NationStates Jolt Archive

Anti-Yanitaria had always been a rogue region. Encompassing the Island of Lemnos (http://i71.photobucket.com/albums/i156/UNDComrade/YanitariaMk3mod1.png) (ooc: Largish island, north of the label for Ft. Marx, and the western most island in my claimed territory), it had always been a thorn in the side of Yanitaria.

It's population rivaled Yanitaria, making the island one of the most densely in Yanitaria. High rises comprised the sky line, caked with a thick layer of soot from the local factories. With space at a premium, and with such a large population (http://www.nationstates.net/Anti-Yanitaria), it was no surprise that there were constant skirmishes on the Islands claimed by Yanitaria and Anti-Yanitaria.

The dictatorship had a large military, a total of 5% of it's population, and was in economic ruins. The people lived under a harsh rule, but fanatically worshipped the dictator, Francois Peyroux.

They blamed Yanitaria (since it really wasn't far from the truth) for the economic troubles, and for the Ajax SLDS imposed lack of shipping.

In fact, all shipping had to come through Yanitarian Checkpoints in the Ajax infested seas. Only food was allowed through, and any ship attempting to bypass the blockade was warned that their ship would be sunk, or their planes shot down.

And of course, to pay for it all, the USSY took cargo from the ships as a "tax". This kept the 24/7 air patrols, Spades and Ace class ships, and the 4 new Type 38's in fighting form. Although it did make things extremely hard for the average person, who under the best of circumstances, was emaciated and weak.

Because the USSY was not an evil state, food was air lifted into the cities, although the occasional plane was shot down, and the food, if found by the military first, would be captured and distributed to the ruling party's members.

Recently, though, the USSY agreed to lift the blockade partially, in return for government reforms on the part of Anti-Yanitaria. This meant that any nation was allowed to import goods, so long as they did it through a Yanitarian shipping company. Furthermore, the USSY agreed to recognize the Dictatorship of Anti-Yanitaria as an autonomous administrative region. Anti-Yanitaria would now be able to accept diplomats from foreign lands.

However, there were some rumours that something suspicious was about to happen. Governments from around the world wanted to know what exactly that was...

==========================================================

Edward Briggs was the head of the Department of International Logistics, in the USSY Federal Building in Anti-Yanitaria.

Of course, this was a cover for the Yanitarian Ministry of Military Intelligence operations in the rogue state. For years, they had operated silently, posing as diplomats while running spies through out Anti-Yanitaria.

But now things were different. he had been promoted to Federal Liaison, a special position, made up three weeks before, that meant he was the ambassador to a territory of Yanitaria.

At the moment, he read a report that had been left on his desk. It seemed that his spies wouldn't be alone for long. Other governments had taken an interest in what was happening in Anti-Yanitaria.

Something was certainly up. Three agents had disappeared, and turned up in an Anti-Yanitarian public execution 5 days later. An agent secretly videotaped the execution using a small, remote camera while hiding on the roof of a building.

The agents were dragged to the wall, in front of the firing squad, with ten other dissidents, there on unrelated charges. They showed obvious signs of brutal torture, with all three having to be propped up on their broken legs.

Two were crying uncontrollably, having probably talked, and one stood their stoically, giving no more than a dirty look to the soldiers who would end his life.

He lifted the bloody stump, which had been where his hand was, before screaming "DOWN WITH ANTI-YANITARIA! DOWN WITH THE FASCISTS".

The soldiers immediately ran forward and brutally beat him, before one man reached down, cut off his pants with a bayonet, and castrated him publicly, with the crowd of people behind him visibly cowering.

The men took their place in the line, and lifted their antiquated RPK machine guns, which had been the standard issue squad weapon since the fifties. They fired mercilessly, mowing down the group of people, but especially focusing on the bleeding man who still didn't give them the satisfaction of tears.

Edward Briggs sighed. There would have to be some form of retaliation.

The sign on the door read 'Import/Exporters' in the sort of letters normally reserved for 'Private Dick', the whole building was a cliche ready to tumble down around itself, external lights either yellow with age or cracked with old bullets and never replaced, inside was buzzing and flickering with old flourescent tubes cast by turns gray light and grayer shadows over the brown crates and browner shipping containers. The office in the corner was straight out of the same Bogart picture as the door it was behind, an antique wood desk with a lamp of a sort that hadn't been made in fifty or sixty years and a poorly upholstered chair behind the whole ensemble, the walls lined with licenses and pictures of exotic locales. Even the computer seemed to blend in, clunky CRT monitor and battered beige box with a grubby keyboard and mouse.
A man in Frank's position could work for years to attain this kind of squalor, but the men from MAFIAT (Mondothian Administration of Foreign Intelligence and Anti-Terrorism )had put it together overnight, the light-bulbs were designed to look like they're about to burn out for years of continuous use, the fixtures and furniture specially made and artificially aged, the computer was non functioning, laptop innards had been stuffed into the case of a CRT and the battered beige box doubled as a cleverly concealed safe. All of it designed to look like a generations old import/export business that had simply picked up where it left off when foreign business had been re-allowed. Frank was first on the new Anti-Yanitaria station, For now all he had to do was scout the area and keep up appearances while more MAFIAT agents and equipment was smuggled in over the next few weeks. The initial stacks of crates and containers were mostly empty decoys, a few full of innocuous goods and one or two with mildly contraband goods were strategically placed in the event of some sort of inspection. The 'clean goods' containers were easily accessible and highly visible, positioned to draw attention, while the mildly contraband crates were carefully poorly concealed, the whole ensemble drawing attention and questions away from the empty crates. In a few days the empty crates would be replaced with legitimate ones and the only thing to distinguish the until recently abandoned warehouse from one of countless other semi-legitimate enterprises would be Frank.

Frank was the last man anyone other than an equally experienced spy-master would expect to be a spy master, he was short, fat, sweaty and balding in a poorly fitting suit with thick glasses and dirty shoes, outwardly the kind of man that ran the kind of business Frank was pretending to run.

(OOC: I hope the explanation on how everything was done isn't too far-fetched because I don't have anything better. But a country like this would be enoughly weak in net security, and if it doesn't have virtual registers of citizens, then I'll retcon all that stuff)

´"I will count to three and then you must look like an authentic fascist when you say it. One, two, three!"

The young operative, dressed in a recreation of a Gestapo uniform, then shouted with in a perfect, flawless and accent-less German, like if for a moment he ceased to be an anarchist of mixed English and Spanish heritage, becoming instead an authentic and devout follower of nazism as he raised his right arm forwards and above, saying:

"Sieg Heil Ubersturmführer!"

His name was John Aragón Holt, a 1.87 meters tall Caucasian male of light brown hair, steel grey eyes and athletic build due to intensive training in a covert cell of the Blackguards Section 51, a secretive organization inside the Blackguards Intelligence Agency, to the point it existence was a secret hidden from the majority of the population, as a secret evidence the direct democracy which supposed existed in Third Spanish States was far from perfect, Utopian and flawless. In Section 51, an agent was not trained to only lie, disguise and pretend to be someone else, there the primary principle of the training was the doublethink: the art of believing in one's own lie, of "deceiving the self" to the point that when lying, the agent will produce the same behaviors of when telling the truth. Such practice would probably be scorned upon if discovered by the public. However inside Section 51 it was not an end on itself but a mean to an end, the end of expanding Third Spanish States and its endorsed ideology of Anarchism's influence through secrecy rather than through brute military force and intimidation. Which was deeply ironic considering that the same tool also had as end the perpetuation of totalitarian States´

That was five years ago, in his first year of training. Now Edward was fully capable of speaking Norwegian, and under a falsified document of citizenship using the latest known in counter-diplomatics technology, including the support of cyber-warfare in the process which took a complicated, but successful operation of spoofing, disguising and finally adding his files and the false files of claimed to be now deceased due to natural cases "parents" and "grandparents" of him, besides the maximum that they registered, in the Anti-Yanitaria government computers regarding citizenship registers, one in millions where they also covered all their traces, tampered the datastamp of the false identities files to make it appear to have been created by birthday of each of the false and real human beings DoBs, and all the intentionally left hints pointed it was nothing but a DDoS attack done by a group of anti-totalitarianists from some unknown place of the Internet which failed to break their security.

He resides in Anti-Yanitaria under the alter-ego of a government low hierarchy bureaucrat and of an extremely loyal supporter of its totalitarian regime named . He was a sleeper agent, sent there to slowly step up the hierarchical ladders of that government in the goal of becoming an agent of influence.

That was months ago. He already started getting used with the routine of that place to the point that he was undistinguishable from the average bureaucrat and supporter of the government in Anti-Yanitaria. He embraced its traditions and beliefs, anarchism being only a distant memory in his subconscious as he willfully believed in his own lie. He logically witnessed the gruesome execution of those not skilled enough in the art of doublethink. He was among the crowd, shouting words of order against the traitors as they were brutally murdered in such way. He simply did not show any sign of disgust about the scene, although the phrase resonated in his mind with no body hint that he agreed with the voice of the oppressed:

"DOWN WITH THE FASCISTS!"

That was what he was seeking to achieve, by becoming a "fascist". Somehow a thought that perhaps the lie could become true and once he achieved power there, power would corrupt him, reached his mind as he continued blended in the crowd of pro-government fanatics, either by fear or by brainwashing. It was a strange thing, to defeat a fascist by having an outer shell of a fascist, but he knew it although a slow and demanding process, would lead to much less bloodshed and international relation disasters than a simple "liberation war". And considering that Third Spanish States sought to maintain the facade of an isolationist and mostly peaceful civilization, it was fitting that most of its interventions on foreign grounds were of this nature. And equally fitting was a cyanide pill that he always carried with him, one way or another perfectly hidden, should everything go wrong, he would be a nothing. There was no existing link between him and the Section 51 anymore. In fact Section 51 does not officially exist pure and simply, and he was instructed to use the pill if caught to avoid having a painful and gruesome death and to send everything he knew to the grave then.

He dispersed with the crowd and simply headed back to work as it were 12:30 PM as the lunch time was finally over, yet he did not eat anything to watch the public execution instead. His job in the government was inside a "social security" building, which was nothing but an excuse of a place where the privileges of the Party members were distributed accordingly. He was already a sub-manager in that place after demonstrating perfectly a supposed facade of sheer loyalty to the government coupled with efficient and hard work.

As he went to his office he took care of some paperwork of the day, ready to receive new orders from his superiors as he filled forms, wrote reports and followed the ennui routine of the place.

Tag