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Hidden Agendas

Serbovia

Regional Actor
Joined
Oct 31, 2006
Messages
9,259
Location
Helsinki
Capital
Petrovgrad
Nick
Perkele
24 Bakarna Ulica
Kozje Brdo District
Petrovgrad, Serbovia


Nine days ago, midnight

On the rooftop of the half-finished, fifteen floor shell of a future office building that towered over the 1960s Nationalist Classical cityscape of the Kozje Brdo district, Dejan struggled to control his adrenaline rush as he prepared the Pelasgian-made PKCh-7 RPG for firing. He couldn't help his inner fear that they had been detected entering the construction yard and soon the cops would be coming to arrest them all red-handed, even if it had been dead quiet when Dejan and his comrade Milan had sneaked into the area.

Petra, the third member of their cell, was the designated driver and had stayed in their van, ready to drive them away as soon as the men had carried out their planned attack. If she was anything suspicious, her only option would be to try and call Dejan over the cell phone and hope that he'd pick up.

He tried to focus himself as he attached the booster section and the grenade section of the rocket together. The firing tube and its attached optical sight laid on the floor beside him, already prepared for use. Dejan was fairly certain that he could make the shot to hit the embassy building, even if it was a couple of hundred meters. The half-finished office building was just enough high that they could fire the rocket over the other buildings along the route, at least if the rocket didn't malfunction. As far as Dejan knew, his group had bought the weapon from some North Thrakian smugglers who themselves had acquired it from the stashes of the former Thrakian military. Nothing was wrong with it as far as he could tell, but you never knew.

Dejan had been chosen as their shooter because he had served as an anti-armor soldier during his conscript service. Though the PKCh-7 had never been used by the Serbovian Armed Forces, he'd managed to find a Pelasgian-language manual uploaded by some military freak to the internet, which in turn had been translated into Serbovian by another cell member. Getting a hang of the weapon system had been reasonably easy.

Milan and Dejan exchanged a silent nod, and Dejan raised the firing tube on his shoulder. Milan loaded the rocket into the tube, and then promptly backed off to the top end of the stairwell that was their only getaway. When they'd fire their rocket it would be seen and heard from far away, and they'd have very little time to make an escape. Having to leave physical evidence - the RPG - behind on the scene worried Dejan, even though they'd been meticulous in wearing ski masks, gloves and disposable overalls while handling the weapon to avoid leaving any traces of their DNA.

Dejan drew in air. The main facade of the Bajorok embassy was in his crosshairs. He pulled the trigger, and the rooftop shook as the high-explosive rocket flew on its way. The rocket struck the building, though it was impossible to make any sense of the damage from all the flying debris and dust. Dejan threw the disposable firing tube down and dashed for the stairway.
 
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