NationStates Jolt Archive

(OOC: This is semi-open. TG if you want in.)

Governmental Quarters, Luxembourg

The sun slowly rose above the trees, glancing off the many domes that had been used to construct the Nei Groussherzögliches Palast, illuminating the buildings in the Governmental Quarters. It was calm at the checkpoint that offered access to the most important buildings in Van Luxemburg; The nightshift guard, that were a few hours from being relieved, were tired, and only checked vehicles on random. Sole Marechaussees wandered around the checkpoint, talking with one another. On the ground, Lieutenant en Premier Armand Welfring sat in his checkpoint booth, reading a magazine issued by the Military Trade Union. He was more asleep than busy reading his magazine, and one of the other Marechaussees had left the radio on, blaring it’s hit music through the booth.

Only few vehicles were on the road at this hour of day, and the few vehicles that passed the checkpoint, were known to the Marechaussees. Ministerial vehicles, guards that relieved others from their shift, employees that needed to ready offices for the coming day, amongst others. From out of the distance, three old Renault Master vans approached, following a line that would take them to one of the center booths of the checkpoint. The vans were familiar, since they were used by the cleaners of the Governmental Quarters, and arrived around this time everyday. The vans slowed down, and the first in line perfectly halted in front of the barrier, while the driver winched down the window manually. Like waking up from a long sleep, the Marechaussee in the booth yawned, before returning to his job.

‘Goodmorning, May I have your ID and access passes please?’

He looked up from his magazine, and looked right in the barrel of a Glock 17 pistol, aimed directly for his head. The Marechaussee stiffened, his view centered on the weapon, his hands trying to reach out for the panic button located under his desk. The driver of the van maintained his facial expression, but became somewhat annoyed by the reaction from the policing soldier.

‘Van Luxemburgians…’ he mumbled, gesturing the Marechaussee to open up the gate, that remained closed, and to do it quickly.

Eventually, the Marechaussee reached the panic button, and was able to push it. However, he was confused what to do now. If he would pull his pistol aswell, he would most certainly be killed. If he would open the gate, the vans would escape. Suddenly, he realized his desk was made out of steel, and could offer some protection for him to pull out his pistol and get back to the action again. He then ducked away under the table, while several alarm bells began to blare throughout the checkpoint; The security team had realized what had happened by glancing over the monitor, which showed video imaging of the respective booth.

As soon as the passengers of the three vans understood what was happened, they leaped into action. Doors slid open, armed men jumped out of the back of the vans, and opened fire upon every government official they could get into their sights. Their weaponry was diverse, with arms ranging from pistols to Light MG’s, from snipers to shotguns. However, it was clear that the men were well-trained, and able to aim for and hit their targets. While Marechaussees and Police officers stormed out of their respective booths and offices to get to the armoury, the skilled men sprayed the area with hundreds, if not thousands of bullets, while the opposing troops could only sporadically return fire, thanks to their heavy weaponry being stored away in a locked armoury vault. While most of the troops tried to stay under cover and away from the gunfire to return fire during certain moments of calmth, Welfring had stormed out of his booth, commanding his troops on the checkpoint grounds, while calling up reinforcements, only to find out his radio had been killed off by a single shotgun shot. When he tried to leave his guardhouse, he was barely able to take cover again, in the same guardhouse. A complete Assault Rifle magazine shattered the glass around him, raining down onto the ground.

‘Shit! All, retreat to the main checkpoint building! To the main checkpoint building!’ Welfring shouted, in an attempt to regroup his men, while trying to be heard above the gunfire that sounded everywhere. He knew that, if they could get to the vault and their heavy weaponry, it would be all over for the unknown men that attacked them. When he looked up, trying to orientate himself, he was welcomed once again by a hail of bullets coming from the same Assault Rifle. As he buried his face almost into the ground again, he realised that they wouldn’t stand a chance with only their usual loadout, a single SIG-Sauer P250 pistol. If he could reach the armoury, he would get a hold of an Assault Rifle himself, allowing him to cover his own troops, and let them get their heavy weapons aswell. Slowly, but surely, he crawled out of the booth, using the bottom parts of the booth as cover. He slowly rose from the ground, still walking under cover from the booth. Then, he quickly crossed one of the gate positions, quickly taking cover behind the next booth. Here, he found a Sergeant, still recovering from the sudden action. This sergeant had been introduced several weeks before, and Welfring still didn’t know a lot about the man.

‘Good to see you, Blech. First time I’m saying this. Back to business. Cover me, I’m trying to reach the armoury. Aim for the men with the heaviest weapons first, got that?’

Blech seemed somewhat confused, and replied.

‘But.. Sir… I.’

‘There is no but to this assignment, Sergeant. You do it, or you will be shot by our attackers.’
Welfring, still breathing heavily from all the action, though it would probably be both, but failed to mention that to Blech. The sergeant now nodded, and slowly rose from his position, bringing his P250 up to his face, in order to aim properly. He fired two shots, before running towards the corner of the booth, and taking cover there. Meanwhile, Welfring sprinted towards the next booth, only to be followed by a series of shotgun projectiles. He instinctively ducked behind the booth, which was shattered by the shotgun projectiles only moments later. When he looked up, in order to return fire, he saw that the shotgun wasn’t originally meant for him, but for the sergeant he had just ordered to cover him. Laying on the ground, Blech stretched his arms in the direction of his pistol, which he had dropped several metres away. His stomach had been teared apart by the heavy buckshot, and it seemed if the man cried from pain, still desperately trying to get to his pistol, in order to stick to his mission. No matter how much Welfring wanted to look away from Blech, he couldn’t. When he finally managed to, Blech was still alive, and Welfring feared he would still be for a while. However. Welfring had to move on. Sprinting from one booth to another, occasionally taking cover behind other objects, he reached the main building, running towards the back of it, attempting to reach the vault. Opening a door in the back, he almost immediately ran up against two other Marechaussees, who were trying to breach the vault doors by using their full body weights, and the vault also showed traces of attempt to open the vault by shooting the lock, which apparently didn’t work.

‘What are you trying to do for God’s sake?’
While one of the MP’s tried to open the vault again, the other explained their problem to Welfring.

‘The Vault is locked. We have no idea what the problem is, but it remains locked, even after we’ve entered the code. I’m afraid we need a plasma cutter, or anything like that.’

The MP’s attempt, most likely one out of many, completely failed, and the vault door remained closed. Welfring cursed, and stored his SIG-Sauer away, since he thought he’d probably be here for a while.

Nei Groussherzogliches Palast, Luxembourg

Small groups of men and women, armed with all sorts of weaponry and protected by bulletproof vests and helmets, while being clothed in a simple black gear, descended from the main Palace stairs, while a small convoy of armoured luxury vehicles awaited below. These troops, headed by former SSR Colonel and Commander Martin Laval, were the Grand Duke’s private security forces. The Grand-Ducal Guard, as they were simply called, had been called into action after the Marechaussees guarding the Palace Main Gate had heard gunfire in the direction of the Governmental Quarters. The Grand-Ducal Guard, referred to by some as the GDG or GG, consisted mostly of ex-SSR operatives, Van Luxemburg’s most elite unit. They had received extra training in the art of security of VIP’s, and were now used by the Grand Duke to form his inner ring of protection. Now, they would be employed to see what was going on at the Governmental Quarters, and their vehicles had been prepared to leave. Series of armoured VLT L7’s, Mercedes-Benz S65 AMG’s, Alpina B7’s, Maserati Quatttroportes and Fiat Scudos were parked below the stairs of the Grand-Ducal Palace, their engines left running. The Guards had already been split up in the correct groups, and knew what they had to do. The vehicles immediately drove away, heading away in the direction of the Main Gate, but suddenly diverted onto another road on the Palace Grounds, heading into a tunnel, heading to the Governmental Quarters. The vehicles drove quickly, sticking to the speed of the slowest vehicles in the convoy, the Fiats. The vehicles travelled underneath a part of Luxembourg that was placed in a small valley gorge, and then climbed upwards again, making the steep climb towards the Governmental Quarters. Since the GDG was a privately-owned team, the vehicles couldn’t use any sirens, but had received the exclusive right to use the blue warning lights also used by Van Luxemburgian Emergency Services, aswell as the Marechaussee. Now, it was the time to use those rights. The small convoy catapulted past several buildings, which were all devoid of human habitation at this time of hour, being several office buildings belonging to the van Luxemburgian Government. At this time of day, the streets were empty, and only few parked vehicles awaited the new day to come.

Laval looked out of his car, and right onto the ministries they would have to save, according to the vague orders he had given himself. Martin sat in the first vehicle from the convoy, an Alpina B7, and prepared his weapon, an FN SCAR-H, to be used in battle. As he saw the buildings fly by, he counted the seconds until what he estimated would be the moment of arrival.

‘Five….’

The Ministry of Defence flashed by, followed by an empty street corner, illuminated by a single streetlight.

‘Four…’

Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and a small field of parked cars.

‘Three…’

The Ministry of General Affairs passed by even faster than the last two, being considerably smaller.

‘Two….’

Ministry of Traffic, followed by another empty street, which was considerably wider than the last intersecting road.

‘One…’

The scenery changed to empty grasslands, offering a direct view upon the checkpoint, where three vans were parked behind a single barrier. A rather large group of men walked around them, carrying weapons that would not be freely available to Van Luxemburgian citizens.
Throwing the vehicle around the empty piece of asphalt, the Alpina-BMW parked with it’s front towards the checkpoint, allowing it’s passengers to use the doors as cover, while coming into action….

RTVLI 24(Radio and Television Van Luxemburg International, 24 hours news broadcaster)
Teletext
GUNFIRE IN GOVERNMENTAL QUARTERS

LUXEMBOURG – Reports are coming in from Luxembourg, saying that the sound of gunfire has been heard around the Governmental Quarters. It is yet unknown what is happening, the Grand-Ducal Police in Luxembourg has yet to comment on the event. *UPDATED NEWS YET UNAVAILABLE*

Checkpoint, Governmental Quarters

Rising above the door of the Alpina-BMW, Laval pointed his SCAR-H in the direction of the three vans, before firing a set of three shots into the windshield of the first vehicle, critically wounding the driver of the vehicle. At that sign, the other guards also fired their weapons, unleashing Armageddon upon the three vans standing at the checkpoint. While his men subjected the three vehicles to a flood of bullets of all sorts of calibres, Martin himself picked up a HK69 Grenade Launcher from the back seat of the B7, collapsing the shoulder stock, and aiming shortly, before firing it’s projectile into the first van. The vehicle seemed to leap backwards, before the bonnet opened because of the blast, blowing right through the windscreen. A fireball rose from the engine compartment, tearing apart the rest of the vehicle, exploding the petrol tank only milliseconds later. From the checkpoint side, only the trusted sound of the Marechaussee’s P250’s now sounded, then accompanied by the sound of the 4-cilinder engine taking off at full speed. Laval watched as the last Renault van tried to flee, in which the vehicle seemed successful. From out of the distance, Lieutenant Welfring came running towards the guards, waving and gesturing one of their vehicles should follow the fleeing van. Laval realised he would have to get his troops together, in order to get every last attacker.

‘Right, Fiedler, Lapierre and Magana go with me, aswell as you, Lieutenant.’

He pointed towards Welfring, which nodded.

‘The rest takes care of the dead and wounded here. Make sure no news team reaches the spot before law enforcement does. Got that?’

A quick salute from the remaining troops indicated they understood, and immediately went to work. The men he had called quickly ran up to Laval, which quickly walked around the Alpina, in order to get to the driver’s position. However, he was stopped by a large pool of oil and water laying under the vehicle, flooding out under the vehicle. The front of the car had been teared up by several bullets, which had supposedly penetrated the oil reservoir and the radiator.

‘Shit…’

Laval quickly looked around, and saw one of the guards’ other cars, a Maserati Quattroporte.

‘We’ll take that one.’

Laval quickly jumped into the Maserati, accompanied by the men he had chosen to take with him. Immediately after the last door had been closed, the vehicle accelerated as quickly as possible, leaving tire marks on the asphalt. Storming through one of the checkpoint lanes, the vehicle rammed through the gate, that had remained closed since there was no-one to open it. Since the Maserati was more powerful and had better acceleration times, it already neared the Renault van as they crossed the Pont Rouge, but couldn’t overtake nor stop it, when the van made the corner onto the Avenue Victor Hugo, heading straight into the old city centre of Luxembourg. The Maserati followed, causing it’s passengers to hold on tight, since the vehicle almost made a full 360 degree turn, which Laval barely prevented. Since the morning was calm, and the day was a regular Saturday morning, not much traffic was to be seen in the streets, and the van could be easily tracked in the empty streets. However, the driver of the Renault seemed to know where he was going, and managed to outrun the Four-door Maserati everytime, even while the Quattroporte was considerably faster. Closely running behind, the chase went on through streets that became narrower and narrower, sometimes nearly hitting the occasional pedestrian or pedestrian zone roadblocks.

Time passed by, and Welfring slowly became annoyed by the van, that was able to pull away from them everytime.

‘Give me that HK69!’ he shouted above the engine sound to Laval, which was busy concentrating on his driving. From the back seat, Fiedler handed him the grenade launcher, which had been reloaded and ready to fire. Pushing the button to open the sunroof of the vehicle, he rose up from his seat and established his feat on both the center console and the side of the seat, aiming the HK69 closely. His plan was however torn to pieces by the attackers in their Renault, when they answered his action by opening the door of the Renault, and emptying an entire M4 magazine on the Maserati that followed them. Welfring immediately ducked down, holding himself tight to the headrest, so he wouldn’t fall over. From out of the back of the Maserati, the rifle fire from the Renault was answered by the brute force from a FN Minimi and a SIG 550, opening up on the rear door of the Renault, puncturing them like it was paper. The two vehicles now headed towards the Pont Adolphe, closely trailing eachother while trying to make their bullets hit target. As the vehicles crossed the Pont Adolphe, Welfring had found his position again, and got to chance to aim the HK69.

‘Take this….’

He fired the HK69, but was thrown off by a small steering correction by Laval, making the grenade swerve somewhat to the left, causing it to explode only a small distance next to the Renault, which was thrown to the right by the force of the explosion. The van topped over, but hit the railing of the bridge, while sliding on. It hit a small park bench, which caused the van to flip forwards and hit the railing again, this time being pushed over by the bench. The Renault fell down some 50 metres, slamming onto the top of some trees in the small valley below. The Maserati braked hard, and ended up sideways near the end of the bridge. Storming out of the vehicle, Lapierre and Fiedler ran towards the bridge railing, before emptying their weapons on the van, that had crashed in the treetops below.

‘I want the entire Pont Adolphe locked down. Surrounding area aswell. Police must be here as quickly as possible. Out.’ Laval shouted in the portable radio he had, making contact with the Police. For now, it was all over.

From zeitongmateneen.vl:

FAILURE
Governmental Quarters attacked by yet unknown terrorists

http://www.destentor.nl/multimedia/archive/00465/sluisoefening_465994b.jpg
A special security unit from the Marechaussee guards a bridge object near Luxembourg.

LUXEMBOURG – Early this morning, yet unknown terrorists attacked the Marechaussee checkpoint in the Governmental Quarters in Luxembourg, Van Luxemburg. It is yet unknown if there are any deaths, or who the terrorists were.

‘On the early morning, three vans have stopped over near the Checkpoint, and have attacked the Marechaussees guarding the point. A firefight followed, with support from other intervention units. Eventually, the threat has been removed, and the Marechaussee has cleared the area.’ According to Marechaussee PR-chief Gaston Schiltz, who was the only one available for comments at the moment. Little is known about what happened in the Governmental Quarters, and every Government agency is refusing to comment on our questions.

From what we know, terrorists have attacked the checkpoint in the early morning, and surprised the Marechaussees, which could offer little resistance, due to their light equipment. Eventually, the terrorists have been killed with the aid of an additional Marechaussee unit, unknown from where. No deaths or wounded have been reported, but the Marechaussee is giving away very little at this moment. Currently, the Governmental Quarters and a large part of the Old City Centre of Luxembourg is locked down; it is yet unknown why old Luxembourg has also been locked down. Currently, important positions in or near Luxembourg are guarded by Marechaussee, Military and Police units. Inside the Governmental Quarters and Old Luxembourg, EOD units seem to be searching for explosives. Armoured vehicles block off major entry roads into Luxembourg, and jetfighters patrol the skies today.

It is yet unknown who the terrorists are. Some say that this might be the work of the GLM, the Guyanan Liberation Movement, but Marechaussee PR-Chief Schiltz thinks that this is not the case. ‘The IVD has reported around 1 year ago that the GLM is defunct, and completely crippled. It is impossible that they can set up such a well-organised assault, seeing their last, amateurish actions.’







Later that day….

An Open Letter to the Van Luxemburgian Government

While your intelligence may think we have completely vanished, we are not. We can’t be taken out. We will always survive. This attack has been a demonstration of the new us. We will terrorise, we will kill, we will be merciless. You, the weak of the earth, must have thought you were safe, now that the Guyana Islands have been completely sucked up into the vile wheel of capitalism, packaged in fake socialism. Do not worry, we still have enough support, as long as there are people in this evil world that would like to see you go. Your lives will become a misery, a shadow of what it used to be. You will live in fear, in agony, of what is to come. Your streets will not be safe, nor will be your houses, nor your high-tech bunkers. We will get everywhere, like a merciless Pest that will murder every soul, every trace of Van Luxemburgian civilization. You cannot please us, you cannot work with us, you cannot go against us. We will always remain, till the end of times. Armaggedon will reach you, Luxembourg will be no more than a bit of rubble. Like this attack, there will be many more. Watch us, Fear us, but you cannot kill us.

Signed,

The GLM.

Esch-sur-Alzette, Luxembourg, Van Luxembourg.

It was a rare thing for Izistani operatives to actually conduct operations in foreign countries these days reflected Ingio Grafenwalder, especially a agent of the Strategic Technical Services Agency. The STSA was a so called black agency, and what little he knew of it came from his handlers in Izistan. Some said it had been established during the reign of the Directorate, others said it dated back to the Robertson administration. Regardless, it was under the direct control of the Imperator, and he had been warned that success in his duties was necessary for his continued survival. He had been recruited barely a year ago, a It supervisor working for an Izistani software house, not long after accepting the job offer the company had shifted him to a overseas position, a very comfortable position, in Van Luxembourg itself. He had lived well and rather care free until the message had been left on his private email server run out of Willink, one set up just for this occasion.

The message hadn’t stated much; merely that he was to negotiate with the GLM (a chill ran up his spine at this point, negotiating with terrorists was something he had not expected) in regards to GLM purchase of Izistani or Havenic Trading Company supplied weaponry (they’d sent along a catalog), and possible Izistani assistance. Just recalling that last line made his head hurt, what the Christ was the STSA playing at? Something was afoot here, and it sure wasn’t mere human kindness towards an oppressed people.

So here he was, sitting in a seedy motel in a seedy part of town. Nothing beyond his clothing (bought locally), a laptop (with various fun cryptographic applications and such built into the Linux distro), and a Mekugian designed CSP 2 9mm automatic hidden under a pillow with a round chambered (safety on of course) with a fat black pipe of a suppressor screwed into the threaded barrel. He’d retrieved it from a dead drop at noon; obviously he wasn’t the only agent present in Van Luxembourg. Terrorists, after all, were terrorists.
The email had also stated that the GLM had been contacted, and he would be met by them. How they’d gotten word to them he neither knew nor cared about. He was focused on getting this job done and his ass out of here. He glanced at the alarm clock, they’d arrive any minute now…

Esch-sur-Alzette, Luxembourg, Van Luxemburg

As Sébastien Sevier stepped out of his car, a VLT L5, while he searched in his right pocked for both his pistol and a cigarette. While he lighted his cigarette, the 27-year old male thought about what was going to happen. He had been told it was a relatively easy mission, but he knew about the habits of the GLM. He had already heard his leader saying that he thought that ‘everything is possible, until things get too hard’. This was typical for the GLM, which now was as active as it was years before.

‘You stay behind, I’m going in. Remember, when I don’t return within an hour, get out of here.’

His companion nodded, and returned to the car they both arrived with. Meanwhile, Sébastien stepped into the hotel, looking around the old and degraded lobby. He checked for his pistol once again, since a feeling started to rise that this might have been a bad idea. Looking over the somewhat empty lobby, he took a small picture out of his pocket, showing an Izistani person, which he would need to meet here. After looking out over the lobby for one last time, he finally saw the man, and slowly walked over to him. Using a codeword that had been given to him by his leader.

‘Esch-sur-Alzette is such a dangerous place, don’t you think?’

Using the codeword, ‘Dangerous’, he announced himself to the Izistani man, and took a seat opposite to him.

‘I believe you had something for me to feel more secure, correct?’ He spoke, clearly articulating every word, while still keeping his voice somewhat down, in order to avoid anyone else, outside them, hearing what he said.

IVD Headquarters, Chateau Vianden

Eric Kappel leaned over his new car, a Maserati Quattroporte, to clean the windscreen. It had been the second car this year, after his last Audi S8 had been demolished in an unfortunate accident. His colleague, Ellis de Vries, looked from a distance, and sighed. She still didn’t understand what men enjoyed about cars, to make it a hobby of theirs. Both stood in the underground garage of the IVD’s Headquarters, Chateau Vianden. Since most cars were on duty, the garage was silent, and only few cars inhabited it.

‘Come on, move it. That windscreen is clean by now. We must go.’

‘Yes, yes. I just like to see where I’m going.’

‘The thing is still in the dealer’s wax! It’s still new and shiny! You have driven 10 kilometres with it!’

‘Still… There was a bug on it.’

‘Van Luxemburgians and their cars. It’s just that I am one, otherwise I’d curse at them.’

Eric wanted to reply, but was interrupted by his mobile phone ringing. After answering the call, he spoke with the person on the other side of the phone line for a minute, before laying the phone away in the Maserati, and getting in.

‘We need to get to the Federal Traffic Service immediately. They say they have found out something.’

An hour later, Bettembourg

Seated in a rather empty office on the second floor of the FTS Building, Eric and Ellis were looking into the FTS vehicle database, together with an FTS official. The Federal Traffic service, responsible for the registration of all vehicles in Van Luxemburg, had been looking into the details of the Renault vans that were used in the attack on the checkpoint, and the IVD had been called in to see what the FTS had found out.

‘As you can see, all three Renault vans are owned by a single person. He has bought them around a month ago, and there’s nothing wrong with the cars, as you can see. The thing is, the owner, going by the name of Didier Savard, doesn’t show up in any registration database. I guess he owns forged papers, and he’s part of the GLM.’

‘I see. Where did he buy those vans?’ Ellis asked, sitting down after looking at the monitor.

‘A company in the Provence. I’ll give you the address, if you want to check it out.’ The official answered, ordering his PC to print the details of the company that had sold the three vans.

‘Perfect. We’ll head over there immediately.’ Eric said, standing up from his chair immediately.

OOC: Sorry about the late post. Had finals and procrastination to deal. And I'll be gone for the next five days on top of it all (fishing up north).

"I have just the thing. How do vintage hard calibers strike your fancy?"

“Vintage hard caliber” being the correct response to the code phrase (and common Izistani lingo for a firearm), Grafenwalder passed his laptop to Sevier, browser open to a HTML version of Izistani “services” and “products”, the low contrast screen preventing passerby’s from seeing what was on the monitor. The products available were absolute myriad; from arsenal restored antique bolt action rifles to the latest gyrojet freefall service arm (“Guaranteed to defeat spacesuit armor! Negligible recoil!” screamed the tagline), scantily clad women held anti-material rifles in suggestive poses. The services page made mention of training, even assistance by Special Forces.

Grafenwalder surveyed the scene carefully.

“Listen friend. I hate to say it, but this place is a bit too open for my tastes. I’ve already secured a room, swept it for bugs and the usual precautions. Hell, I’ve even planted some surveillance devices of my own to give us a heads up in case trouble shows. How about we head there and conduct our business in a somewhat more informal matter? Besides, I’m sure you’ve got friends with guns and the means to summon them in the unlikely case I’m not who you think I am. So what do you say?”

FOR: Grand Duke Koen van Luxemburg of Van Luxemburg
FROM: Minister of Foreign Affairs Jamie Bladen of the Kingdom of Romandeos
RE: Diplomatic Mission and Concern about a Growing Terrorist Problem

Greetings,

I have been tasked with writing this message to you because my sovereign has observed a highly disturbing terrorist movement growing in Van Luxemburg recently, and while thus is likely well within Van Luxemburg’s ability to contain, valuable contracts Romandeos’s leadership have entered into recently have led my sovereign to feel Romandeos is obligated to extend the hand of friendship to Van Luxemburg.

My sovereign requests that you grant us permission to send a small diplomatic mission to initiate contact between Romandeos and Van Luxemburg.

Highest Regards,
MFA Jamie Bladen, the Kingdom of Romandeos

(OOC: Finally, I finished it.)

While Sevier almost drooled over the low-contrast monitor of the laptop, he realised what Grafenwalder said. The Izistani man was right, the lobby of a hotel was way too exposed to buy and sell military-grade arms, especially in a country where arms dealing was restricted, and imprisonment was often imposed on those that did.

'You're right. We're exposed here. I gladly accept your proposal.' Sébastien answered at a low tone, while looking around the hotel lobby.

Jouques, Provence

In the small streets of the old town, the Maserati slowly maneuvered past parked cars towards the end of the street. There, the street would lead onto a B-road, which stretched across the region as a long piece of string, spread out as evenly as possible, connecting all towns. The Maserati Quattroporte had to visit a small company specialising in second hand cars, which would be somewhere across the road. Inside the vehicle, two IVD agents occupied the front two seats, tired of the long ride.

‘This building, here. It matches the address’ De Vries said, comparing the address on her paper and on the building.

Kappel quickly parked the Maserati in a small and deserted parking lot, after which the two agents got out. The building which they had to visit was in a bad state of repair, actually nothing more than a shack built out of stone rubble; It’d need to be badly renovated if one wanted to seriously live in it. As soon as the two agents stepped closer, an old man appeared from the shack, limping towards the parking lot. He passed by several wrecks, which presumably still had to be sold as cars, rather than scrap iron. Several other cars were covered in a thick layer of dust, letting one wonder if this business would ever be enough for the owner to make a living out of it.

‘Monsieur, IVD. We would like to see your sales registries’ Kappel shouted, while waving his IVD identification.

The old man came closer, and looked at the ID before gesturing the two IVD agents to follow. He took them inside the shack, where an old Pentium MMX executed an MS DOS programme. The man inserted some data, without saying anything to the IVD agents. After the PC had been calculating and searching for a minute, the monitor began to show a huge list of data. The old man stepped away, and allowed the IVD agents to see. Kappel turned to the old man, pointing at the monitor.

‘We’re looking for three Renault Master vans, sold around a month ago.’

The man nodded, and walked back to the PC. He scrolled down to his last sales, which showed three cars of the same type. Still without saying anything, he pointed at them.

‘With the address of the buyer? Your administration is impressive, sir.’

Kappel noted the address of the buyer, and it’s name. Again, the name Didier Savard appeared, belonging to the buyer of the vans. This time, his address also showed up, being a house outside Grambois, also in the Provence.

A few minutes later..

‘This should be it. A plot of land outside the village, which can be accessed by an unpaved dirt road. House, well, it’s more a villa, built in 2003. Pool and lake are near. The plot of land is approximately 40 hectares big. No interesting details, besides the villa on it. The owner is a certain Patrick Sevier, which exists apparently, and is registered to that address. I’ve got no idea if he’s the same person as Didier Savard, we’ll need to check that out. Might stay low there, it’s rather open and exposed around the house.’ Ellis said, while she sat in the car with her laptop opened up. The computer showed some data about the entered address, coming from various databases owned by several government instances.

‘We’ll have to talk it over with Lindstrom, before we go there. Maybe we better send an observation team over, I don’t want to get noticed before we can confirm it’s a GLM stronghold.’ Kappel answered, while starting the V8-powered Maserati.

‘Agreed. Back to Vianden, it is.’

CONFIDENTIAL

FROM: Grand Duke Koen van Luxemburg
TO: Minister of Foreign Affairs Jamie Bladen of the Kingdom of Romandeos
SUBJECT: RE: Diplomatic Mission and Concern about a Growing Terrorist Problem

Dear Mr. Bladen,

Your gesture of friendship is, ofcourse, accepted. We would be most honoured to work together. Therefore, your diplomatic mission is very welcome. Your people will receive the utmost of care and protection, in these potentially dangerous times, and will therefore be welcomed by members of the Grand-Ducal Guard upon arrival in Van Luxemburg.

Signed,

Koen van Luxemburg
Grand Duke of Van Luxemburg

FOR: Grand Duke Koen van Luxemburg of the Grand Duchy of Van Luxemburg
FROM: Minister of Foreign Affairs Jamie Bladen of the Kingdom of Romandeos
RE: Diplomatic Mission Dispatched

Greetings again,

I and my monarch are pleased to learn that you have accepted our proposal, and a mission has been organized and will be dispatched forthwith.

Highest Regards,
MFA Jamie Bladen, the Kingdom of Romandeos

************

Her Majesty’s Ambassador to the Grand Duchy of Van Luxemburg, a new title, not given in past to anybody in the Romandeosian Foreign Office, because it was not necessary was less than two days in to its existence being treated like the most important diplomatic post in existence, next, perhaps, to Ambassador to Sarzonia.

Few knew why. Among those few was Victoria Diana Langley, the person chosen to hold it first, and lead the diplomatic mission. She had special directions from the Queen’s hand instructing her on a secret message she was to convey. The sealed document carrying said important secret message was locked in the armored attaché case she carried as she sealed her office in the MFA building and walked down the hallway.

“Vicky!” The voice called out almost immediately. She looked up.

“Oh, hello Denise,” she said in greeting to Denise Zetes, a friend and co-worker who was hurriedly walking toward her, smiling as always.

“Vicky, I think you should hurry. That rude woman from the Army is waiting outside and is threatening to come in here and drag you if you don’t hurry.”

“Is she, now?” asked Langley. She did not know what to think of Major Andrea Sage, the military attaché she had been assigned for the mission. The woman was usually silent and had a professionally respectful attitude toward Langley. The respect was obviously not an incredibly genuine sort, however, not due to any dislike, but because Sage had not known her very long, and had not quite fully taken her measure.

“The scary part is I think she means it!” exclaimed Zetes.

“Well, I’d best hurry along then, hadn’t I?” said Langley, and she did just that, stopping a little while at the front desk, to say goodbye to some friends. When she finally got outside in to the Noonday sun, the limousine waiting to take her to the airport was outside, with a horrible annoyed-looking dark-haired woman in Army undress standing next to it looking like she would have liked to be anywhere else just then.

“Madam Ambassador,” she greeted in a crisp, terse tone.

“Major Sage,” replied Langley. “I understand my pace was beginning to trouble you?”

“You could say that, Madam Ambassador,” responded Sage.

“Well,” said Langley. “I’m here now, so let’s just get going.”

Major Sage nodded, and the journey began.

************

MANY HOURS LATER

Romandeos Airlines Flight 316 was finally approaching Van Luxemburg, carrying within its hull one diplomatic mission…and a few little surprises.

“This is Romandeos Airlines Flight Thee-One-Six calling Luxemburg-Findel Control. We have aboard a formal Diplomatic Mission to the Grand Duchy, and request permission to land as soon as possible. Over.”

Moments later, the response came.

“RA Flight 316, this is LF Control. You are cleared to land at Runway Three. Customs is in position to help you unload any cargo you may have. Over.”

RA Flight 316 moved in to land.

~ Romandeos.

As soon as the flight from Romandeos touched down, it was directed to it’s position outside the main terminal, where several airport employees went to work on the Romandeosian aircraft. Among them were two customs officers. One might see nothing wrong with them, but if one would know the regular employees on Luxembourg-Findel, they would see the customs officers weren’t the regular men that checked every incoming aircraft. In fact, two Grand-Ducal Guards had been disguised as customs, in order to let the more secretive cargo of the aircraft into the country.

Greeting the pilot with a stiff ‘Hello’, the officers immediately walked on to the cargohold, entering the hold by a ladder, installed by the ground crew, which was waiting for the officers to finish their duty.

Meanwhile, the two officers carelessly walked through the cargohold, randomly checking inscriptions on the large, wooden crates placed inside the hold.

‘Are you entirely sure we should not check every crate, and what’s inside of it?’ The lower-ranking of the two said, checking the details of the aircraft on his clipboard again, before he held on to his pistol, placed in the holster placed on his belt, as if he expected that an attack could take place at any moment.

‘Why should we? Do you really think they have put booby-traps inside of it, that explode as soon as we unload them?’ the higher-ranking soldier answered, speaking in a somewhat agitated manner.

‘Ofcourse not. But still, someone will become suspicious’ The other officer answered, now somewhat relaxed.

‘When they do, those crates will be in Wewelsburg for a long, long time. Anyways, I’m calling out the trucks.’

He took a small, handheld radio out of his pocket, which he activated and spoke a few words, before turning the power switch to ‘off’ again. Several minutes later, several trucks appeared. They were civilian-operated DAF XF105’s, although the drivers were part of the Grand-Ducal Guard. Quickly, they loaded all crates which carried a special code, and the vehicles vanished again, soon to be replaced by an VLT L7, which would be used to ferry both Miss Langley and Major Sage to Castle Wewelsburg, the headquarters of the Reebouwuecht, Van Luxemburg’s most experienced Special Forces. As soon as Sage and Langley had been offered a seat, the driver returned to his seat, and the vehicle drove off. For obvious reasons, the vehicle’s suspension had been set to ‘Comfort’, to not stress the two passengers with the unusual sportive suspension in the ‘Sport’ setting. The car headed away from the airfield and took the A1 in the direction of Trier, accelerating to regular Autobahn speeds, 200 km/h plus. It would take at least 2 hours to get to Castle Wewelsburg, according to the drivers’ satellite navigation system.

A few hours later

The L7 slowly drove past the main gate of the Castle, while the two guards there saluted to the passengers of the car. The L7 parked outside the main entry, while two men descended from the stairs of the castle, towards the car. While the driver opened the door of the VLT, both Laval and Pagnotto stood ready to introduce themselves.

“Follow me then.”

The room wasn’t that far into the motel, though it was on the second floor. Once outside Grafenwalder surveyed the hallway, before practically pulling Sevier into the room once he was sure the area was clear. Then it only took a minute to bring the laptop out of hibernation and reenter negotiations.

“So as you can see we offer pretty much any weapon your movement could hope for. If you are interested, we’ve got five thousand units of Doomani assault rifles waiting in a STSA operated warehouse in Mekugi, we’ve got a team sanitizing them as we speak.“

Grafenwalder pointed at another section of the screen as he said this.
“MANPADS, mortars, explosives, hell we could even hook your guys up with a attack helicopter or two. Obviously this would require some training of course, unless we got you some mercenary pilots.”

He cleared his throat with the aid of a conveniently placed bottle of water.

“Now payment wise, it may be prudent to rob a few banks. But I’m told that we can effectively cut out monetary requirements on your part. Once Guyana has been liberated, the allowance of Izistani and select corporations of certain friendly nations to assist in the development of your new national economy. That and your equatorial location makes Guyana ideal for spaceport development, so allowance construction of a aerospace base would be ideal. We’d prefer this later route and we think you would hopefully see it as ideal as well, the economy would be enriched and you’d be under our protection, possibly others.”

He shrugged.

“It may compete with the ideological aims of your organizations, but it’ll bring employment to the people and money to the government, protection too.”

He turned to Sevier with a raised eye brow.

“So what do you think?”

OOC:

Here you go, VL. Sorry it isn't more substantial, but inspiration is lacking.

IC:

Major Sage and Ambassador Langley both climbed into the L7 in silence and secured and locked themselves securely in to the restraints. The vehicle’s sudden acceleration shocked Langley, but Sage just took it in stride without even blinking.

“Something bothering you, Madam Ambassador?” she asked calmly.

“No!” Langley said, just a bit too quickly. “No,” she said, more calmly. “I’m just nervous is all, Major. This is a quite important mission, you know.”

“Ah,” replied Sage with a nod, clearly not believing the Ambassador’s words.

Little more was said as the vehicle continued on to Castle Wewelsburg, Langley trying to keep her nervousness from showing, Sage just being Sage. When the vehicle stopped and it was time to meet their hosts, Langley was still a bit pale. To her credit she performed as her mission demanded, showing almost no other outward sign she was uncomfortable. Sage did not have any problems, standing behind Langley in stoic silence.

“General-Major Laval, Capitaine Pagnotto, a pleasure. I am Ambassador Victoria Langley, and this is Major Andrea Sage, my military attaché.”

~ Romandeos.

OOC:

Is this thing still breathing? Just curious.

~ Romandeos.

(OOC: Yes, although barely. Been busy, you see ;) )

(OOC: Yes, although barely. Been busy, you see ;) )

OOC:

I can understand that. There's no cause to rush, at least not that I'm aware.

~ Romandeos.

Esch-sur-Alzette

Sevier looked at the weaponry, thinking over a few things he had been ordered by the higher-ranking men in the movement.

'We would certainly be interested, this could be a great chance for us to really stop Van Luxemburg dead in it's tracks. Though I'll have to talk with the bosses about the liberation of Guyana Island; they don't like us there after the last liberation we did, you see. If you have one moment, can I use the bathroom here?' Sevier asked, meanwhile taking the opportunity to flip open his cellphone and step inside the bathroom, locking the door behind him and opening up both shower and water tap. Then, he entered the number he wanted to phone.

'Yes?' a dark voice asked on the other side of the line.

'Sevier. I'm here. What about a liberation of Guyana? The Izistani's are asking about it.'

'Excuse me? Who is this?' The other side asked, wondering who was talking.

'Sébastien Sevier. one of your men.'

'I honestly do not know what you are talking about.'

'Oh, shit...' Sevier exclaimed as he saw he had dialled the wrong number. The difference was minor, an 8 instead of a 0, but it wasn't the number he had to call. Instead, he had been connected to someone who knew nothing about the GLM, and now wondered what had happened. In a normal situation, one might think nothing of it, but after the terroristic attack a few days ago, people would most likely be way more cautious. And, because of the lack of communication between him and the higher echelons of the GLM, no codes had been set up for this call, so he had just said what he wanted. Someone in Van Luxemburg now knew everything, and if that person would be cautious enough, he would report it to the police. If they were lucky, they would have a few days before the Police had traced the call, and a complete anti-terrorism team would breach into this hotel. Thing was, he had to keep this silent. No-one should know about this stupidity. Either the Izistani here or one of his own bosses could kill him. But he had to tell it. Otherwise, This man, Grafenwalder, would be tracked down eventually, and arrested or even shot. But if he told it to him, he could be the one that would be shot. It was probably best to say nothing about the wrong number, and just go on. This time, he made the right call.

'Yes?'

'Sevier.'

'Mister Sevier, so good you're calling us. What is it?'

'The Izistani's want to know whether we want to go ahead with an liberation of Guyana.'

'Ofcourse we want to! You idiot! ofcourse!'

The connection was subsequently broken after the man had finished speaking, and Sevier stepped out of the bathroom.

'it is okay with the bosses. They agree.' he said to Grafenwalder, while he sat down on a modest chair.

Luxembourg

Florian Beich had not thought about it moments after he had ended the call, but it could help the police and IVD in their research, this call. After he had taken his phone up again, he entered 1-1-2, and waited what happened.

'Emergency Services, Region Luxembourg, What can I do for you?'

'I just received a dubious call from someone who talked about a liberation of Guyana and Izistani's... I thought that I might report it, it could relate to the GLM, I thought.'

'Thank you sir. We generally don't take these calls serious, but we always like to check them, if you're convinced that it happened. The nearest police station can check who called you for that matter.'

'I already know the number, I just wanted to report it.'

'Then you can report it at the nearest police station. They will check the number and who owns it, etcetera. If you do not mind, I'd like to continue my job, sir.'

'Eh, ofcourse. I won't bother you anymore.' After which Florian ended the conversation. He then walked on to report himself to the nearest police station, which he knew was several blocks away. Though he thought it would be nothing and the police probably couldn't help him any further anyways, he just wanted to report it.

Castle Wewelsburg

'Welcome to Castle Wewelsburg, Miss Langley, Major Sage. You can settle in here. I take it that your gear and men are arriving later on?'

(Sorry, Romandeos, couldn't think of anything more for now. And Izi, don't worry about Grafenwalder, by the time the police come to check out his room, it'll be at least a few days later. And it would still be a single patrol car with two police officers.)

OOC:

Don’t worry about it, VL.

IC:

“Ah…” The Ambassador’s lips twitched in a smile “Arriving later, you say? Well I guess it would be correct to say that, yes. You’ll see them soon.”

Major Sage, to her immense credit, didn’t so much as grin.

“Regarding I and the major’s settling in, that would be a good idea, as I don’t know about my attaché here, but I have a serious case of jet-lag.”

Major Sage remained silent, as before.

Meanwhile, in...a storage crate...

Dragoon Captain Ignacio Miranda grunted and held back the urge to yelp as the crate that he and some others were in was jolted around in what he assumed was Castle Weselburgs loading/unloading dock for shipments and so on. He had trained to get around in very odd kinds of ways, but to be honest he was starting to get annoyed.

~ Romandeos.

[Not dead yet! Just...lazy and writers block. Ugh.]

Grafenwalder nodded. The plan was coming together and soon he’d be able to leave the harder portions of this job up to the other agents. Soon, but not soon enough.

“I’ll pass the word along to my superiors. I’m sure they’ll be very satisfied. I’ll be sure to put some good words in for you as well.”

He paused. That phone call, something struck him as odd about it. But was it really wise to interrogate Sevier about it? He decided against it, it was probably nothing…

“At any rate, I’ve also have been instructed to provide you with this.”

He passed over a USD key drive, a commercial one gigabyte model (or what was inscribed on the casing anyway).

“Please pass this on to your higher ups. It’s loaded with mil-grade crypto and secure communication software. Our techs built secure VOIP and browsing into it. It’s also got a copy of the catalog I showed you on the machine here. And it’s all on a virtual machine, running off the drive. If you wish to contact us further or set up “transactions”, this is the preferred medium. I am after all, a agent, not a salesman.”

He grinned at this, and retrieved a flask of whiskey from the bedside table.

“At any rate, could I offer you a drink?”

OOC:

Hello, all. I've been unable to get online the past few days, JSYK, but I'm back now, and hoping for some action.

~ Romandeos.

(OOC: I'm afraid you'll have to wait for a while: I'll be in Southern France starting tomorrow, ending the 27th of August. Sorry for that.)