Upon closer inspection, it was discovered that the abductee was none other than an individual given the callsign "Golden Egg-3". This was the youngest of Premier Stukov's three children.

Glovatskiy retraced all the steps, from the escape of the city, to their disappearance while running northbound on a dirt road. They discarded her PIP, her cellphone, and basically any piece of electronics she had on her person, leaving them as decoys in several places, anticipating the use of tracking chips. And now, the analysts were saying, that in all likeliness, they were near, if not already across, the Zalonarus-Zarmaj border.

Which would of course complicate matters.

Finally, a decision was made. "Get me a line with Ivankov. We need to get in touch with the Southern Zone Defence Minister for Zarmaj." They might be able to help with the search, of course. Although knowing Ivankov, he would probably also insist on deploying a team of Blackboys and a gunship across the border to do the searching themselves.

'The Zalonarus look out for their own'. Surely, it was no thinking matter. Ivankov would negotiate terms, permission allowing the Blackboys to fly in and search the whole Zarmaj State if need be. And it was no question either, that Ivankov would also chew him out later on for allowing the kidnappers to get past the border in the first place.

Glovatskiy groaned, rubbing his temples as he stood in front of the Smart Table, waiting for the comms officer to open a channel to Ivankov's office. If what the present intelligence reports were saying about the Zarmaj was correct, especially the ones up north, then matters truly were more complicated than anybody could ever ask for. This was going to be one hell of a day.

~~~~~

2 Miles North of the Zarmaj-Zalonarus Border, Southwestern Zarmaj
7 December, 0336 Hours

It was still dark out, but the girl could not afford much of any sleep. Her basic needs had been attended to, that was certain. However there was the simple fact that she had been kidnapped, and just when she was so advanced in her studies already! Never mind that her life was presently in danger, that was a given for her, a fact she had resigned herself to since her youth.

She had been stuck in the back of a truck for.... maybe three days now, perhaps longer. When she first woke up, it was dark, and she was already in the back of a truck. Not this truck. A previous truck, one they had left on the other side of the border a few hours ago. This was a new truck that had been waiting for them, at the end of a long trek over a mountain - presumably a truck on the other side of the border. Not too shabby at all, if they had already made it this far.

Her electronics had been completely disposed of, a wise decision when taking into consideration that virtually all electronics produced by the Antonenko Conglomerate - at least, the ones that weren't exported - were rigged with tracking chips to give away their location to Zalonarusan authorities. In case of kidnapping or theft, for example.

Because of the gap, it was impossible to tell how long she had truly been missing, and she had merely counted the time since she first awoke in this unexpected prison.

Her environmental suit had been completely disposed of, leaving only her school uniform, a stark black blazer and skirt over a white blouse. Absolutely no protection against the weather. At least her favourite yellow hair bow was still intact. They had at least been intelligent enough to provide her with one of their own environmental masks - reminiscent those worn by Lesser Sarmatian special forces - and a thick winter coat. She had been given just enough food and water to almost not complain about thirst or hunger.

And as for waste disposal? She was allowed that only when the others - five males in all - also stopped to deal with their own business. As would be expected of a prisoner, of course, she was not allowed any sort of liberties as privacy. Not that this was not surprising at all. So far, she had yet to be struck, although there was much verbal abuse, especially when she - with her usual confidence - attempted to assert herself. These would at first result in little debacles that ended when someone pointed a gun at her, a crude, but effective way for a ruffian to say, "Shut up, pizda!"

What did all these little details tell her? She was a valuable bargaining chip, one important enough to be kept in pristine condition lest its value depreciate. These were not people who decided to just randomly kidnap some girl. They knew very well who it was they had in their possession. With this reassurance, she would pry and test, just to see what her limitations were. As it turned out, they were laughably lenient, if effective.

Eventually, they learned to ignore her demands and stop talking altogether - which was just as well for them. Had they kept on talking, it was more than likely that she would have been able to convince them to let her just die out here in the wilderness. Nobody would find her out here, especially with her electronics gone, and they would have an annoyance out of their hair. Except then they would have effectively failed their mission.

She would not die, of course. The girl spent a month every year out in the wilderness hunting elk with her brothers and living off the land. In secret, of course. Their father made sure to make up some cover story or another for where they allegedly went. Down south to Cantignia, to enjoy a warm vacation at the beach, or some other such silly thing the children of the powerful were supposed to lavish in.

The truck hit another bump, as it continued traversing the rough, off-road terrain of the southern Zarmaj. She bounced about in her bonds, tightly knotted to ensure no escape, and just the right amount of discomfort to remind her that she was not the one in power at the moment. She was important, but she was not untouchable. They could just as well keep her unharmed by removing all the comforts of civilization. She was not given a seat, unlike the three men sitting in the back of the truck with her. No, she had to make do with the truck bed.

"You know it's only a matter of time, right?" The girl snorted at her nearest captor. "Do you think these borders will protect you? Or that you can hide in this country?"

The kidnappers remained as silent as the apparitions she had made them out to be from before.

"The Zalonarus know better than to let such things stand in the way. They will find me." She smirked. "And even if they don't go out to find me, they'll eventually find you. No matter what you do to me, my fate will not be in vain. But your deaths? Deaths for a lost cause? That will be the greatest tragedy at the resolution of this incident. My death will make me a martyr, just like the victims of that oil rig you bombed."

It didn't take a genius to figure out who these men worked for. They were the only people who ever bothered to struggle against the Unity, against Zalonarus. They were subjects of a king who had long been deposed, a king who, through his incompetence, had lost his divine right to rule. The remaining loyalists to the regime of Ivan III. The King's Men.

"I only hope that I live long enough to see you come to the realisation that you fight in v-"

The guard closest to her had pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and shoved it into her mouth. She tried to spit it out, but he held it tightly in place. Meanwhile, the other guard procured a length of cord and tied it around her head, fastening the makeshift gag into position.

They had now completely subdued Zinaida Stukova.

 

[Ashkelon]

Suldesov AFB, Northern Zalonarus
7 December, 0417 Hours

Kapitan Dubrovchik surveyed his men. All sixteen were dressed in the distinctive advanced armored environmental suits issued to a select few, eight hundred, maybe less. It was outfitted with the best pieces of hardware available to the USRZ. Low light optics, built-in comms and HUD, advanced filtration, of course coupled with CBRN protection that was just as important as the protection it provided from bullets.

They were a little weighty, but that was understandable, given the level of protection it provided. The ARCBRN suits were distinctive to the Black Unit, and the Black Unit only.

"Listen up, boys!" The Kapitan slung his Kv-92K over his plated shoulder. Based on a venerable design completed in the late 70's by the Kvochinski Conglomerate, it was a simple 5.56mm bullpup with select fire capabilities and a tactical rail. The standard version of the rifle itself came equipped with a built-in optical sight. As to be expected of the modular design, the original Kv-92 gave birth to a great many variants in use by the USRZ, including a light machine gun, submachine gun, and marksman rifle, just to name a few. Flexible, durable, and reliable. "This mission comes straight from that zalupa, General-Pułkovnik Ivankov. How are we going to do it?"

"Fast and hard, boss!" That was the chorused reply.

"And how are we going to come out of it?"

"Clean and smiling, boss!"

Dubrovchik was not the only soldier who at first found how ludicrously cheesy these things sounded. In fact, learning to put up with the cheese was one of the things that was expected of you if you were going to pass the Black Unit training program. The Black Unit operated under the radar. They did not salute, did not display rank, did not address their superiors as "Sir". He gestured toward a nearby officer, in distinctive Zarmaj field gear, "This is Raszjalk Zsjmon Usz Khaletsj. He's going to be our liaison with the Zarmaj forces, and will make sure we don't screw up this op with regards to our guidelines. Do I make myself clear?"

Another chorus of responses. "Clear as crystal, boss!"

"Then let's move out!" Dubrovchik climbed onto the gunship, followed by the troop of sixteen, and the liaison.

It was a simple mission. Combat search and rescue. Of course there would also be a few UAVs involved in the search, amongst other things, and a tanker would be on stand by just in case it would have to exceed its 1100km flight range. The agreement with the Zarmaj limited the size of forces to be deployed, for obvious reasons. For example, no armed planes would be allowed to fly in, and those aircraft that were allowed would have to be escorted by the Zarmaj Air Force. On the ground, two companies from the 34a Orzja Hrodj - assigned to the south and getting new recruits - would assist in the operation, partly as a training exercise for mobility. Liaisons would be present at both the command post - that is to say this base - and in accompaniment with the Troop - namely Raszjalk Khaletsj. There would be no flying near the front lines, in order to avoid being shot down by either Zarmaj - or Lesser Sarmatian - Anti-Air. All of these were fully understandable. They were in the process of launching a forward assault on Lesser Sarmatia. This little fact put Zalonarus in an interesting political situation.

It had assisted with the overthrow of the Grand Republic by providing training, weapons, and spies (on loan, of course) to the proponents of Sanation. On the other hand, it was a supporter of the Slavic Ideal, hoping to make peace with any and all Slavs, including the honorary Khazars and Cispji who had intermixed with the Sarmatian Zarmaj. How then would the Zalonarus react to this conflict? It was nothing new. The Zarmaj had been up to this for nearly three decades, and all this time, the Zalonarus had kept neutral with regards to these issues.

In terms of interests, however, it was quite clear that Lesser Sarmatia had more to offer, being one of the larger importers of Zalonarusan manufactured items, such as weapons and electronics. Zarmaj had once been an importer of many items but had diverted their channels to Greater Sarmatia after the fall of the Grand Republic. But if it was a simple matter of gains, then why had they opted to take the middle ground? Dubrovchik shook his head. This was something for the Unity, that mysterious, shadowy body of politicians, to discuss amongst themselves. He was a soldier, and it was not his to question the ideas of those in the furthest echelons.

He gave a hand signal to the pilot. Everybody was aboard, strapped in nice and tight. The bird began to rise into the air in a torrent of wind, ground crews vacating the immediate vicinity as it went up into the inky black winter sky. It was painted black, of course, and was unmarked. Rotary cannons placed at each door ensured that it also had enough kick to provide cover on the ground. A product of the Aramov Conglomerate, the Ar-53 "Byeli Sablja" was designed especially for long-range combat search and rescue, and since its introduction in 1972, had received upgrades necessary to continue fulfilling its mission in the modern environment. Terrain-following and terrain-avoidance radar, forward looking infrared sensor, inertial navigation system with GPS, projected map display, coupled with a troop capacity of over three dozen and external cargo capacity of 20000 pounds, made this ideal for low-altitude penetration; the perfect vehicle for this particular operation.

According to Glovatskiy, they would have to start their search to the southwest, in the mountains, while the Zarmaj would do their part along the forests. Completely understandable. And of course, there was a reason why the higherups called for his troop in the first place - Mountain Troop, Anna Atrad. Mountains were their specialty, and mountains were where the kidnappers were suspected to hide. Of course. Where else would they hide, after all? In the plains? No. In the cities? Certainly not. In the forests? Perhaps, but it would be difficult. That left the mountains.

Dubrovchik glanced at a photograph of the target. Middle teens, long brown hair, golden eyes, and a certain stubbornness about her demeanour, if the Kapitan was reading her expression correctly. At this point, he wasn't so much concerned about finding her, as he was concerned about how they should handle her once she had been found. VIPs like this one knew their worth and tended to push their weight around. That would not make things easy.

Still, he decided to just cross that bridge when it came to that. There were more important things to concern one's self with, such as this search that for all intents and purposes, felt like an overbloated babysitting job.

To be plain and simple, trouble, thy name is Zinaida Stukova.

 

[Ashkelon]

A Cave in Northwestern Zarmaj
08 December, 1113 Hours

The girl sat on the cold cave floor. The fur coat removed, leaving her in her decidedly none-too-protective school uniform, she of course felt nothing like a girl of her standing normally should. The kidnappers had placed her in this hollow section of the cave with a chain link fence erected to serve as a makeshift prison. Amenities? There was a cot and a blanket thick enough to make the cold just slightly bearable. In a corner was a hole that stank. One didn't need to be a genius to figure out the purpose of that particular orifice. A tin bowl half filled with runny kasha sat near the fence door, just inside of the delivery slot.

Some prisons had better amenities than this.

At the very least, they planned to wear her down with discomfort, starvation, and other attrition tactics. That was not a bad method at all. She would technically be unhurt, yes, but she would still be abused and broken. Eventually. The girl did not see herself as falling to those, however. She was strong and proud. And the troops of the Unity would arrive long before they could possibly reach her breaking point.

Her early childhood was not normal. She was put through regular simulated scenarios of such things happening - just like her two brothers. She would not cooperate with any terrorists who happened to get a hold of her. Not unless it would lead to imminent death. This felt no different from those simulations, with the exception of a cave, instead of a steel-plated cell. She waited, sitting there on the floor, both her arms and legs crossed, much like a stubborn little empress waiting for something to happen.

They had her here for a reason. She would merely wait until they came to present that reason. The girl quietly counted the minutes. If she could keep aware of time, if she could maintain a sense of control over something, then everything they threw at her would mean nothing. Or at least, that was how she figured things worked out. She never really learned any 'techniques' from 'professionals' with regards to not breaking during interrogations. She merely felt her way through and came up with her own ways of resisting various methods.

Time went by... about another hour, according to her count.

Finally, someone walked up to her cell. He was, of course, dressed up like the rest of them, rugged dusters and Lesser Sarmatian issue gear, possibly scavenged, if the worn appearance was anything to go by. The red lenses on his environmental mask didn't seem all too intimidating either. Well, maybe anybody else would have caved under such circumstances, but not her. She was different. Moreso than anybody else would think.

"Are you ready to talk?" The voice was inhumanly deep, possibly using modulation equipment.

The girl kept her arms crossed and stared back into those eyepieces with a cold nonchalance. She said nothing. How did they expect her to talk, if they didn't even tell her what they wanted to know about? "About what?"

"You talked a lot on the way here. I'm sure you have many things to talk about."

So what was this then, an interview? Some bizarre, twisted talk show? Would they just let her talk about whatever she felt like? Or was this a way to get her guard down? Or, more insipidly, was this an attempt to sound mysterious and unnerving? Because if it was, then it had fallen flat on its face, since it merely annoyed her even more. "You expect me to just talk? Yeah, well I don't care for talking about nothing meaningful. I don't even know what you want me to talk about."

"Then you are willing to cooperate with us."

Her eyebrow slowly rose to the incredulity of the situation. "You know, that's the most pathetic attempt to twist my words that I've ever heard. What do you think you're going to get out of me? I'm a high school girl. I don't know anything important." And that was true, of course. Like everybody in this particular family, she knew that she was a potential liability, if she had any vital information on her mind. As such, when she was raised, as any child should properly be, she was kept completely in the dark.

Her only value was the value she had to her family.

"That is not what I meant."

"Oh?"

Her masked captor turned to leave. "You will see, once you are prepared to talk."

She was alone again. If this was some bizarre way of getting her cooperation, she would not be doing so any time soon. She would last, and make sure of that. Or her name wasn't Zinaida Stukova.


(Okay. Davy, Jose, thread's open to posting.)

 

[Ashkelon]

The Cave
18 January, 0319 Hours

It was cold. What else was new? It had been... about a month and a half now, if her calculations were correct. She had only been fed a bare minimum of food and water, was not allowed to clean up (of course), nor was she given any useful amenities. Worse, they had taken away her blazer and skirt, leaving her always fighting the deadly cold of the winter. It was warmer in here than outside, but it was nevertheless cold. Not enough to cause frostbite or hypothermia, but she was definitely unprotected. The girl smelled horrible. Her clothes were now all dirty. She had lost a lot of weight.

So this was what it felt like to be a hostage. It didn't feel all too different from her training before. In fact, aside from being in a cave, it was exactly like what she experienced in her training. Naturally, she didn't yield, no matter what they did. She'd eventually learned that they wanted her to speak for them in a prisoner exchange. These terrorists wanted a bunch of their comrades released in exchange for her safe return.

Of course, while the girl wouldn't gladly give her life just to keep some terrorists in prison, she was at least confident that the Unity's troops would find her soon. What she didn't expect was for them to take this long to search for her. Perhaps she had overestimated their ability to perform search and rescue. It was ridiculous. Granted, there would be some serious red tape they would have to go through before the Zarmaj would allow them to fly that mission in their territory, but it wouldn't conceivably take this long for that. She'd only overheard the fact that they were in Zarmaj from one of her guards having small talk with another member. It would explain some of the delay, but by no means all of it.

How hard could it be to find a cave in the mountains anyway?

The girl was cold. But she fought the cold, and remained in her cross-armed, cross-legged stance. This was what she usually did when she wasn't lying down, or exercising - it was important to keep in shape and not let herself atrophy from her sedentary place. While she would lose more weight that way, she would at least, with some exercise, be less susceptible to sickness. So far, the worst she'd caught was a bad cold, but that was it. Nothing was going to keep her bedridden.

Because if she allowed that to happen, then they had already won.

Two weeks before, she had thought it might have happened. But this one guard was surprisingly more careful with her than the others, even sneaking her some extra rations - actual rations, not just runny kasha - at night. What was their game, then? Were they trying to win her over with gratitude? Make it seem like she had an ally? That they were actually decent people worthy of her sympathy? Hah. They were scum, servants of a forgotten king, and that was all there was to it. Nothing they did would impress her. Not even if they were actual "decent" people. Decent people wouldn't resort to terrorism.

And if this guard liked her? Well she wasn't sorry to disappoint at all. If he - ridiculous as that sounded - decided to confess, she would cite the nice long list of reasons why she wouldn't reject him. He was probably a psychotic pervert anyway. Once she openly rejected him, there was no doubt on her mind that he would - sick, sick man that he was - try to force himself onto her in a heartbeat. Indeed, the others had not been so shy, helping themselves to a grope every now and then, sometimes more than that, but never quite going all the way. After all, if they did, then she would be damaged goods, and lose any value. She knew her father. His standards were impeccable. When he said unharmed, he expected a complete lack of any kind of physical harm. That said, the guard had yet to say anything to her, though, so maybe she was just going delusional from the stress and malnutrition.

She snorted. She was unapproachable, a little empress who crushed every heart that had tried to win her over. From elementary, through middle school, through this first year of high school, all attempted approaches were shot down in cold blood. It was such that she had already established a reputation as a heartless ice queen, which was all well and good. After all, there was only one thing she intended to marry: a powerful position.

The girl reviewed the daily procedures. In the morning, they would ask her to cooperate, and use all sorts of silly threats - she'd heard them all by now. As could be expected, she would repeat what she'd been saying all this time, that she would not cooperate with them. They would leave her alone. After that, they would play a waiting game, and repeat the process at the end of the day. In those intervals, she would count the moments as they pass by, or busy herself with stretching and some very light exercise, just enough to keep in shape without tiring herself.

Seldom, very seldom, she would just kneel on her cot, and, perhaps out of some subconscious desperation, pray. To be fair, though, she wasn't praying for deliverance, or even asking for anything in general. No, what she was praying for was... well it wasn't really praying for anything. These prayers were more of conversations with the Man in the Sky, if he really existed, as a way to keep herself from going insane from the solitary confinement. By this point, he had gone from that powerful figure written about in the Unity Bible, to somewhat of an imaginary friend.

She didn't call him 'God', of course. 'God' wasn't a name. It was a common noun. Nor did she call him 'Lord', or 'Almighty', or any of those flattering titles. The girl was no suck up to anybody. Even if he did make everything, she was frank as could be. Besides, it was especially since he was supposedly all-knowing that she was frank with him. There was no point to putting up a facade when God Almighty, the Man in the Sky, knew what you were really thinking, what was in your heart, and basically everything about you. So why bother?

What did she call him, then? 'Boris'. It was a simple name, and she liked the sound of it. And what would she talk about then? Well, she would complain about how dark it was, how it smelled bad, and her situation in general. She would ask what the weather was like outside, how her family was doing in her absence, and if Yuri was eating from her personal stash of biscuits instead of doing what was supposed to be done. She probably seemed insane by this point, especially to her guards, but they were just doing what they usually did. Aside from the occasional snide remark, she would be mostly left alone to her devices during these long waiting hours.

The girl rose from her position, then knelt down on the cot, clasping her hands together. "Good morning, Boris. I didn't sleep well last night, as usual, but what else is new? Aside from the day, I mean. I gotta admit, I'm starting to lose track of time now, and that's not really a good thing. But I bet you know what time it is, since you know everything, right? So, what time is it now?" She paused, as if waiting for an answer. "Past three in the morning? Well damn, isn't that early? Heh. They've really fucked up my sleep cycle, these terrorists. You don't need to worry about this sort of crap, since you can't hold Boris hostage, and Boris doesn't sleep anyhow."

Behind her, a guard stirred, awakened by her talking after apparently having fallen asleep on the job.

"Yeah, he's doing a really sloppy job, isn't he? Betcha he's going to hell faster than you could say "Sin of Sloth", huh?"

"Shut up."

"And, he knows he can't get me to shut up either, since he can't hurt me. Kinda like you, I guess. Nobody can hurt Boris, right?"

The chainlink fence behind her shook. "I said shut up!"

"So how's that plan you're cooking up? The one where the Slavs will one day guide the rest of the world? I hope it's a good plan. I mean, I know you know everything and all that, but that can kind of lead to overconfidence, which is a serious disadvantage." A squeak of metal as the door opened. "Maybe you should share a little bit more of it with me. I'm sure I can be-"

The next thing she knew, the girl was lying facedown on the cot, hands pinned to her back as her blouse was almost virtually ripped off her torso. By this point, she was too weak to put up any form of resistance, and even though she tried, a single man's efforts were now enough to keep her down. A hand reached around from behind and began to touch her in places, roughly handling her body.

The girl shut out the world, holding back the tears that had been trying to escape for the past ten days now, as she turned only to her inner thoughts of hope. Of escape. It was just another day in captivity for Zinaida Stukova.

 

[Josepania]

WESTERN FRONT, FRONTLINES
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN SOUTHWESTERN LESSER SARMATIA AND NORTHWESTERN ZARMAJ
19:47 PM, 1/18/2012

"Sarge? It's cold."

"Thank you for that observation. Next time give me some more useful information, like where the enemy is, how many there are, where our frontlines are, or maybe a report that you got shot for your damned incompetence. Now shut up and keep your mind on the job."

"Yes sir..."

With a sigh, the Vice Governor of Lesser Sarmatia wrapped his clothes more tightly around his body in a vain effort to keep the warmth inside. It wouldn't accomplish much, but it would take Jozef Grudzinski's mind off the simple fact that he was lost in the wilderness of the lands somewhere between the front lines of Lesser Sarmatia and the Zarmaj State. He wasn't alone, as four Sarmatian Secret Service field agents accompanied him, and would make sure that he was as safe as possible, but that was small comfort when it was entirely possible though unlikely that the five men were behind enemy lines.

It had started off as a normal day of touring the front, like his superiors wanted, and not spreading his criticism of their actions, like he wanted to. He had been officially cut off from his office and, thus, messages in it in the interests of 'state secrets', but Kazimierz managed to keep that line open, and he had recently received the message sent by the Zarmaj to Wislica, laying out the terms for a peace treaty as well as the offer to treat Wislica as an open city. Such a suggestion made sense to Jozef, but it apparently did not to his father and advisors, who saw such a move as a sign of weakness and refused to negotiate. And they were supposed to be the 'experienced politicians'...

Regardless, he had been in the process of forming a new plan of attack once he got back to Wislica from this hell-hole, all the while being part of a convoy that toured the front lines, when an unexpected Zarmaj artillery bombardment hit them. It was the driving of the complaining agent, known to Jozef only as Agent Dawid, that probably saved their lives... but at the price of losing their way and getting lost. All obvious implements needed to navigate back were lost in the crazed driving, and the only landmark they had was the mountain range to their left, which the fireteam agent leader, known as Agent Samuel, but called 'Sarge' by his men, designated to be south based on the setting of the sun recently. So now they were heading west, hopefully towards Lesser Sarmatian lines, but for all they knew the front lines were to the east, and they would eventually hit the borders of Greater Sarmatia, assuming they didn't freeze to death first.

The car they were in broke down thanks to a well-placed piece of shrapnel, and they were now walking, which was taking a toll on the energy of the Vice Governor. He hated the fact that his protectors had to wait up for him, but the truth was that they had the physical training. Jozef did not. He kept up as best he could though, and hopefully made that known to the agents. He couldn't tell for certain though, the standard issue masks they had been outfitted to keep the cold out disguised all their expressions. He had to admit, though, there was something reassuring in the red glow of the eyes, rather than a dread intended for the enemies of the Sarmatian Secret Service...

"Sarge, there's a cave just a mile that way!" Agent Rysio called out, pointing towards the mountains to their left. A quick look through the binoculars, after adjusting to the cold, slightly snowy blackness, confirmed the agent's observations. A cave was a good place as any to hunker down and wait until morning, when it wasn't quite as hellishly cold and close to pitch black.

All this clearly went through Agent Samuel's mind as he acknowledged Agent Rysio, studied the cave, then briefly glanced at Jozef. Mask or no mask, Jozef could tell that the agent was skeptical the Vice Governor could keep going at even the gradual pace. Attempting to keep his tone cheerful, he commented, "I don't want to slow us down agent. It's your call though."

It was a subtle shift of the responsibility of the decision to the fireteam leader, but it was also a subtle go-ahead to set up shop at the cave. That was what Jozef attempted, at any rate, but fortunately for him Agent Samuel appeared to read the message loud and clear. "Alright you wusses, listen up. I'm sick and tired of hearing all of you complain about the cold, so for my sake and the Vice Governor's we're going to head for that cave and set up camp. Maybe then you idiots can do something useful for once. Move out!"

All three other agents let out a tired but ragged cheer in affirmative, clearly grateful for the chance at some rest. Perhaps they were better at masking their exhaustion than Jozef, and they were just as tired as he was. Near impossible, but to the Vice Governor's weary mind it was nonetheless a comforting, convoluted bit of logic. As such, the five men shifted course and headed for the cave, their perimeter maintained with crisp efficiency despite the prospect of rest. All the agents had it drilled into them when they were recruits: the most dangerous time of any mission is when you're so close to relaxation.

The training paid off, when from the mouth of the cave, only a quarter of a mile away, a burst of shots peppered the ground around the five men. "COVER!" one agent, Agent Franek, called out, and all the Sarmatians dropped to the snowy ground, Jozef dragged down by Agent Samuel, who quickly whipped out his submachine gun.

"We've been engaged agents! Fire at will, fire at will! Pick your targets and take them down!"

The Sarmatians returned fire in the direction of the cave, not knowing who engaged them, but knowing why: they have trespassed on somebody's turf, and they were waiting until the Sarmatians were close enough to open fire. They were not friendly, whoever they were, and as such, they would be taken down without mercy.

Because nothing gets between a Sarmatian and a warm fire.

 

[Ashkelon]

The Cave, Western Zarmaj
18 January, 1957 Hours

Popov snorted to himself. There were Sarmatians down there, SSS, from the looks of that distinctive gear. This now presented him with a serious dilemma. On one hand, their presence threw a massive monkey wrench in his mission - his real mission, not this absurd kidnapping scheme that he had helped plan. On the other hand, this presented a... useful opportunity, if he had used it properly. But he had to be careful, and absolutely perfect in his execution of the plan, else he was in very real, very serious danger.

Popov was a trusted member of the King's Men. For twelve long years, he had worked his way up from a lowly young hobo on the streets of Krupki, to one of the few who knew the truth surrounding the mystery of Ivan's heir. And it was quite a truth indeed. Indeed, he had been trusted enough to be sent to infiltrate the Republic Intelligence Directorate when he turned 18. And the plan that the King's Men had in store came to fruition when the Republic Intelligence Directorate chose Popov to infiltrate the King's Men. Now, Popov was giving the RID misinformation, while providing them with assistance on every little trick that the Zalonarus used to spy. What they did not know, was that Popov had had a history before his days as a lowly young hobo on the streets of Krupki. When the King's Men had found him, he was already on his mission. At the age of 12, he was already on that mission.

The Republic Intelligence Directorate had, suffice to say, many, many programs that would be considered unlawful by the rest of the world. But then again, which intelligence agencies did not? Among them was a program started almost three decades ago, a program Popov was a part of. Long story short, Popov was involved in a convoluted and deeply duplicitous plot by Ivankov himself.

As the rest of the cell members took positions near the mouth of the cave to ambush the Sarmatians when they got close enough, Popov went to the back of the cave, where they kept the supplies, and took a small first aid kit, just in case. He stole a glance at the girl lying down unmoving in the makeshift cell on his way out, recalling the depravity that the other members participated in during this time. It was only understandable. There were limits to anything they could do to her, as was part of the arrangement they had planned. While they never went all the way, her guards made sure to do everything they could to break her within this limit, without looking like a pathetic bunch of pansies. Molestation was the only method that could match that criteria. Her father was an uncompromising man, and it would be unwise for even the King's Men to attempt to posture about harming one of his children. He would sooner avenge her torture than yield to any demands they would make, that kidnapping was not the right way to get their comrades out of prison. He had told this to the various leaders of the resistance, but they paid no heed to his warning and decided to go ahead with it anyway, attaching him to the plot to deal with the inevitable rescue operations of the RID.

To say that Popov planned the escape route was an understatement. He had planned it to perfection. He knew every weakness of the Voka Security System, and in this plot, exploited them beautifully. More importantly, he knew how the spooks at the RID thought, understood their reasoning and mindset. The Zalonarus loved to use their technology, especially the EyeStar satellites that flew around the Earth in an endless hamster wheel of reconnaissance photography. An EyeStar would do a flyby of its target region every hour and a half, take a bunch of pictures, and beam them down to receiving stations, which would forward them to the RID for analysis. It was important that when the satellites did fly over, they would be invisible. Otherwise, they should be on the move. For live footage and actual striking power, they employed their drones, big and small, in the air and on the ground. These were tricker to deal with, but could be dealt with, if done properly. Considering that they were never spotted, it was clear his planning had worked perfectly.

Despite his crucial role in the success of the plot, and his experience in torture, he decided to leave the breaking of the girl to the other cell members. Even as a grizzled veteran, Popov had standards. And the repeated assaults he had been forced to witness - it was a comfortable cave, but small enough for those disgusting sounds to echo throughout every corner - were setting those standards ablaze with a vengeance. Popov had snuck rations to her on occasion. It was the least he could do to console his insulted conscience, if you could call it that. Perhaps, had it been any other form of breaking, he would not be acting this way. Electrocution, water-boarding... these were easy. Molestation? It was a completely different matter.

Tucking the first aid kit into one of his pockets, Popov returned to the mouth of the cave, where he took position just outside with ideal cover - from both the Sarmatians and the cave - and a path of escape, as he planned this perfectly. Even now, his mind was taking into account all of the possible routes of escape for when things got hairy, and an alibi that even the most ruthless of cell leaders would let off, especially considering he was simultaneously supervising several other operations that were crucial to the King's Men's efforts, operations that could not possibly work without him, operations that would be set back for at least a decade if he were killed. He knew better than anybody else how the Heir valued performance above all else, how the Heir would summarily dispose of members with perfect track records if they failed their latest operation. To the Heir, you were only as good as your last mission.

And Popov had ensured his survival by not only setting a perfect track record, but making himself integral to multiple operations, an irreplaceable cog in the wheel. The Heir had allowed him to survive, and even if he failed, he would be allowed to survive. That being said, the Heir was not really one for foresight, and so did not realise that it was foolishness to dispose of important members of his brass when they failed, especially since they were a resistance with very limited resources. Popov's gambit was not so much getting the Heir to spare him out of common sense, but ensuring that the many other leaders would rise up against the Heir, were Popov to be executed for failure.

The Sarmatians drew closer.

Popov took a deep breath before releasing the safety on his rifle. These were scavenged pieces of Lesser Sarmatian equipment, looted from those who died during the course of the war. Of course, the King's Men also looted from dead Zarmaj. That was only logical. In this line of work, with these circumstances, beggars couldn't be choosers. They took what they could and used what could be used.

The minutes ticked by. Behind his mask, Popov could only smirk. He was excited at this particular prospect, just like how he became excited at getting any sort of plan underway. That was just his nature. Indeed, it was his belief that when you were passionate about something, you would get excited about it. Throughout all the discipline and self control, you would still show this passion through excitement, if only just the slightest of it. He had learned to control this excitement a long time ago. But he had kept just the smallest part visible, to remind himself that it was indeed still his passion: to draw out and execute the very best of plans.

Plans may always change on the battlefield. These were tactics. But in changing one's tactics, one should never lose sight of the ultimate objectives and goal. This was strategy. Well, that was an oversimplification of both, but it would suffice for now as part of his self explanation of things. Monologues. What was so entertaining about them, exactly?

The Sarmatians were now in range. On cue, the cell leader gave the signal. Fire. Seven rifles spat out their respective ammunition, a hail of death to accompany the lifeless white snow that descended upon this field. The shots echoed like firecrackers on Revolution Day in Lozinsk, a noise that broke the silence of the relatively peaceful area. This was one of those places where the advance of troops was not so obvious, a little microcosm of quiet despite the major Zarmaj offensive a relatively small distance away. Thus, it would only be natural if this was mistaken for a skirmish between Zarmaj and Sarmatian troops that had somehow slipped past the border.

The Sarmatians took cover and returned fire, making the exchange official.

This was it, then.

Popov reached for a grenade on his belt, pulled out the pin, and chucked it into the mouth of the cave before stealthily making his exit. He was done with this cell. And while this operation was his first failure, he recommended against pursuing it in the first place. He would make sure the next one did not mess up. As the grenade exploded, throwing the defensive formation into disarray, Popov was already well along his escape route, unseen by the Sarmatians - who would probably assume it was some kind of explosive blunder - and unseen by those fools in the cave. There were no witnesses. He made sure of that.

Popov smirked. He was playing the game perfectly yet again.

 

[Josepania]

WESTERN FRONT, FRONTLINES
NORTHWESTERN ZARMAJ
20:04 PM, 1/18/2012

The SSS agents hesitated and ceased fire for two seconds in the wake of the unexpected explosion at the mouth of the cave, 'Sarge' spending those two seconds running over the various possibilities of why it happened as it did. None of his agents were responsible. No matter how many times he called them lazy or incompetent according to standards that would make drill instructors proud, these were elite soldiers nonetheless, and training dictated at least the shout of "Grenade!" or "Fire in the hole!" with the accompanying action. It was not heard, and from the split second of observation, they looked just as confused as he was internally, the Vice Governor the most confused, but he was a civilian, so it was to be expected.

That left friendly fire, an internally pleasing option for 'Sarge'. After all, when one was elite, it was inevitable one would feel elite as well, and therefore find it surprisingly easy to find faults in opponents no matter their occupation, nationality, or actual skill level. It was a human emotion, amplified to extraordinary levels as a side-effect to the training and the results of their work afterward. 'Sarge' was no stranger to such beliefs, and neither were his agents, so he and perhaps they as well were quick to believe that their opponents were so dumb they couldn't even through a simple grenade at their opponents. Most of the time, in military situations this was a very unwise thing to think, but then, it also provided them a confidence boost.

Their opponents were now, incorrectly or not, labelled as inferior, and so therefore, they could be beaten.

All of this, in the span of two seconds, zoomed through 'Sarge's' mind when he called out, "Advance agents! Take them down!" and the three SSS agents stood with crisp efficiency, spraying punishing fire from their reloaded SMGs. The Vice Governor, meanwhile, stayed on the ground, partially because he was still reeling from confusion from the grenade (typical civilian behavior), but also because 'Sarge' forced him to stay down for his own safety.

Agents Dawid, Rysio and Franek advanced quickly, covering the distance in quick time and with little difficulty, their opponents still reeling from the grenade. Reaching the mouth of the cave, the confident agents declined the use of finding cover, which gave them more time to begin taking down their opponents without anymore hesitation or without mercy. Agent Dawid even found the time to scream "You almost took out my eye you sonnovabitch!" as he, likely intentionally, took out a kidnapper with well-placed shots to the eyes.

Rysio and Franek did not spout one-liners, but they didn't need to. Their weapons did the talking as the terrorist-kidnappers retreated into the cave, the agents coolly following as they alternated reloads, so the stream of burst fire was kept up continuously. Only when they moved out of sight and into the cave did 'Sarge' allow Jozef to stand, the Vice Governor's pistol out more for reassurance than actual intention of use. "Stay close, sir." 'Sarge' said through his mask, "Rats are more vicious when cornered."

Still shaken by the sudden firefight, Jozef nodded weakly, keeping himself tethered with an imaginary rope to the SSS agent as the two slowly made their way to the cave entrance, the sounds of a firefight slowly dying down, but the echos still ringing throughout the area. Jozef, in between his recovering from shock, felt ashamed of himself and his reaction to the whole thing. Honestly, it hadn't been that long since he left the military officially to begin his career in politics. He figured that the old habits died hard, and although the habit of seeking cover when necessary hadn't died, the discipline had.

That was unacceptable. A politician he may be now, but that couldn't be the Sarmatian way, the way he envisioned it. He wanted to usher in a new era of Warrior Politicians, those who could hold their own in a fight rather than be like the westerners. Weak, pathetic. He would have to change his demeanor when he finally came into power.

At the very least, it would protect him from Anya making fun of him...

 

[Ashkelon]

The Cave, Northwestern Zarmaj
18 January, 2006 Hours

What time was it now? The girl opened her eyes. The last molestation had already done enough to inundate her senses. Now, after the oblivion she had stayed in for an unknown period of time, she was up again, addled and unaware of the time. Perhaps they were slipping narcotics into her food to make it so much easier to take advantage of her weakness. After all, she could keep track of time during the earlier stages of her captivity. Or perhaps it was simply the malnutrition. Either explanation nevertheless had negative implications, which explicitly indicated that her health had been compromised.

"Well, what else is new..." It was then that the reason she had awoken in the first place came to light. Cracking sounds echoing in the distance, from the direction of what could only be the cave entrance. Though her body was sore from her last session of abuse - telling her that it couldn't have been more than a day - she sat up on her cot and paid close attention. The cracking sounds weren't random or sporadic. There was definitely some pattern and rhythm to them. Some were individual cracks with pauses in between. Others were bursts of three at a time before coming to a pause. And lastly, very occasionally, there were bursts of more than three, revealing some hint of desperation, from what she could imagine.

These sounds were very familiar to her, and she attempted to vocalise the word for them, albeit in vain. Her mind was still caught in the gutter of whatever drug had been forced into her body that last time. It was only a natural result that her vocabulary was abnormally slow in recovering from the tentacles of her oblivious sleep.

"..."

The cracking grew louder, but less frequent. It seemed as though two tribes who spoke only in a cracking language were debating with each other, and one tribe was being overpowered as their opponents' arguments grew more robust and enthusiastic. It was then that she realised it wasn't a cracking sound that had woken her. Rather, the offending noise had been, in fact, a loud roar that also originated from somewhere close to the mouth of the cave. The girl furrowed her eyebrows as she attempted to once again grasp her spaced out vocabulary. It was at the tip of her tongue.

"... explosion."

There had been an explosion earlier, and it was this explosion that had awoken her from her oblivious sleep. This explosion possibly originated from one of many... explosive... ordnance... devices... that they had kept in this cave. Not that she knew the full extent of what weapons they would keep in this cave, but she at least saw... g... gren... grenades. She at least saw grenades being carried around by the guards on their person. If that was the case, then that only left her with the mysterious tribal cracking language of debate.

This cracking had eventually died down, and that was the moment when her vocabulary began to pick up once more. The cracking sounds came from a weapon, a weapon called, simply enough, a gun. There was a firefight going on outside. Through her groggy disposition, the girl looked up at the cave ceiling, neck bent as far back as it could so that the back of her head rested on the top of her back. A smirk, cynical, somewhat annoyed smirk, spread across her face. "Heh." She knew she had to be losing it now, and that her attempts at remaining sane were failing her. "Boris... you son of a bitch. Is this what I get for talking to you?"

She had seen it on many billboards, analog and digital. She had seen it on advert tickers. "Talk to me", they said. She did talk to him. And now, Boris seemed like such a bastard. She wasn't being held hostage by terrorists. She was being held hostage by Boris, who would not allow her rescue until they've had a nice, long chat about how pathetic and rotten the world was, and how it was in His plan to rid the world of that foul rottenness.

The girl raised her fist up at the ceiling, and shook it, for she knew that it didn't matter that there was a mountain, an atmosphere, and an infinite cosmos in between the two of them. Boris could see what she was doing, and she was counting on that. She wanted Him to see that she was nobody's hostage. Nobody's bitch. She was Zinaida Stukova, and she was not going to let anybody, especially not some invisible man in the sky, use her for His own perverse amusement. Even if she had already suffered that so many times the past month and a half.

Footsteps echoed through out the cave. Soon enough, one of her guards came into view - true enough, with his rifle handy - with that menacing red-eyed mask that was more likely than not stolen from a Lesser Sarmatian soldier sometime before. And it seemed as though history repeated itself. She went back to that fateful day, which now felt like it had happened so long ago. She had looked outside the window and seen that very same mask, with all the same details.

And despite all this time, it was only now that it had occurred to her. This was him. This was the figure that stood outside the window of her classroom, beyond the school's chainlink fence. This was the one who had watched her from afar, like some hungry predator sizing up its prey. She could tell. Because they were once again looking at each other through that chainlink fence that they had kept her behind. And now, he was approaching her cage with intent once again.

"Heh." The girl could only snort as the figure opened up her cage and pulled her out. Her bare feet had grown calloused from the coarse cave floor, but just the same, they hurt anyway, as she was forced to follow this figure who was now yanking her in his direction. He dragged her to the back of the cavern, where all the supplies were kept - other footprints were quickly following from behind, no doubt the enemies of her captors - and then in a swift motion, had an arm around her neck.

The other now held a sidearm to her temple, just as fast, and just in time for her to see their pursuers appear from the darkness and raise their weapons.

She snorted again.

"Heh. Sarmatians. Well, what are you waiting for, big guy? Get this over with. I really have to get home soon."

Despite all that happened, despite what she looked like, it was unacceptable to show any sign of weakness to anybody. This was a cardinal rule to Zinaida Stukova.

 

[Josepania]

WESTERN FRONT, THE CAVE
NORTHWESTERN ZARMAJ
20:07 PM, 1/18/2012

The sounds of battle quickly ceased as 'Sarge' and Józef eased their way into the cave making their way through the fallen bodies of their opponents. Whoever they were, they were dressed in Sarmatian gear, but very old gear, and a hodgepodge of it and other styles of equipment as well, which fortunately ruled out their allegiance belonging to Lesser Sarmatia and, thus, an otherwise embarrassing friendly fire incident. It could've been covered up, of course, as this was in the middle of a hot war with the Zarmaj, but it would not have been good for the morale of the agents, and it would've been a potential disaster for Józef's future career.

All that being said, their identities were still unknown, though reasonable guesses could be made that they were terrorists of some kind. A Zarmaj infiltration group? Khazar separatists? Half of the Khazar lands were still in Sarmatian hands, and this was in the area... some other group entirely? Józef didn't know for sure, and 'Sarge' wasn't saying anything, so he was clearly unsure as well. In the end, at this time, it didn't matter. What mattered was that there was a group of at least four, probably more judging by the dying firefight deeper in the cave, enemy combatants who had been taken down without, as far as Józef could tell, any Sarmatian casualties, and that was a good day in his book.

But it wasn't over, as Agent Rysio checked in over the earpieces 'Sarge' and Józef carried. "Sarge, we've got a situation!"

Before replying, Sarge wordlessly ordered Józef to take cover just inside the cave, and as the Vice Governor quickly complied, the agent leader began walking deeper into the cave. Despite the man quickly walking out of sight in the darkness of the cave, Józef could still hear him and the others on the earpiece. "What kind of a situation, agent?"

The agent, Rysio it sounded like, seemed worried, "Hostage sir! A girl, early teens!"

A brief second of silence, "... that's it?"

Moments passed, supported by incomprehensible, low grumblings by 'Sarge', then a single gunshot rang out, followed by two others, a cry of pain punctuating each bang that echoed in the cave. Sarge's growling words followed, "Fucking coward... what the hell are you guys standing around for? Someone check up on her while the rest of you morons make sure the place is clear! GO!"

The agents muttered their affirmatives, and as they undoubtedly set off to work, Sarge said, "Sir? It's as safe as it gets for now."

With that, pistol still out, Józef travelled deeper into the cave, before he reached the back taking in the scene around him. Rysio and Dawid were out of sight, making sure the cave didn't hold any further unpleasant surprises. In the back were four people, agents Sarge and Franek checking on the two other people. The former was, undoubtedly, one of the terrorists, who appeared to have a pile of leaking meat for a right hand and two shattered kneecaps, uttering a continuous groan of pain as Sarge made sure he was neutralized as a threat and restrained. Like the others, he was dressed in mostly Sarmatian gear, so his identity was unknown.

The latter, meanwhile, was the girl. She looked like a highschooler, a fairly attractive one at that, despite her very haggard look. She seemed vaguely familiar, but Józef was partially distracted by the girl's demeanor. She did not, in any way, act like she looked: having gone through hell. If anything, she was acting like she was in charge, and was very dissatisfied with how things were going at that. It was slightly unnerving to Jósef, who did have power, though not enough, and was technically in charge. He almost felt usurped...

His confusion grew when the girl stood up on her own accord, covered further by the blanket Franek had thrown over her to conceal more of her modesty, boasting a scornfully amused smirk. "I was wondering when you would get here." She said in Zalonarusan.

Franek did not respond, continuing to check for injuries as best he could the girl ignoring his ministrations. Józef hesitated, now completely baffled by this girl, then responded with his own, heavily accented and somewhat strained Zalonarusan. "Were you, Miss? We were just looking for a good place to warm up and rest until tomorrow."

At that she waved her hand dismissively, provoking minor irritation in the Vice Governor. "I didn't mean you specifically. Just whoever would be able to bust me out of here. That qualifies you and your men for a commendation or something."

Well, this at least confirmed that she was being held hostage for some reason, and going by both her tone and words, she was a big shot, probably back in Zalonarus. She was, however, still unrecognized by Józef, and he couldn't say for sure if she was being serious or delusional, or just possessing an overinflated ego that needed a quick popping. Before he could respond, however, Franek stood up and faced Józef. "She's got remnants of some narcotics in her sir, but I can't tell what kind right now. She's also suffered some abuse, but aside from that she's fine."

Franek didn't need to go into detail on his emphasized word. It was more than enough to let Józef know that this strange girl had been molested by her captors, to what extent he couldn't tell, though by her demeanor and Franek's calm, but still notable concern, it probably wasn't far. He almost felt pity, but she did not seem traumatized by it. Not at all happy, not by a long shot, thank heavens, but still, it was a rather unorthodox reaction that overode his initial feelings about her. The terrorist groaning on the floor, however, got an upgrade to absolute disgust, and he could tell Sarge was not happy about the news either, with the last knot on the restraints being tied much tighter than need be, provoking an agonized groan that got no sympathy from anybody in the immediate area.

"Well, I'm just glad we got here when we did, though I wish we could've arrived sooner. We would've been able to stop these... animals from doing this to you... Miss...?"

With another smirk that seemed to completely ignore the discovery of prior molestation, the girl flicked her hair lazily (and a bit woozily, as she was still recovering from the narcotics...), and said, "Stukova. Zinaida Stukova."

Bells began to ring in Józef's mind, but the connection was not quite made. It was clear now, she was someone important, though who exactly kept escaping the Vice Governor's mind. "Hm... that name sounds familiar-"

With an annoyed sigh, Zinaida cut him off, crossing her arms irritably as she spoke, "Anybody who's anybody in this region should know that name. My father is quite the big shot, if not a very outspoken one. He's too busy working to speak publicly."

Then it clicked. She was the daughter of Fyodor Stukov, Premier of Zalonarus. Oh wow... she was a big shot. Józef had inadvertently managed to rescue the daughter of one of the most important men in the Slavic region of Europe. His confusion, pity and disgust of earlier was quickly forgotten as the Vice Governor's imagination temporarily went into overdrive, imagining the hero's welcome he would receive in Zalonarus as he brought back the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the Unity home mostly unharmed, and more importantly, the talks he would have with that powerful man and others, letting them know he wanted to bring down Sanation and usher in a new, far more active era for Lesser Sarmatia...

Putting on an air of pompous confidence, Józef smiled. "I see... well then, Miss Stukova of Zalonarus, I'll make sure you get home again soon, or my name isn't Józef Grudzinski, Vice Governor of Lesser Sarmatia."

Expecting an impressed expression, subdued or not, Józef's bubble quickly deflated when the initial response was the raising of a skeptical eyebrow. "So what's the Vice Governor doing all the way out here in the middle of nowhere? This isn't exactly the front lines, if you want to give your troops some kind of morale booster."

Franek shifted in embarrassment, while Sarge grunted in irritation, their expressions otherwise concealed by those masks Józef now wished he was wearing to cover his slightly reddening face. "We were sent off course by a random Zarmaj artillery strike, we've been making our way back to our frontlines since..."

He was saved from further explanation by the return of Rysio and Dawid. "Cave is secure sir. How's our prisoner doing?"

With a scowl, Józef replied, "Uncomfortable, as the bastard should be. Take him to that wall there and keep an eye on him. Rysio, keep watch at the cave entrance until we're ready to make our next move."

Sarge nodded in approval, as Dawid and Rysio hesitated in some confusion before complying with their orders. As the kidnapper was dragged over to the wall, Franek filled a puzzled Dawid in on why Józef was irritated, which then prompted the latter to begin kicking the kidnapper and shouting obscene insults at him, no one in the area attempting to stop him. Zinaida even grumbled, "One's better than nothing. Hand me a sidearm. He's mine."

Knowledge of what had happened to her during her captivity prevented shock from the Sarmatians at such an order, same with the otherwise surprising outbursts of Dawid, who screamed such things as "How about I shove a fucking gun up your ass?! Will you jerk off to that you piece of filth?!" accompanied by physical violence. Józef, however, shook his head, "Better if we keep him alive Miss Stukova. He could have some useful information. Besides, death is too good for him right now..."

Franek certainly seemed to think so, as by this point he restrained Dawid, but said, "We need him alive Dawid. Kick there. It'll cause the most pain with the least damage." Dawid managed to utter a "Fine...", before apparently following Franek's suggestion, judging by the scream of pain the kidnapper emitted. "You getting your rocks off yet you sick fuck?! Have some more!" Dawid screamed as he continued his abuse, once again unrestrained by all.

Zinaida, after some pondering, reluctantly backed down. "Hmph. I wasn't going to be quick about it anyway..." she said, and paused for another moment before mumbling, "Fine. It's not like he'd know more than he'd have to anyway. Isn't that how terror cells operate?"

Before Józef could respond and keep the debate going, Rysio called out over their earpieces, "Guys, we've got a major problem!"

All who could hear him paused, as Sarge responded, "What kind of a problem, agent?"

Rysio's response sent a chill down the Sarmatians' spines. "A Zarmaj problem."

OOC: The dialogue was set up by Zalonarus and I over IRC, and thus, I have his permission to do said dialogue.

 

[Tyvia]

”MIIHAJL TARAJ HEOJRJ”

The barrage had been ordered sometime during the early morning by the Kolszjalk of the 64a Orzja Hrodj “Miihajl Taraj Heojrj” as part of the standard exercises performed by the Zarmaj forces in the area now on a near daily basis. These sort of maneuvers had become fairly common place since the beginning of the conflict, and served as a way for the various commanders to keep their troops alert and on their feet. It had been determined fairly early in the war that the front here in the west would likely remain indefinitely static, but the Gold Banner had learned the hard way that it was best not to think in terms of such absolutes. The units in the area were kept active, and were regularly shuffled in and out of other combat zones.

“A few bursts to the northwest,” Kolszjalk Jasz I.J. Kharjatj had ordered, sweeping a hand emphatically across a small section of the map. “Have companies D and E move west and forward two kilometers, lay down some fire. Let's keep it lively for the Zjatj.”

It was expected then that there would be some good bit of commotion, but the brief bout of fighting in the valley had died down after but two hours. The noise made by Grudzinski's cohort, therefore, did not go entirely unnoticed. It was luck which led them past enemy lines, but their precarious position so close to the front even so insured that they would be detected.

The troops fancied that the Manszjalk looked like a bandit. A keffiyeh obscured half his face, it and his glare shades lending him something of a dastardly quality. Manszjalk Rjasz Timoszow had been tasked with leading one of the two platoons assigned to the search, moving to the southwest in a standard search pattern. Despite the cold, he and his men had elected to ride atop their armoured vehicles, keeping their eyes open for practically anything.

They'd been told of reports of gunfire coming from this general area, some rear-area staff calling it in an hour or so earlier. It was peculiar that there would be a firefight behind the frontline, but the threat of potential Lesser Sarmatian infiltrators was too great to be ignored. Two of the State's precious helicopters had been scrambled for this search, and the beat of their rotors could occasionally be heard overhead. Despite the efforts of the infantry, it would be one of these Hinds which would find Grudzinski; spotting some motion near the entrance to the cave.

The platoon had immediately rushed to the site, establishing a rough perimeter around it. A rough semi-circle had been formed by the platoon's four APCs, the infantrymen carefully taking up firing positions among the trees and brambles of the nearby woods. The helicopter remained ominously close, lingering above the clearing.

“Got a nice setup,” the Manszjalk commented, standing erect beside the vehicle closest to the cave's entrance. He had seen fit to don his helmet, now looking particularly sinister with it on. Gesturing towards the tunnel with a pointed finger, he glanced towards his radioman, shooting him a question. “So, what've we got here?”

“Got reports of motion, sir, tunnel ain't too small judging by the looks of it.”

“Cartridges too,” another man pointed out, holding up a spent casing for a round. They were littered around the clearing, scattered among the grass.

“Alright, I want a team prepped to storm it. Two fireteams, staggered insertion. Still, let's be fair here, eh? Give 'em the chance to surrender and whatnot – tell the helicopter boy to broadcast a message.”

A moment later, the helicopter would come slightly lower to the ground, a man's deep voice blaring out over its great speakers: “The cave is surrounded, escape is impossible. Exit with hands behind your head, single-file. You will not be shot.”

 

[Josepania]

WESTERN FRONT, THE CAVE
NORTHWESTERN ZARMAJ
20:15 PM, 1/18/2012

"Sir, they've got a platoon of infantry out there, give or take. Four APCs and a gunship, Hind-class, providing support. They're prepped for forceful insertion..."

"Yes, thank you, Agent Rysio." Józef snapped, regretting the action but justifying it in that he was, at this time, completely terrified and stymied, and was probably imagining Rysio acting like a coward instead of him.

The Zarmaj seemed to have come from nowhere, but obviously that was ridiculous. They had probably known where the SSS agents and their leader were for some time, drawn by the firefight and unnoticed because of the same. And now, what was initially a chance for rest, which turned into a fight for survival, which then morphed into an unintentional rescue operation, had now become a hopeless cornering by the forces they had, initially, tried so hard to evade without firing a shot.

"Dawid, are there any other ways out of this cave?"

"Negative sir. I could keep looking..."

"I wouldn't bother, agent." Sarge interrupted, "If you didn't find anything in your first look, you probably won't find anything on your second. At least, that'd be the case if you were a proper SSS agent..."

"Is now really the time for this?!"

"No time is a bad time for critiquing an agent not living up to the standards of the state he serves! I'll have you know, you useless pile of-"

"Enough!" Józef shouted, his temper briefly at the breaking point. "This is getting us no closer to getting us out of here. Agents, I don't care if you've searched already, search again. There must be something. Sarge, keep on lookout, let us know of anything new."

Answering in affirmative, the agents set off on their tasks, Dawid doing so with one last venomous kick at the wounded terrorist as though it were all his fault (which, to be fair, it partially was). Józef, in the back of his mind, knew it was hopeless, as Sarge was right. If the SSS agents didn't find anything in their first check of the cave, it was near impossible there would be any remarkably convenient exits this time around. But they had to keep trying. They couldn't stay here, and they couldn't fight without it getting bad very, very fast.

"Surrender." A word cut through his torrent of thoughts, bringing them to a screeching halt as they slowly achieved recognition in his mind, along with its speaker: Zinaida.

"... I'm sorry, what?" Józef asked, mostly to buy time so he could formulate a far more reasonable and compelling response.

Sighing as though she were lecturing a particularly simple subject to an astoundingly stupid student, a tone Józef did not appreciate in the slightest, Zinaida slowly responded, "Obviously, when they realize they are holding someone as important as me, surrender will instantly turn into a free ticket home, probably with numerous comforts if I bossed them around enough."

She did have a point... the Zarmaj would not dare to do anything to irritate their southern neighbors, especially not now, when they were slowly becoming more openly sympathetic to the Zarmaj cause, if the reports Kazimierz and Boleslaw had given to Józef were accurate. There was just one problem though, a problem Sarge quickly picked up on. "Well that's just dandy for you, little lady, but that still leaves us with the very notable problem of us. We're rather high-profile, or at least the Vice Governor is. What makes you think they're just going to let us go?"

Smirking, despite the fact that the counterpoint was ruining the best plan they've all had so far, Józef's expression quickly morphed into bafflement when Zinaida merely smirked herself, and proclaimed, "Because I, am Zinaida Stukova."

With as much sarcasm as he could possibly stuff into a single sentence, Józef, after a moment of disbelieving silence, said, "Somehow, I remain completely unconvinced."

Annoyance replaced Zinaida's smirk as she snapped, "Well then, since you're such an incredible military genius, Vice Governor, how else do you propose we get out of this?"

The question hit hard, and everybody close by knew it. By this time, all three of the other agents had returned, reporting with a subtle hint of sullenness that they were unable to locate any exits. That only left one option, and Józef dreaded asking the question.

But he asked anyway, "Agent Samuel, can we hold them off?"

The agent stood still, running through the scenarios in his head, before, in a completely neutral tone, he replied, "... first wave, certainly. Second wave, likely. The missiles from the helicopter... probably."

Translation: No, they were fucked.

Now very visibly depressed, Józef grumbled, "This day sucks."

With a sympathetic nod, Sarge said, "Yes, sir. Your orders?"

Just then, over a loudspeaker, a Zarmaj voice boomed in, “The cave is surrounded, escape is impossible. Exit with hands behind your head, single-file. You will not be shot.”

With one last, despairing look at his comrades, even Zinaida, that smugly arrogant bitch... Józef sighed. "Gentlemen, I see no other way out of this that allows us to leave alive and intact. I ask that you join me in surrendering to the Zarmaj. If you refuse, I will not begrudge you. Hell, I'll envy you."

The agents hesitated, and gave a quick look at one another, before all nodding, as though they had completed a quick, telepathic conversation, Sarge saying, "Sir, it is our duty to protect you no matter the circumstances. We're not leaving you now."

His confidence bolstered despite the decisive blows struck against it, Józef gave a sad smile and nodded, "Thank you."

As he turned to face the entrance, he thought he heard Zinaida mutter something derisive about "Sarmatian honor", but he chose to ignore that. With Franek unceremoniously lifting the wounded terrorist over his back, first Józef, then the rest of his comrades willing and unwilling clasped their hands behind their heads, and walked out into the unknown...

 

[Tyvia]

The Sarmatians were greeted at the tunnel's entrance by a duo of Zarmaj infantrymen, ordered with a combination of profanities and hand gestures to move into the center of the clearing. A full fireteam surged into the cave behind them, intent on searching and clearing it despite Grudzinski's surrender. Without any real formality, they were each searched by one of the two troopers in a rather uniform manner. Neither man hesitated a moment with his hands, searching for any concealed weapons or objects in what would seem to be the oddest of places. They were thorough, and literally anything they found was tossed into a small pile on the grass behind them. The fireteam had emerged by the time the search was complete, and had adopted a position just to the side of the line of prisoners.

"All clean," the taller of the two finally spoke up, waving towards one of the nearby APCs. He waited patiently while another pair of men approached, his companion sorting through the Sarmatians' assembled possessions.

"Good," said the lead figure, nodding towards the trooper. The private stepped away and joined his friend, assisting him in organizing what they found.

The man's attention turned toward the Sarmatians, his grey eyes sweeping over and examining each of them in turn. He was not a particularly intimidating man, a fair bit shorter than the private that had searched them, but he exuded an air of authority. The silver chevrons on his lapel singled him out as a Manszjalk, and his officious manner was a clear indication that he was in charge. Despite that, his unzipped combat harness and glare shades still managed to lend him a sort of supreme casualness. He watched them each for a time without comment, walking up and down the line to get a good look at each of them.

"The fuck is this?" He asked, his voice surprisingly soft despite his pointed tone, gesturing towards the girl. "You fuckers having some sort of depraved cave orgy?"

Józef scowled, speaking up. "No, though the friends of that sick bastard," he indicated towards the tied-up man, "nearly were at times. We rescued her."

"There were a few bodies inside, sir," one of the troops from the insertion fireteam helpfully put in, prompting a nod from the Manszjalk.

"The bodies inside being those of his friends, I take it?" He asked, positioning himself in front of Grudzinski. Timoszow stared straight ahead at the Vice Governor, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"Put up a piss poor fight too," Sarge replied, cutting Józef off. A thin smile found its way onto his features, the man's eyes lighting up with amusement. "Probably marginally better than any one of you," he added, prompting some snickering from the other agents.

"I imagine," the Manszjalk slowly replied, clearly a master of the dramatic pause, "that's the same thing you lot said ten years past." A smile of his own appeared, the man clearly relishing the opportunity to even briefly mock his enemy. "Yet look where we are."

"Still," he swiftly added, preempting a reply, "now that you're here, we might as well have a talk. Who're you, why're you here?"

The agents murmur something to themselves, the nearby troopers seemingly content to let them talk. Józef draws in a deep breath, replying at some length. "I am Vice Governor Józef Grudzinski, of the Slavic Nation-State of Lesser Sarmatia, with," he announces, gesturing briefly toward his companions, "agents of the Sarmatian Secret Service, assigned to protect me: Agents Samuel, Rysio, Dawid, and Franek." Józef took the liberty of edging forward half a pace, glancing towards the tied up man. "We just call him 'Sick Fuck.' And she--.."

"Zinaida Stukova," the girl interrupted, speaking in Zalonarusan. "Daughter of Fyodor Stukov, Premier of Zalonarus and so on and so forth. Can we get this over with already? I've been away from home for far too long."

They all merely stared at the girl, quiet and ignorant as to what she said. With a heavy sigh, she repeated herself, rather grudgingly, in Sarmatian.

The Manszjalk was silent a moment, as though brooding all this new information over. "And," he finally asks, moving back a single step. "How am I to know you're all being entirely earnest--.. particularly you, little girl?"

With a dismissive snort, she crossed her arms, "I have no reason to lie to you, nor to anyone. I am proud of who I am, and I pity those who do not recognize as such." The look given by Józef showed he wasn't kidding, given that annoyed sneer he threw in her direction.

"If you continue to be a bunch of simpletons that make the Sarmatians look like first-class geniuses..." At that, Józef looked like he didn't know how to react at all, "Then go ahead and take me to a Zalonarusan official with the claim. I guarantee you they will verify it in less than ten minutes. If you need proof of the Vice Governor's identity, you deserve to follow Sanation propaganda and lose the war."

Only now did the man who followed the Manszjalk become important, the large radioset he carried on his back suddenly becoming important. Timoszow beckoned him over, murmuring something to him in Zarmaj itself. The two then turned about, striding away from the prisoners. Men suddenly appeared on all ends of the clearing, having been concealed but a moment earlier among the foliage and natural cover. They shuffled over to their respective armoured carriers, clambering up onto them. Without any further ado, the prisoners were herded on over to one of these vehicles, each of them forcibly seated within its metallic confines. They'd find themselves locked inside it, and the doors would only open once they'd arrived at an airfield of some sort.

This time they would be ushered aboard a plane, some communication clearly having occurred without their knowledge. The plane was a cargo liner of some sort, and the prisoners had been assigned a military escort -- a full squad of armed men -- but they'd not been bound or otherwise harmed. Zinaida had even been given some time to change into a set of plain grey fatigues, the step worn by recruits in the Gold Banner Army, yet still a step up from her torn school attire. Only two troopers watched them now, the rest having retired to the other end of the plane; affording the prisoners a small measure of privacy.