Allanea
25-12-2006, 12:22
Somewhere in Allanea
The preparations take time. They will likely take months.
At first, a group of spies is selected – approximately four hundred people. They are taught everything that is known about Vegana – the language, the customs, the laws. Television broadcasts are viewn, teaching people about the personal habits and idiosyncrasies of the locals. The spies are taught to speak with a Veganan accent and to dress like the locals dress – a particularly difficult skill in a nation without dresscodes like Allanea.
By the end of the sixth month, one hundred spies have already quit, having failed parts of the language-training or the martial arts program (also extremely difficult), or just failed to bear the pressure of a 14-hour-per day class. And yet, the program pushes on.
During the Reich war, the spies are evacuated into the Strategic Forts, and they study there, underground. Sixty die during evacuation. The Allaneans just shrug, and the program continues on.
Forty more people flunk the psychological exams.
There are no Veganans to run the final test on. Finally, Bigtopians are located that have been to Vegana before. Their job is to talk to the spies, drink tea with them, converse – and spot the ones that don't behave like locals. Now, only half remain.
Now, only one hudred people are members of Project Epsilon.
This is still too many, but the Allaneans decide – what with the gruesome results of the Reich Conflict – that time of the essence, even if people will die. The spies are separated. Each is told that he, and he alone, is a sole graduate of Project Epsilon.
Now, they cannot betray their comrades. They don't know that their comrades exist. Many will be caught and no doubt tortured, and then executed. It doesn't matter. Officially, the graduates of Project Epsilon are already dead once they enlisted. Their names have been altered, their families notified of death. The usual really.
The question remains how they will get information out. They have been taught several ways, but it's likely many will fail. Such, too, is the price.
The first step is to get people across the border between Allanean Syskeyia, and into Reich Syskeyia (as the media calls it, Free and Slave Syskeyia). Many will die at this stage, some even on Allanean minefields. This is the price, and they will bear it.
The spies – much, much less numerous at this stage already – will attempt to bribe –with Allanean gold, and with various other currencies – their way onto a variety of Veganan ships. Here, too, some people are probably caught. This is the price, as well.
Eventually – one at least hopes – a small handful poor-looking Veganans with tired faces, and rough hands indicating they belong to the lower class, will apply for jobs in Vegana-City –as cleaners, as locksmiths, and so forth. Some – a few who appear slightly more refined –will apply to jobs as clerks, typists, and even low-rank secretaries.
The eagle listens…
ACIA headquarters, Epsilon Launch
“So let me get this clear. You’ve spent money on training up four hundred people. According to what I’ve had here in those files, one needed to have a minimum of 125 IQ to even join, is that right?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And two hundred of those flunked, is that right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“So the money was utterly wasted?”
“Not really. We may yet need their help for something… less important. Less demanding perhaps.”
“Okay. So then you send one hundred people across the border. In two-man groups. And how many will fail?”
“We don’t know.”
They did not really.
* *
Timothy lies down quickly. He seems to have heard a cracking sound – perhaps the sound of a foot on a leaf. Perhaps just a dog loose on No Man’s Land. Maybe a patrol. Nobody knows. He finds it hard not to scream, not to get up and run, simply to squeeze his body into the wet mud of No Man’s Land, not to scream, not to scream, not to scream…
* *
Martha gasps. Behind her, her partner Mathew is collapsing, his foot completely removed – up to the knew – with some form of landmine. He grabs the stump, twitching in the wet mud, screaming in pain. She wants to come back and help him – but it is pointless. And he is screaming too loudly. It’s no point.
Perhaps finish him off? But the patrols must have heard him already. He must be attracting them even now…
And suddenly, she has an idea. A horrible one, that she will regret for the rest of her life.
She moves swiftly and stealthily forward, hoping that the screams of her dying friend will direct the patrols to him – and away from her.
* *
Al-Khamil dies a gruesome, tragic death. He and his partners make some mistake with the map and compass – or perhaps the border line is not very straight, he doesn’t know. He never gets to find out.
He and his partner wander out towards an Allanean machinegun bunker. They look too much like Veganans, it seems.
The static emplacement roars into life.
For these two people, the program is too successful.
* *
Michael and Grethel split up – they need to split up anyway, when they cross the border. They decide that this way is easier. Grethel never finds out how Michael died – but she suspects it was long and torturous.
She is right. Breaking your leg and lying in a ditch for six hours before several starved, feral dogs hear your pained moaning is long, and painful as well.
* *
Lianna proceeds to walk alone for several hours, long after having split with her partner at some point after passing the Allanean minefields. She doesn’t know whether he’s dead or alive, nor does she care. Right now, she presses herself into a split tree trunk, grasping her unmarked pistol, and paling in horror, hoping the passing patrol doesn’t notice her.
* *
Theodore presses himself into cover – two bodies of Allanean spies that have passed this way before him. The rats have passed here, too – there’s no way to find out what killed them, and he doesn’t feel like he wants to. Merciful Lord, don’t let it be the patrols… please…
The preparations take time. They will likely take months.
At first, a group of spies is selected – approximately four hundred people. They are taught everything that is known about Vegana – the language, the customs, the laws. Television broadcasts are viewn, teaching people about the personal habits and idiosyncrasies of the locals. The spies are taught to speak with a Veganan accent and to dress like the locals dress – a particularly difficult skill in a nation without dresscodes like Allanea.
By the end of the sixth month, one hundred spies have already quit, having failed parts of the language-training or the martial arts program (also extremely difficult), or just failed to bear the pressure of a 14-hour-per day class. And yet, the program pushes on.
During the Reich war, the spies are evacuated into the Strategic Forts, and they study there, underground. Sixty die during evacuation. The Allaneans just shrug, and the program continues on.
Forty more people flunk the psychological exams.
There are no Veganans to run the final test on. Finally, Bigtopians are located that have been to Vegana before. Their job is to talk to the spies, drink tea with them, converse – and spot the ones that don't behave like locals. Now, only half remain.
Now, only one hudred people are members of Project Epsilon.
This is still too many, but the Allaneans decide – what with the gruesome results of the Reich Conflict – that time of the essence, even if people will die. The spies are separated. Each is told that he, and he alone, is a sole graduate of Project Epsilon.
Now, they cannot betray their comrades. They don't know that their comrades exist. Many will be caught and no doubt tortured, and then executed. It doesn't matter. Officially, the graduates of Project Epsilon are already dead once they enlisted. Their names have been altered, their families notified of death. The usual really.
The question remains how they will get information out. They have been taught several ways, but it's likely many will fail. Such, too, is the price.
The first step is to get people across the border between Allanean Syskeyia, and into Reich Syskeyia (as the media calls it, Free and Slave Syskeyia). Many will die at this stage, some even on Allanean minefields. This is the price, and they will bear it.
The spies – much, much less numerous at this stage already – will attempt to bribe –with Allanean gold, and with various other currencies – their way onto a variety of Veganan ships. Here, too, some people are probably caught. This is the price, as well.
Eventually – one at least hopes – a small handful poor-looking Veganans with tired faces, and rough hands indicating they belong to the lower class, will apply for jobs in Vegana-City –as cleaners, as locksmiths, and so forth. Some – a few who appear slightly more refined –will apply to jobs as clerks, typists, and even low-rank secretaries.
The eagle listens…
ACIA headquarters, Epsilon Launch
“So let me get this clear. You’ve spent money on training up four hundred people. According to what I’ve had here in those files, one needed to have a minimum of 125 IQ to even join, is that right?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And two hundred of those flunked, is that right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“So the money was utterly wasted?”
“Not really. We may yet need their help for something… less important. Less demanding perhaps.”
“Okay. So then you send one hundred people across the border. In two-man groups. And how many will fail?”
“We don’t know.”
They did not really.
* *
Timothy lies down quickly. He seems to have heard a cracking sound – perhaps the sound of a foot on a leaf. Perhaps just a dog loose on No Man’s Land. Maybe a patrol. Nobody knows. He finds it hard not to scream, not to get up and run, simply to squeeze his body into the wet mud of No Man’s Land, not to scream, not to scream, not to scream…
* *
Martha gasps. Behind her, her partner Mathew is collapsing, his foot completely removed – up to the knew – with some form of landmine. He grabs the stump, twitching in the wet mud, screaming in pain. She wants to come back and help him – but it is pointless. And he is screaming too loudly. It’s no point.
Perhaps finish him off? But the patrols must have heard him already. He must be attracting them even now…
And suddenly, she has an idea. A horrible one, that she will regret for the rest of her life.
She moves swiftly and stealthily forward, hoping that the screams of her dying friend will direct the patrols to him – and away from her.
* *
Al-Khamil dies a gruesome, tragic death. He and his partners make some mistake with the map and compass – or perhaps the border line is not very straight, he doesn’t know. He never gets to find out.
He and his partner wander out towards an Allanean machinegun bunker. They look too much like Veganans, it seems.
The static emplacement roars into life.
For these two people, the program is too successful.
* *
Michael and Grethel split up – they need to split up anyway, when they cross the border. They decide that this way is easier. Grethel never finds out how Michael died – but she suspects it was long and torturous.
She is right. Breaking your leg and lying in a ditch for six hours before several starved, feral dogs hear your pained moaning is long, and painful as well.
* *
Lianna proceeds to walk alone for several hours, long after having split with her partner at some point after passing the Allanean minefields. She doesn’t know whether he’s dead or alive, nor does she care. Right now, she presses herself into a split tree trunk, grasping her unmarked pistol, and paling in horror, hoping the passing patrol doesn’t notice her.
* *
Theodore presses himself into cover – two bodies of Allanean spies that have passed this way before him. The rats have passed here, too – there’s no way to find out what killed them, and he doesn’t feel like he wants to. Merciful Lord, don’t let it be the patrols… please…