Communist Rule
05-09-2004, 08:02
Leningrad, USSCR
0445 Local Time
Government Ports 1-18
The sun was just rising here, spreading an orange light across government ports one through eighteen in the city of Leningrad. The city was just awakening, however, the ports had been active all night under the bright halogen field lights that rimmed each one. Rigorous work had started, loading vessels of every shape, size, and type, including modified oil tankers, barges, military supply ships, heavy freighters, and larger private-sector ships. Each was being loaded to her full capacity as thousands of Communist Rule personnel and soldiers monitored the area. USSCR ships were anchored off shore by the dozens and at any given moment, nearly thirty combat aircraft were airborne in and around the port.
Container Forklift operator Sergei Andropov clenched his teeth as his giant diesel engine shuttered in protest as it lifted a container, a container much like the countless thousands he's lifted tonight. His digital readouts showed incredible weight in each container. He maneuvered his giant forklift until he was underneath a loading crane. Dodging other such forklifts, he deposited his cargo and began to move back to his stack. He kicked open his door and yelled to his comrade who was directing his 'forks' to the cargo containers, "Hey! My engines almost burnt out! What the fuck do they have us loading?"
The man in the hardhat squinted in the floodlights until he saw who was yelling at him, "Hell, they didn't tell me. Whatever the case we're being paid overtime."
"Damn, my cigarettes are gone. You got a pack?"
"No, maybe you'd like to go and ask those guys?" Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, the man was indicating a group of soldiers striding over. One soldier stepped forward, his rank that of a Lieutenant, "NO CHATTERING! GET BACK TO WORK, BOTH OF YOU."
Sergei grumbled, his nicotine cravings were kicking in high gear now. He sighed and turned around, pulling himself up into the seat of the massive forklift, slamming the door shut behind him. He gave the soldiers the middle finger as he put the vehicle in gear. Their response? Each one patted their assault rifles' receivers, giving a sly grin to the driver. He muttered and continued with the tedious work until his forklift jolted, its diesel engine's crankshaft coming loose, tearing out the oil pan and dropping to the ground, rendering the lift useless... Luckily, he was within range of the loading crane, which took the crate and deposited it on whatever vessel it was to be forwarded to.
He climbed out of the vehicle and stood there, on the tarmac as he gazed out across the open waters. It was something he hadn't noticed before due to the dark of night... His jaw dropped as he noticed the ships. Twenty, maybe thirty combat ships. He slowly turned to face the storage sheds and buildings lining the unloading area. The amount of soldiers standing around was boggling his mind. What the hell were they loading onto these ships?
Port Administration Offices
Danya Ilneyov stood near the large, multipaned window looking out onto the flood-lit docks. A man of 35 years of age, he felt much older during the past few days, already having to take anti-acid pills. He was a large man, and tonight, despite the frigid temperatures, was sweating. He almost jumped as a young voice called out behind him.
"Father, we are nearing 85% loading complete," his son reported proudly. Unlike Danya, Karol was a strong-willed individual and was making his father extremely proud in the manner in which he had supervised the loading.
"Any security breaches?"
"The security teams tell me that no container's electronic alarms have gone off yet. They haven't been opened since they've been sealed."
Danya gave his son a hug before dismissing him. This was one of the most secretive and stressing jobs he's ever had to do since he'd taken control of the government ports in Leningrad. Not only could he face execution if the cargo was ever revealed to the public, but his family and finances would be liquidated. He turned once more, looking out the window as another forklift dropped its container with a thud barely muffled by the windows.
Atop a Container Loading Crane
Lieutenant Ruslan 'Roos' Seratov drained the last tobacco out of his cigarette before letting it fall from his lips onto the concrete below. He pressed the tip of his boot down upon it and ground it into shreds of paper and filter. His eyes scanned the loading areas below, illuminated with bright lights, as forklifts and trucks scurried around. He slung his assault rifle over his right shoulder and glanced to the man at his side, a lieutenant colonel, "Say, Boris, what the hell are they loading?"
The colonel smirked and looked over, a newly ignited cigarrete pressed between his lips, his fingers took it from his mouth as he exhaled a plume of smoke, "Only people above colonel know. But whatever it is, it's more important than hell..."
Ruslan chuckled some, "No shit." He returned his gaze to the loading areas below, those men had been at work for the last twelve hours, taking meager breaks for a drink of water and maybe a bite of food, nothing more. He glanced out into the horizon at the ships moored at the loading docks.
One massive cargo freighter was now steaming in reverse, navigating between a barge in the process of being loaded and a converted oil tanker, moving in to be filled with goods. Ruslan was here to make sure they did their jobs and that they never found out what was in those crates... He secretly hoped one would just fall from a forklift and smash open, revealing its contents. Then he'd know what was so important...
0445 Local Time
Government Ports 1-18
The sun was just rising here, spreading an orange light across government ports one through eighteen in the city of Leningrad. The city was just awakening, however, the ports had been active all night under the bright halogen field lights that rimmed each one. Rigorous work had started, loading vessels of every shape, size, and type, including modified oil tankers, barges, military supply ships, heavy freighters, and larger private-sector ships. Each was being loaded to her full capacity as thousands of Communist Rule personnel and soldiers monitored the area. USSCR ships were anchored off shore by the dozens and at any given moment, nearly thirty combat aircraft were airborne in and around the port.
Container Forklift operator Sergei Andropov clenched his teeth as his giant diesel engine shuttered in protest as it lifted a container, a container much like the countless thousands he's lifted tonight. His digital readouts showed incredible weight in each container. He maneuvered his giant forklift until he was underneath a loading crane. Dodging other such forklifts, he deposited his cargo and began to move back to his stack. He kicked open his door and yelled to his comrade who was directing his 'forks' to the cargo containers, "Hey! My engines almost burnt out! What the fuck do they have us loading?"
The man in the hardhat squinted in the floodlights until he saw who was yelling at him, "Hell, they didn't tell me. Whatever the case we're being paid overtime."
"Damn, my cigarettes are gone. You got a pack?"
"No, maybe you'd like to go and ask those guys?" Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, the man was indicating a group of soldiers striding over. One soldier stepped forward, his rank that of a Lieutenant, "NO CHATTERING! GET BACK TO WORK, BOTH OF YOU."
Sergei grumbled, his nicotine cravings were kicking in high gear now. He sighed and turned around, pulling himself up into the seat of the massive forklift, slamming the door shut behind him. He gave the soldiers the middle finger as he put the vehicle in gear. Their response? Each one patted their assault rifles' receivers, giving a sly grin to the driver. He muttered and continued with the tedious work until his forklift jolted, its diesel engine's crankshaft coming loose, tearing out the oil pan and dropping to the ground, rendering the lift useless... Luckily, he was within range of the loading crane, which took the crate and deposited it on whatever vessel it was to be forwarded to.
He climbed out of the vehicle and stood there, on the tarmac as he gazed out across the open waters. It was something he hadn't noticed before due to the dark of night... His jaw dropped as he noticed the ships. Twenty, maybe thirty combat ships. He slowly turned to face the storage sheds and buildings lining the unloading area. The amount of soldiers standing around was boggling his mind. What the hell were they loading onto these ships?
Port Administration Offices
Danya Ilneyov stood near the large, multipaned window looking out onto the flood-lit docks. A man of 35 years of age, he felt much older during the past few days, already having to take anti-acid pills. He was a large man, and tonight, despite the frigid temperatures, was sweating. He almost jumped as a young voice called out behind him.
"Father, we are nearing 85% loading complete," his son reported proudly. Unlike Danya, Karol was a strong-willed individual and was making his father extremely proud in the manner in which he had supervised the loading.
"Any security breaches?"
"The security teams tell me that no container's electronic alarms have gone off yet. They haven't been opened since they've been sealed."
Danya gave his son a hug before dismissing him. This was one of the most secretive and stressing jobs he's ever had to do since he'd taken control of the government ports in Leningrad. Not only could he face execution if the cargo was ever revealed to the public, but his family and finances would be liquidated. He turned once more, looking out the window as another forklift dropped its container with a thud barely muffled by the windows.
Atop a Container Loading Crane
Lieutenant Ruslan 'Roos' Seratov drained the last tobacco out of his cigarette before letting it fall from his lips onto the concrete below. He pressed the tip of his boot down upon it and ground it into shreds of paper and filter. His eyes scanned the loading areas below, illuminated with bright lights, as forklifts and trucks scurried around. He slung his assault rifle over his right shoulder and glanced to the man at his side, a lieutenant colonel, "Say, Boris, what the hell are they loading?"
The colonel smirked and looked over, a newly ignited cigarrete pressed between his lips, his fingers took it from his mouth as he exhaled a plume of smoke, "Only people above colonel know. But whatever it is, it's more important than hell..."
Ruslan chuckled some, "No shit." He returned his gaze to the loading areas below, those men had been at work for the last twelve hours, taking meager breaks for a drink of water and maybe a bite of food, nothing more. He glanced out into the horizon at the ships moored at the loading docks.
One massive cargo freighter was now steaming in reverse, navigating between a barge in the process of being loaded and a converted oil tanker, moving in to be filled with goods. Ruslan was here to make sure they did their jobs and that they never found out what was in those crates... He secretly hoped one would just fall from a forklift and smash open, revealing its contents. Then he'd know what was so important...