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The First Mission Trip

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Oct 12, 2011
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Hampton Roads
The ocean air was chilly, and every time the water crashed against the large fishing boat, those inside that weren't used to the sea prayed that the water wouldn't splash any higher and make the already cold deck all the more colder. For nearly an entire day the boat had been moving out, churning along, the flag of the Potenzan Merchant Fleet sailing above it. It wasn't a boat owned by the Mazzio Corporation - indeed, if it had been, its exterior would have been far cleaner and far more elegant. As it was, there was rust and some traces of barnacles, which showed the boat was probably as experienced at sea as its owner was. Giacomo di Montefor's wrinkles and squinted eyes betrayed a history of hard labor fishing at sea and working despite all weather conditions. He had worked mostly out of country, as many Potenzan mercantile vessels did, and the recent dual-authority shared with Potenza and Engellex at Caen had helped his business somewhat. Even then, he was always short on cash, and required extra help. This was where his aiding the Reformed Church of Potenza came in.

Paolo, the oldest missionary on the boat at 32-years, had heard through AP News that a possible famine was approaching Havenshire, and had inquired with his superiors about the possibility of leading a small mission to the island nation. No missionaries were active there due to the harsh conditions enacted by the Havenite government, and it wasn't believed that a large enough aide package needed for oncoming famine would be affordable to the church. Recent mission trips to Sakibstan, and the church's efforts in Solaren, were tying up most resources. Paolo wrote a personal letter to Duke Prospero di Cornaro, the leader of the only Protestant family in Potenza and the church's largest benefactor, asking for help. Prospero was intrigued by the idea of sending a team to Havenshire, and wrote back to Paolo that if he could make it work, the Cornaro House would fund what they could.

Barnabas, the second oldest at 31-years, was at the helm of the boat, looking out. He was the first one to notice that they were quickly approaching the Havenshire mainland. He had gone ahead perhaps a week before, and spoken with some Havenite nationals about paying for a truck that would meet them at the port and driving them out to the country. They planned to take up shop in a small Havenite town, somewhere in the rural areas, to avoid detection. On Giacomo's boat was a hefty amount of food for emergency supplies, as well as various other forms of equipment. Much of it was for farm equipment - handling breakdowns, what have you. They also had fluids such as antifreeze and other important substances. And, of course, they had the New Testament, with Psalms and Proverbs, in English - though those were hidden underneath the other supplies.

There were only two other missionaries, both young men in their early 20's, on the boat: Luca, who was originally a Tiburan Catholic and had converted thanks in part to the Holy Spirit and Paolo's witnessing, and was now his spiritual son; Timoteo, who had stopped his studies at the seminary in Treviso to go on this trip (for some university credit). Luca actually worked as an auto mechanic, and hence would probably be doing most of the repair work required. Timoteo would handle the worship services, which would be done privately in the evenings and on Sunday. Paolo and Barnabas acted as the leaders, though Barnabas had knowledge of agriculture and the growing of crops. Paolo had some experience with construction, which was expected to prove handy at some point.

"Sure this will work?" Timoteo asked Paolo as the ship drew closer to the harbor. His anxiety involved getting through the coast guard and customs that they would inevitably have to deal with. How would four people seeking to provide outside help and spreading the Gospel of Christ get through the front door of a nation that traditionally hated freedom of religion and unmonitored assistance?

There was one advantage: corruption. There was one extra bit of cargo on the ship, supplied by the Duke of Treviso himself. This cargo was a few bottles of wine made right in the vineyards of Venosa. Barnabas lifted up a bottle and showed it to Timoteo with a smile. He had already spoken to some of the guards at the port, and they guaranteed entryway if they provided the wine. That was pretty much their ticket in - they brought the wine, there was no problem. They didn't bring the wine, and everything was confiscated and the safety of those on board put into question.
 
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Getting past Havenite customs was easy enough. In fact, too easy. The guards put up a show, acted tough, then Paolo showed them the wine, and promised there were more crates of it in the ship's hull. That changed the entire tune. The Havenite officer at the harbor said he would report it to his superiors as a "contribution" from the Potenzan government. Giacomo didn't care either way, and was just happy that he wasn't in danger of having his boat taken away. The flag of the Potenzan Merchant Fleet offered some protection, as the Grand Duchy had recently told the Carentanians that any attack or boarding of a Potenzan Merchant Fleet vessel was considered an act of war - still, you could never tell with customs agents and border guards. One dunderhead was all it took to start a war.

The Havenite trucker met them outside the port, right on time. The four Potenzans busily and as quickly as possible loaded their assortment of items onto the back of the truck. Paolo and Barnabas sat up front with the driver while Luca and Timoteo sat in the back. Within half an hour of arriving in Havenshire, they were already off. Paolo and Barnabas provided the directions while Luca and Timoteo started playing with the Potenzan cards they had brought with them. It was with some difficulty that they kept the cards stationary given the erratic conditions of country roads, and eventually they went for a simpler game like War.

The trip took them across the country, into the more rural areas of the secluded island nation. Paolo and Barnabas had already selected a small town in the north, which was made up of a collection of farmers and a few craftsmen. Under the guidance of the two missionaries, the truck driver eventually arrived at what appeared to be an old, worn down farmhouse. As soon as it stopped, Paolo stepped out and walked to the front door. Barnabas and the truck driver followed, the driver holding out his hand to let them know he wanted his payment as soon as possible. While Havenite bills were traded from palm to palm, Luca and Timoteo stepped out as well and walked up to the door of the estate.

"Is this building safe?" Timoteo asked.

Paolo smirked at the younger missionary, "The outside is worn, but the foundation is strong."

"Like the man in Christ," Luca and Timoteo said in unison, already guessing with Paolo was hinting at.

As Barnabas and the two younger missionaries started to unload their items from the truck into a nearby storage, Paolo opened the front door and entered the building. The loud creeking sound that the door emitted assured him they would have a built-in burglar alarm. The inside found an empty, worn down building that had once been someone's home, with barely any furniture, save for a chair or a small table here and there. Cobwebs and what had been the homes of many spiders dotted about the corners and the doorways, though it seemed like whatever animals had made a home here were now long gone. Paolo walked into a neighboring room where there was a lovely, old fashioned fireplace, a poker nearby. He picked it up and used it as a weapon against the cobwebs, beginning the cleaning process.

The other three stepped in, Luca and Timoteo glancing about in awe...rather shocked awe. Perhaps more in horror than awe.

"Can we really fix this up?" Timoteo asked.

"Christ regenerated you," Paolo replied, "I'm sure he can give us the strength to regenerate a house."

The rest of the day was spent cleaning the place up - mostly removing the cobwebs, the dust, and moving the furniture about to a composition more to their liking. Luca was sent into town to buy some food for the next few days, while the rest stayed indoors to set things up. They decided to set up a makeshift chapel in the living room, right where the fireplace was. Stacks of English New Testaments were placed in one corner, with the few Tiburan New Testaments and hymn books on the shelf above the fireplace. They were certain that they had attracted some attention from the neighbors or those nearby, but no one would know what type of books these were unless they actually picked it up and read them.
 
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The South
The Coast Watch Southeastern Headquarters rarely recieved open visits from the Central Intelligence Bureau. Rarer still did they march straight to the office of the Coastmaster General and throw a bible on to his desk.

Coastmaster General Alistair White gulped, seeing the offending piece of literature, like a judgement from a deity he didn't really believe in. He felt like it would burn a hole through his paperwork and thick wooden desk and fall to the floor, its red covering reminding him all too clearly of the fires of hell- or, worse, the fires of the "re-education" camp smelters. He looked up at the furiously cold visage of the man he knew to be an Agent. He even wore the "unofficial" uniform of the CIB, a dark grey trenchcoat and thick horn-rimmed glasses. Sometimes he wondered if the stories about such men were deliberate propaganda to scare the foolish. Now he was looking at one and he didnt think it was so funny anymore.

"Graduated High School 1928. The first of the Revolutionary students, Alistair White failed his Special University Examination and was re-asessed for People's Navy training. After failing your Officer course in 1931, you transferred to Coast Watch duties. You filed a suprisingly insightful report in 1933, complaining of inadequate resources to defend the coast. After the Havenshire Civil War, in which you distinguished yourself by attempting to inform Westhaven of the Invasion and then assisted local partisan units with smuggling in vital supplies. After that you were promoted relatively young to your current post, and ever since well...we've not been hearing much from you." The agent reported coldly.

"What happened, Alistair? Rest on your laurels? War leave you with scars? Whatever it is we've heard it all before and we frankly don't care. Just tell me how that Bible came to be in this country and we might let it go."

White stammered, sweat pouring down his pudgy brow. It was true, he'd been regarded as a hero, once. That was at least twelve years ago, now. He'd gotten older. The work had gotten tedious, boring. He'd become a true bureaucrat, concerned only with the comfort his himself and his horrible shrew of a wife. "I dont know, m-maybe you got it in on a special dispensation..."

The Agent slammed his hands down on the desk, and leaned in far. "Dont play games with me. You are a desk-worm, not fit to serve as scraps for the guard-dogs at the Palace of Progress kennels. This bible is but one of dozens, if not hundreds, making their way into this country. Either you are completely incompetent at your work, which frankly would not suprise me, or you are guilty of active corruption and counter-revolutionary sympathies. Either one of those carries a fifteen-year sentence. Both together could see you die by firing squad or hanging."

White closed his eyes, and shuddered. The Agent, annoyingly, clicked his fingers. "Hello? Pay attention to me you fat fuck."

"The bibles...might...come from some of my more...unreliable coast officers. I only have suspicions mind you, I didnt know for sure!" he pleaded.

The Agent snorted in completely undisguised contempt. "You were a failure from the beginning, Alistair. Maybe you spent too many years being taught by royalists. Maybe you were just born rotten. But for your sake I really -hope- that I don't find anything that links you to these other rats you are offering to me. Give me their names, their files, everything, and maybe if you're -really- lucky you won't be stacking rocks in the Stonebacks for the next decade and a half."

The Coastmaster General relented, quickly, rapidly babbling names, places, and ordering a secretary to find the files. The Agent smirked. This was going to be the easiest nab of his career. Rustling some corrupt coastwatchers was only the cream, though. The cake would be getting the Tiburan Missionaries themselves. He was confident he could suprise them and capture the Potenzan smugglers. The wine had been gradually become an open secret, yet for some reason his superiors had been dismissive. The Agent knew better though. He burned with fanaticism for the cause of Council-Communism, and would not rest till this rot had been torn out root and branch.
 
Joined
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Hampton Roads
Light shone into the study at the top of the mansion, the morning light going into the Paolo adjusted his reading glasses as he looked through the Tiburan translation of the Bible. His eyes were specifically over Zechariah 4:6, and the words: Non per potenza, né per forza, ma per lo Spirito mio. Translated into the language of the Havenites, it read roughly: "Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit, saith the LORD of hosts." Paolo mused to himself that the very word "Potenza" was in the verse, and though it was a coincidence, it gave Paolo a lot to meditate on. The mansion had for the most part been renovated on the inside, although the outside still looked worn. As God had rebuilt the Temple, which had formerly lay in ruins, so too had the Lord assisted the missionaries in the rebuilding of this mansion, the very first Reformed Christian outpost in Havenshire. It had not been by God's "Potenza" that it was built, however, but by His Spirit. If these men hoped to make any headway in this country, they would have to remember that first and foremost.

Luca returned from his trip to the village, one of many he had made since they came here. He had managed to make small talk, telling people they were immigrants from Potenza (which was not a lie, when one thought about it), and sharing only his name (though he gave the Havenite rendering of "Luke"). Timoteo was in the living room by the fireplace, playing the Potenzan song Speak Softly Love on his guitar.

"Where are Paolo and Barnabas?" Luca asked.

Timoteo began motioning with movements of his head, "Paolo is up in the study, Barnabas out in the field."

"With that old tractor? What's he going to do with it?"

"I think he's meaning to be seen by men..."

Indeed, he was. Barnabas purposefully drove the tractor down the road, some distance from the mansion, and there it died - but this was expected. Barnabas had brought along his tools and some antifreeze that they had stored away. He got off and looked over, noticing some of the Havenite farmers were watching. He opened up the engine door and began to tinker with the machine inside. He also inserted the antifreeze that would help it run in this increasingly freezing weather.

"All right, now work, gosh darn it," Barnabas said, "or you'll make me look bad."

He got back on the seat of the tractor and began the ignition. Sure enough, it turned back on. "Kyrie eleison," Barnabas laughed, patting the steering wheel. He drove it down to the end of the road, turned it around, and came back to the mansion, parking it on the side. He had done his part.

As he came in he saw Luca and asked: "Did you remember eggs?"

"You know what?" replied Luca, "That was the one thing I didn't remember. Forgive me, I'll make a quick trip to the store and be right back."
 
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