NationStates Jolt Archive

The Stars shined in the night sky and reflected of the still waters of the Sea of The Battlehawk. The Calm tranquillity of the Water is split as the Bow of a Cruiser cut through the Water. THe Cruiser of the Battlehawk Navy, the RBS Swallow, the latest ship out of the construction yards was on her first assignment, home waters duty, as all Battlehawk Navy ships do. The Ships Commanding Officer, Captain James Johnson stood in the bows and watched as the ship cut through the water. The PA system suddenly announced:
"Captain to the Bridge!"

<RBS Swallow>
<Bridge>

"Report" James requested.
"We've picked up a ship just entered our waters, they're not cleared" The XO, COmmander Yanto Riggs commented.
"Alter course to intercept"
Unidentified Vessel this is the RBS Swallow, you have illegailly entered Battlehawk waters, heave to and prepare to be boarded by an inspection team

Bump

OOC: The people that trade with you must have a hell of a time getting to you if your board any individual ship that desn't have clearance that enters your waters...

OOC: Actually the Battlehawk Admistration for Trade and the Navy Liason are very effective at ensuring all trading ships are cleared in advance

OOC: I certainly hope you haven't planned too far into this thread. :P

It's standard military procedure to treat everything as suspicious. But there are some passengers or ships or packages for which that's only a formality; they're the type of passenger or ship or package which can't possibly be anything but innocent. Friendly parents with well-behaved young children and a new puppy. Brightly lit fishing vessels commanded by grizzled old seadogs with twinkly smiles. Little cardboard boxes with stickers and handwritten addresses, tied up with string and ribbons.

This is the other kind of ship. There was a good reason for the Battlehawkians to be suspicious, even if it wasn't a logical reason: the ship was painted black, low-profiled and hard to detect on radar; it had no or few lights; along its deck there were areas that had been covered up hastily with tarpaulins, tied with ropes as though concealing something. If there was an archetypical smugglers' ship, this was it, albeit somewhat newer and shinier-looking than average.

Of course, it was probably here for some completely innocent reason. Probably.

On its main computer screens a young man assessed the situation thoughtfully. Naval cruisers on routine patrol duties? Interesting. He slowed the ship until the lights of the cruiser became distinct on the horizon, and cut the engine entirely, leaving the ship adrift. Throughout this, he sent no radio transmissions; the only acknowledgement of the orders was to follow them. Then he walked out on the deck to await the boarders.

With the engines cut the total silence on board the ship became notable. Only the gentle noise of the sea rocking it could be heard.

OOC: Nope, just seeing how it plays out

IC:

"No responce from the ship" The XO reported "But they have followed our orders"
"Good, put us 100 metres away, get your boarding party into the Blackhawk and prepare to go over" John ordered

The boat was smaller than they'd originally thought. It had no place to land a helicopter and little deck space that was not covered up. The helicopter's blades filled the air with noise, but it was a noise that only served to accentuate a sudden silence left by the cutting of the ship's engines, like a window slamming shut after a crash of thunder.

As the helicopter approached another man came up to join the first. The men in the helicopter could now see that the two men were dressed entirely in black, with their faces obscured by hoods and their hands covered by gloves. The long coats they wore made it difficult to tell even how heavily or lightly they were built, or whether they were armed or not. No skin or facial features were visible.

They did not move. They only watched, dispassionately and without apparent interest.

"I don't like the look of this sir!" One of the Marines shouted over the whur of the rotar blades
"Neither do it, Pilot, fast rope down, advvice the Swallow to prepare a launch to come over and to have main weapons ready" The Team leader shouted as the ropes got thrown out the helicoptor. Seconds later the eight man team was on the ship, weapons raised

The two men watched the team swarm down the ropes without moving from their positions. They watched as the Battlehawkians leveled weapons at them, unflinching. They watched as the helicopter began its return to the cruiser. As the noise receded the second man said something to the first, who leaned over to hear him; the first man nodded once, then turned back to the team leader.

The first man took a single step forward. The helicopter was still audible, and so was the cruiser, but despite the noise the step seemed to resonate with a peculiarly final note. In soft, unaccented English, he said: "Good evening, gentlemen."

He was close enough to see the other man gulp despite himself.

"Please Identify yourselves, you have entered Battlehawk Territiroal waters without authorisation" The Team leader said

The second man again leaned forward and murmured something -- unintelligible to the team leader -- in the first man's ear. The first man seemed to ignore it.

"We are a cargo ship commissioned in.... Kaukolastan's registry." The pause before the nation name seemed calculated rather than accidental, as though daring the team leader to suggest he might be embroidering the truth. "We are carrying a shipment, for--" he named a minor shipping company in a major port city as the recipient. "Certain divisions of your government would not like to see us delayed." This last carried an ominous weight.

OOC: Possible intervention later on; certainly interested.

ooc: could be interesting. give me a bit to get back into this and i might jump in :)

The team leader took in the mans words, he knew it was a gamble with his carrer but
"I'm sorry Gentlemen, but your ship will be escorted back to port where your crew will be questioned and your cargo searched for contriband" The Team leader said "If you resist we shall use force, please place any weapons on the deck and take two steps back"

The first man only nodded once, although not to the team leader. It was to the man behind him, who turned and quickly disappeared into the shadows; in the peculiar silence the team heard a door close. The first man turned back to the team leader, smiled, and unbuttoned his long coat to reveal that he was unarmed. Below the coat he wore a black uniform of some type with no identifying markings.

"You may search the vessel here and now. It should not take long."

There was a certain finality to his voice that indicated that no negotiation would be accepted.

"In that case your under arrest, for entering battlehawk territorial waters without permission and refusing to be escorted to a navy facility" The Team leader said and the 8 man team sprung into an immediate defensive formation, looking all around for trouble "You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something on which you later relaly on in court, anything you do say will be given as evidence

<RBS Swallow>

"Captain, Ensign MacTavishreports they are taking the ship into custody, their Lt is arresting them as we speak, the ensign is advising another chopper incase their are more below deck
"Make it so" James ordered

As the team formed into a circle, floodlights all around them came on with little warning, all of them directed at the members of the team.

Human eyes were not designed to see in darkness. While it is possible for them to become used to the dark, the eyes automatically focus on whatever the greatest source of light is, reducing the focus on the darker areas around it. In this case, the activation of the floodlights made it so that all the soldiers could see was the lights themselves; they could make out no other non-illuminated parts of the ship.

The man's voice was heard from just beyond the circle of light. "Very unwise of you," he said. "You had the opportunity to search the ship and question me to your hearts' content. Stand down your impoundment, and we may still allow you to do so."

Below his voice and the sound of the second chopper starting to lift off the soldiers heard a door open and shut. And there were some other sounds, these unidentifiable and just on the edge of hearing.

"Your forgeting an important peice of information, if you kill us, our fellows in the other chopper will kill you" The team leader commented as the team cocked their weapons "Stand down immediatly and turn the lights off"

"Don't be silly," said the voice. "We're not planning to kill you. That would be stupid and pointless."

Then the deck caved in like a huge trapdoor and dumped the team in.... something. Before their brains could process what their eyes told them the deck-trapdoor slammed shut again, leaving them in pitch darkness. They were in what looked like a cargo hold, and they had landed on a lot of crates, or at least on top of something wooden and boxy. The voice continued, from inside with them.

"And as for the chopper...." there was a pause as the men heard an all-too-familiar sound of missiles launching. "We don't think it'll be much of an issue." There was a muffled explosion from the middle distance, and a few pok poks of shrapnel hitting the side of the hull.

In the ship's control room, a man listening to the live feed from microphone three for a response paused to reflect that it would be pretty cool if they really did have a surface-to-air missile launcher. Installing one, however, would go against the mission objectives; and failing the mission meant death. One way or another.

<In the trap>

"What do we do now?" One of the soldiers asked the team leader as the team switched the tactical flashlights on their weapons.
"Try to escape, the Swallow will fire on the ship for shooting the chopper down" The team leader commented as they all looked around "Look for a door or something"

<ON the chopper>

"WHat happened to the other team!" One Team 2 member asked
"I don't know" Team two's leader replied "But we're not going down there to find out, Pilot, activate the searchlight, Rawlins, get on the 50 cal, everyone else ready weapons. The Chopper appraoched the ship and the searchlight swept the deck.

Looking around, the captured team observed that the floors were covered in crates, scattered apparently randomly. There was writing on the crates, but it was in no alphabet the team members recognized. The room itself was fairly large; looking forwards their torches didn't illuminate quite as far as the end, but looking aft a wall was visible. There was a low door in the wall down on the far right, but it was locked. Apart from the trapdoor entrance, it appeared to be the only way into the hold.

The searchlight swept across the deck, revealing nothing much. The tarpaulins still stretched across large areas of it; the floodlights were turning off one by one, but between their glare and the searchlight it was possible to make out one or two black-clad figures near the superstructure. That was all. The vessel appeared to be unarmed, although what looked like mounts for anti-aircraft guns were spaced evenly along a short distance of the forward deck. No actual guns were visible, though. For that matter, it didn't seem as though anyone on board the ship had any weapons at all. Rather curious for a vessel that regularly traveled long distances through international waters frequented by pirates.

"Anyone got any C4?" The team leader asked and the team began to check their pockets
Eventually "Got one" A young team member said and he began to attach it to the door. The Team took up postions around the door and the TL nodded to the member with the detonator

Unnoticed by the team, the apparently random arrangement of crates was connected by a floorwide network of cables and wires; the triggers attached in turn to these cables were spaced evenly along the walls and doors and inside speakers, all of them difficult to make out in the darkness. Unheard by them, high above, the ship's very small crew set aside what it was doing and moved in an orderly -- and silent -- fashion towards the aft end of the ship, following their commander's lead. At the door to the hold, the canister of C4 detonated.

Boom.

The explosion was bright enough to temporarily blind those on the deck of the cruiser; its shockwave was powerful enough to catch up the second chopper and toss it into the sea like a rag doll; the shrapnel it generated sprayed in all directions at several times the speed of sound. When the ship became visible through the smoke, there was nothing left upon the surface of the water except random wreckage. It appeared there were no survivors. The largest intact chunk of the ship was already sinking rapidly towards the ocean floor.

<RBS Swallow>
"My god" James exclaimed as everyone on the deck of the Swallow eventualy stood up following the explosion and the sharpnel "Launch the SAR boat, contact the home carrier, get them out here"

<RBS Voyager, Home Fleet Carrier>

Captain Katheryn Young, commanding officer of the Home fleet carrier, was in the Command Centre of the ship as the ship received a message from the RBS Swallow.
"Set a course" She ordered and her XO nodded and the ship began to alter it's course "Launch four Talons to fly ahead, get the AEW bird in the air"

Deep under the sea, the descent of the largest intact piece of the ship slowed; perhaps obeying some hidden undersea current, it began to drift out towards international waters. On a level with it, a strange device attached to a long cable began to sink, dropping towards the sea floor. And many kilometers overhead, in orbit, a Tenurian satellite began to move, causing random interference to temporarily plague unshielded electronic systems.

At about 2:30 AM a communication reached the Battlehawk Ministry of Defence.

Official Message [encrypted]

Reports have reached us that a vessel on a secret mission of paramount importance has been destroyed shortly after encountering a naval cruiser operated by you, in highly suspicious circumstances.

Should you not desire this incident to be taken as an act of war, we will require that the area of the incident be subject to a full investigation by us, with no interference from your own military forces; and that full compensation (to an amount to be determined) be paid by your government for the destruction of the vessel.

Further information, upon request, will be provided by the Inquisitor assigned to the investigation once he arrives.

-- Danilov, Oversector 11 moderator

Around the same time a group of several ships departed from an island in the North Atlantic, traveling at about 25 knots.

Offical Reply (Encrypted)

The MOD has already receivevd reports from the ships captain. The Vessel penetrated our waters and our Cruiser intercepted the ship.

Our cruiser set over an inspection team to investigate this unlawful penetration of our soverignty. The Inspection team was meet by un-cooperative crew who appear to have kidnapped our crew.

When suspicions of our own were araised a second chopper was scrambled, before the chopper could investigate the crew of the ship appeared to have set of a large explosive device which downed one of our choppers and moderartly damaged our Cruiser.

You are more than welcome to investigate the incident but you will do so under our careful watch.
If your shps do not comply they will be forcefully removed from battlehawk territorail waters.

END MESSAGE

Encrypted Transmission to Battlehawk Vessels

<USSPP naval probe #07809>

SENSORS INDICATE COMBAT ON SURFACE. YOU ARE CLEARED FOR DEFENSE. DESIGNATE TARGETS. STANDING BY

OOC: What was that about PP?

Official Response [you know the drill]

Ah yes, a report you received from the captain of the vessel under suspicion, who has every reason to play 'pass the blame'. After all, if he was found to be responsible for an international incident of full scale, he would most certainly be court-martialled.

In addition, it seems terribly convenient that an unarmed cargo ship would mysteriously self-destruct -- with all its crew aboard, to boot -- in a way clearly resembling the detonation of several high-end anti-shipping missiles. Peruse the following satellite photographs if you disbelieve us.

-- Danilov, O§11 modt.

[Attached: photos showing the explosion of the cargo ship, complete with blown-out areas resembling impacts; for comparison, a public domain image of a popular AShM impacting a frigate with similar results]

---------------------------

The journey took about twenty hours. (= about 1000 km) As the ships approached Battlehawkian territorial waters they became more easily identifiable; while none of the ship classes seemed to be known in international registries, they had the same dark colour scheme and designations could be guessed from their size, armament (if any), and various elements of their design. The fleet consisted of several civilian or scientific vessels, with a variety of equipment on board evidently designed for this very purpose, and a military escort consisting of a light aircraft carrier with about one and a half squadrons of aircraft on board and some smaller ships which appeared to be destroyers customized with various types of armament. In addition, at least three submarines accompanied the group, as evidenced by their occasional surfacing in various positions equidistant about a nautical mile from the main group. Two flights of fighters were in the air at all times as a CAP; they bore a very faint resemblance to a moderately-known SUDI design, but altered beyond recognition with changes in the materials, wing size and shape, and a variety of finer points of aircraft design.

The length of time also allowed the ships to arrive just after sunset, with the glow on the horizon fading into deep blue as they entered Battlehawkian territorial waters and slowed their pace. As a result, once again, the group was in almost complete darkness -- except for the airstrip lights along the carrier and other essential lighting, of course. The nonmilitary vessels immediately surrounded the area and got to work with their equipment, while the military vessels formed a perimeter.

It wasn't long before the Voyager and it's battle group appeared on the horizon

Intrudeing vessels, this is the Battlehawk Navy, you have entered Battlehawk Territirial water, you will cease your activiteied and leave the area immediartly

((Basically a submersible combat probe that's been puttering around the oceans. You're on the PP ally list, so it's waiting for you to designate targets for it.))

OOC: Am I?, thats nice, Alright, I'll desigante targets, can I tell it to wait until it's needed?

((Yeah. It's standing by, so it'll attack when you give it targets.))

OOC: Ok

Battlehawk Navy,

We are investigating a recent incident involving a cargo ship chartered by our Government, and recovering any of our property or information that has survived. We do this by explicit permission of your Government. You are welcome to observe as long as you maintain your distance. Acts of aggression will be responded to with escalating force.

Inquisitor Venakhi Shaëresh
Task Force Battlehawk-A

----------------------

From a Battlehawkian perspective, the carrier launched a single plane -- an AWACS -- identifiable by its unevenly spaced radar sweeps. Not noticed was the second pair of flights of fighters now ascending to CAP, as their radars were switched off; this put four flights in the air, which for the purposes of this mission alone was designated one squadron. (Six flights is standard Tenurian Navy.) While the original eight fighters continued their wide-ranging patrols, the new group remained close to the ships and low to the surface, keeping under the radar. The best-case scenario was that they'd only be burning a little fuel.

The activity around the explosion site had not even faltered. Divers had been deployed, cranes dragged objects from the deep, and the submarines appeared to be assisting in recovering debris, while recovered objects were passed indoors to a series of rooms where they were analyzed and tested and examined by experts, seeking something uncertain. Even if the Battlehawkians had been allowed to witness the proceedings, they would have had a hard time figuring out exactly what was going on.

Encrypted Transmission to Battlehawk: YOUR DESIGNATED FRIENDLY TRANSPONDER CODE IS 90-87

Meanwhile, below the surface, the probe perked up, and rose out of the depths, parallelling the low-flying fighters. It pinged their transponders, and finding no signal, surfaced. There is a series of bangs, and several flashbang mortar shells detonate in front of the low flight.

Hmmm. So it's a submergible probe with a radar dish, operating about a kilometer from my ships. It's just fired on us despite our statements of peaceful intentions, and we have no way of knowing it's not operated by the Battlehawk Navy.

Just clearing things up.

Witnessing the explosions, unmistakable in the darkness, the quartet of fighters (maintaining dogfight positions) banked sharply in unison and straightened out their formation as they turned to circle once again.

"This is Orange Leader, where did that come from exactly?"

"Some kind of submarine just surfaced, Orange Leader. We're passing firing solutions on to the subs."

Orange Flight resumed its circuit, passing under the four planes of Blue Flight heading the other way. A few meters below them, three torpedoes cut rapidly-moving trails as they approached the probe, spaced to leave it no way to dive or dodge without at least setting off a proximity fuze. Meanwhile, Inquisitor Shaëresh prepared a second message for the Battlehawk Navy.

Battlehawk Navy,

As you did not seem inclined to listen to our previous message, we will repeat it. Acts of aggression will be responded to with escalating force. The warning shots fired by your submarine are considered an act of aggression. But as no casualties were inflicted as a result of this act, we shall be merciful. Hold your current position and recall any vessels or aircraft closer to the taskforce, and no bloodshed shall occur tonight. Otherwise you risk bringing ruin upon yourselves and the millions that inhabit your land.

The patience of my superiors is wearing thin. This is your final warning.

Shaëresh
Task Force Battlehawk-A

Open Transmission: Tenuria: This is the United Socialist States of Penguin Protection. As stated to Battlehawk, several of our submersible probes are in the area. Because your planes were not broadcasting the designated friendly transponder squawk, they were given warning flares. Our probes cannot listen in on radio conversations and make decisions by themselves. In the future, please follow transponder protocol.

To the United Socialist States of Penguin Protection,

Despite my deific appearance, I do not have psychic powers, and cannot determine a transponder code that has not been transmitted to me. Our ultimatum stands. In the future, please communicate clearly, or face the consequences.

Shaëresh
Task Force Battlehawk-A

The Only responce from the Battlehawk fleet was to move the task groups own CAP into an inner perimiter.

Inquisitor Shaëresh saw this as an acknowledgement of his requests, and thanked the Battlehawkians for their compliance. Then he returned to his work. It should be emphasized that, holding the position of Inquisitor and commanding a task group, Shaëresh was a very busy man. He had brought along plenty of paperwork to fill out, most of it regarding the incident that had occurred here (as every such incident needed to be reported to the Tenurian High Command in full), and every update from the teams of experts gave him additional information. He had also been briefed by the HC itself on the true nature of the mission the cargo ship had been on, so the orders he gave his subordinates had to reflect the fulfillment of that mission without actually shedding any light on it, as it was, of course, top secret. Despite popular portrayal in the media, being an Inquisitor wasn't all wearing long billowing cloaks and torturing people. It was going to be a long night. Fortunately he had plenty of coffee.

OOC: Throwing in all these OOC notes makes me feel like I'm ripping off Irregular Webcomic, but I've learned some interesting facts about CAPs while researching for MT RPs.

Flights Red and Yellow are flying what Wikipedia's told me is a BARCAP -- essentially, patrolling the direction from which your fleet is approaching and from which an aerial attack upon my fleet is most likely. If the Battlehawkians are ever updated to hostile status they will be re-assigned to a CAP/Strike role.

Flights Blue and Orange are technically not on CAP at all, as combat air patrols generally place aircraft in high and low positions to detect and engage intruders more effectively; they're acting more as escorts for the naval group, and by virtue of low altitude, cover of darkness, and no active radar have about the visibility of a stealth fighter in daylight. I'm not yet sure what I'll do with them if the Battlehawkians become hostile.

Yeah, so maybe I do get a bit too involved in these things.

The Battlehawk Taskforce had to make do with observing from a distance. High above them in the atmosphere, Sourthern Command had rerouted a govermant sattelite and it was just coming into range over the Tenuria taskgroup. At the MCC, everyone watched eagily to see what would be revealed

The scene around "ground zero" was not an unusual one for anyone who had seen a recovery operation before. Small cranes were lowering various objects, some of which might have been divers and others which resembled minisubs, into the water. Various wreckage had been strewn across the deck of the largest ship, which appeared to be the main command center for the operation. Most of the work was going on inside the ship, however, and remained invisible to the satellite -- the ventilation ducts, spilling heat into the night sky, and a Faraday cage protecting the superstructure from electromagnetic pulses made it difficult to get pictures even with infrared or other scans.

By this time the recovery operation was slowing down, as most of the available wreckage had been recovered; it remained to be seen how much of the information was still contained within it, and how much still lay on the floor of the sea. Not much else could be gathered from satellite imaging.

"Damm" General Forest cursed as the Satteline moved out of range "We got nothing"
"Not quite, that was cleary for our benifit" admiral Cruise commented "Somethings going on out there, we just don't know what"

The cranes and minisubs fell silent after a time and sonar scans of the seafloor grew less and less frequent. Whatever was left to be recovered was not significant enough to be worth the task force's time. Now came the hard part, the recovery of the ship's data and of whatever of its cargo still remained. More than once, Inquisitor Shaëresh arrived and took pieces of wreckage or printouts back to his office, and shut the door securely; the men working there occasionally glimpsed another man seated inside, who they did not recognize, but the conversations the two had went unheard. Inside the room the big intact aft half of the ship had been carefully deconstructed down to the bolts, and so had some wreckage which appeared to belong to the helicopter the Battlehawkians had reported downed. Bodies had been identified, dealt with, and passed off by boat to the other ships, where they were put in storage in the arsenal ship's infirmary, probably to be cut up for spare parts. Crates that had survived the explosion were opened and their contents removed; the contents themselves were tightly sealed and it was hard to tell exactly what they were, but the men working there had been told to handle them with extreme care and pass them onto a supervising officer. Of course they wouldn't dare disobey, not with the choke collars or the electroshock armbands.

Towards the end of the night the Battlehawkians received another transmission:

To the Battlehawkian command,

We have completed our investigation of the area and remit to you an invoice of $1,108 million. Of this, $1,036 million is to be compensation for the cargo vessel destroyed, for its contents, and to the families of the 29 crew members, and $72 million additional to cover the costs of the recovery operation. This should be made payable to the Tenurian High Command. We must also thank your Navy for being so cooperative in spite of early misunderstandings, which in many militaries could lead to armed combat.

Thank you,
Inquisitor Venakhi Shaëresh
Task Force Battlehawk-A

To: Tenuria Command

Negative, you will return the bodies of our crewmembers, we know of at least twenty four of our own people are down there and you will return them, if they are not returned no compensation will be given.

End Message

To the Battlehawkian command,

We have identified fourteen bodies not registered with the High Command, presumably Battlehawkian; it would require more time for our teams to piece together the bodies of the remainder, and it is entirely possible that some body parts have been destroyed or lost beyond recognition. However, as a gesture of goodwill, we will ship all of these bodies and body parts to Battlehawk, and whatever other identifying materials regarding these bodies we have been able to find.

Shaëresh
TF Battlehawk-A

Shortly after the message went out, the boxes were loaded onto a smaller cargo ship, perhaps of the same class as the destroyed vessel -- it was hard to tell, as although they looked similar in shape, they appeared to have been fitted and constructed differently -- which set off towards the Battlehawkian mainland, escorted by a single flight of fighters. In addition to the bodies, the boxes contained whatever uniforms, weapons, utility belts, and personal effects that had been salvageable from the ocean floor; it was worth noting that ammunition had been removed from weapons and laid alongside, batteries had been removed from flashlights, and so on. This shipment would reach Battlehawk within an hour or two.

Voyager signled to a cruiser which slowly trailed the cargo ship, to make sure it went safely on it's way home

To: Tenuria Command

The Battlehawk thanks you for this show of humanity. One of our cruisers will escort you safely to port.

The nightlife was dying down as the cargo ship reached port. It was three in the morning and the streets towards the city were silent except for the occasional passing car or a group of bibulous partygoers stumbling towards home. In the harbor, activity was at a low point, as very few ships ever came in this late (or this early, depending on your perspective), and there were only two or three cars in the loading area, plus the government transport for the bodies.

Several members of the harbor crew arrived to help unload the ship's contents as it came in, evidently having been informed of its arrival beforehand. Several unmarked crates were unloaded and removed from the area before the centerpiece of the display was brought out: the fourteen long boxes containing the bodies, plus more than half a dozen other smaller but still heavy boxes containing the other assorted body parts and effects discovered at the site. They were laid in a pile before the government transport, and the officers would again note how little the Tenurians spoke.

"Thank you gentlemen" A Navy officer who had been there said "I'll inform command the bodies arrived safely"

The commander of the cargo ship nodded once to the Navy officer, deferentially, and ordered his crew to cast off. Moments later the ship was gone once again, the sound of its engines fading into the night sky; within a few minutes the harbor was quiet again and empty of people.

The cargo ship reached the Task Force as the sky began to lighten towards sunrise, and it departed Battlehawkian waters shortly thereafter, leaving only its wake and the wreckage of a Penguin Protection probe as proof that it had ever been there in the first place. Inquisitor Shaëresh reported the first part of the mission accomplished to the High Command, who were pleased with his results so far. They emphasized to him that there was still more to be done, but through his ability to adapt adverse situations to his needs, he had demonstrated himself capable of directing the rest of the mission. They told him many more things, too, and gave him detailed information over a secure comlink, of which he was told to keep only handwritten copies.

The unmarked crates which had been blocking the way of the dead bodies were left in a storage locker at the harbor. Around seven the next morning a car came to pick them up, signed for them, and transported them to the palatial home of Dr. Henry A. Morgan, citizen, archaeologist, and aristocrat. Dr. Morgan's domestic staff unloaded the crates and brought them into his basement, where -- under the supervision of the good doctor himself, in bathrobe and slippers -- they were opened, their contents distributed, and the crates destroyed.

The Tenurians had delivered their cargo after all.

"What I don't understand is what the cargo ship was so anxious to get through" Frost commented "And why they blew up their own ship"
"Must have been drugs or something like that" Cruise added "For someone in the Battlehawk"
"What If they were weapons though?" Frost asked "They'll have tried to recover them and finish the..."
"No" Cruise said his eyes widening
"I'll get onto the Investiation buerua"

OOC: If you don't want to do any futher we'll leave it there, but If you do I'll send my investators in search

OOC: Feel free to investigate, following whatever steps you deem necessary. Bear in mind that the port crew do not know where the unmarked crates were delivered, so tracking them will require an extensive search. I will roleplay Dr. Morgan and anyone collaborating with him.

OOC: Thank you

IC:

Twelve Black range rover type vehicles crashed into the harbour area, blue lights flashing. Each car had six Federal Agents in and soon the harbour area was sealed off with some help from the local police.

The Agent In Charge, Charlie Dale, walked with two other agents to the secuirty rooms. They watched as the crates were loaded aboard a car and driven away.
"Tom run the plates, Jenny, get onto the city's CCTV control room, try and trace them" Charlie instructed

The shift supervisor was a big quiet man with a stoic face hardened by years of raising five children. He was of course most anxious to help the Feds clear up whatever was going on here, he said. Yes, he'd released the packages to the driver; yes, they'd signed for it, all according to protocol. He could produce the signature sheet. It was definitely somewhere around here. Well, come to think of it, he wasn't sure he'd gotten it back from the man in the car. No, there wasn't any chance the man had been stealing it -- he matched the description the Tenurians had given him, and he could recite the numerical password they'd told him he'd say. Well, on second thought, there was a chance, but it was a pretty small one. How long ago had they left? Fifteen minutes ago, tops, probably less. Yeah, you could talk to the men in the loading dock if you wanted.

In the city the streets were beginning to fill up as people headed for work. The car was a common make, and it soon became hard to tell which car was the one with the crates. Its personalized plates, reading "ICU", identified it for a time, so that it could be tracked even after it detoured through a parking garage and other such privately-owned and -surveilled areas. But after a while it left the city on a back road, a one-lane highway apparently lacking CCTV coverage, and from here would have to be followed by other means.

"We've got it on the CCTV!"
"Good, keep a track on it"
"There's one problem, it appears to be heading for an area of no CCTV coverage"
"Damn, get onto the airforce, scramble a predetor"

<Dallas Airforce Base>

The Predetor was out on the tarmac in five minutes and was in the air two minutes later and was storming towards it's destiantion. Once on station it began to search fot the car.

By the time the Predator arrived the car was a fair distance down the S112, following it through the dense forests on its route paralleling the high-traffic superhighway P31. It made a left turn on Marbury Road, which connected the S112 to the S270, which followed the coastline. At the intersection of Marbury Road and the S270 the car continued straight to pass into a small seaside village and pulled over at a gas station to fill up, apparently oblivious to the noisy aircraft that had been shadowing it.

OOC: Any names of towns or details on your highway system would be helpful. For instance, the name of the port city we landed in, and the name of this little seaside town. The P in P31 stands for "primary highway", the S in S112 for "secondary highway", because I couldn't think of anything better and don't know if you have states/provinces or not.

OOC: The Port was Hell's gate, the little seaside town can be Hawk bay, btw, the Predetor is very high up and is very wuite, the driver would not know it's following him, it's a UAV after all

The Predator continued beaming images back to home base as IB agents closed in on the small town

Oops. <.<

Now running on a full tank, the car pulled out of the gas station, drove down the main road towards the sea, and turned on an old dirt road following the rocky beaches along the bay. The dirt road led to a small shack at the peninsula marking the bay's boundary, where a sandy tongue of land led down into the sea.

On the way there, however, the IB agents couldn't help noticing another car of identical make, with identical "ICU" license plates, turning off the S112 to the right, on the S186 leading inland. It appeared to have left the city only a minute or two after the other car and was traveling a little faster.

"WHat the hell?" Charlie asked
"That's the car" Tom commented
"The predator shows it a few miles from here" Charlie commented
"Have the back three cars follow that one and report it, we'll go with the UAV"

Let's assign numbers to the cars for clarity's sake.

Car One parked at the shack at the end of the dirt road. Its occupants -- an old man and a young man -- opened the trunk and removed several items or containers; the old man let himself into the shack and returned with some more gear; then they left the car there and walked further into the woods for a quarter of a mile or so, coming out at the edge of the bay where they sat on the rocks and spread the gear in the shade of a tree. There, they waited.

Car Two continued on the S186, on which traffic was fairly light. After about ten miles it turned abruptly into an access road leading to a nuclear power plant. At the gate the driver rolled down his window and conversed for a moment or two with the attendant. Laughter was involved. The gate opened, the car passed in, the gate shut once again. Inside the powerplant complex the car parked and a man got out and headed for the main building, wearing a technician's uniform.

By now the IB was surely getting suspicious of this, and yes, it did eventually find Car Three, which had just come off Interchange 47 on the P31 and was now on the P5 heading towards Tren'Lar, albeit slowly: it was eight A.M, just over an hour since the crates were picked up, and rush hour traffic was at its apex. Even smaller roads like the S112 were beginning to fill with cars attempting to avoid the major highways.

Charlie and his cars were approaching Car ones location. About 500 metres down the road from the location the agents got out and walked down the rest on foot. Some Openly weilding MP5's

Tom had gone with the other cars and they had followed it to the nuclear station and had gained access and were talking to secuity

Another team, in Helicoptors had located a Car three and we're also trailing it along the highway

The agents emerged from the forest to the edge of the bay, where the two men were seated upon rocks, talking. They had set up fishing lines, and the boxes of gear were spread randomly around them, including buckets, lures, a radio playing quiet classical music, and all of the other essentials. As yet they had not appeared to have caught anything; it had only been a few minutes. They appeared to be father and son, or perhaps uncle and nephew; certainly by their conversation (mostly about a recently released science fiction film) they revealed themselves to be relatives of some kind. As the agents arrived they greeted them cautiously.

At the nuclear power plant, the security guard confirmed that that had been the car of one of the technicians, who had just checked in to work. The technician had been working at the plant for several years, was fully certified, and they had never had any problems with him. They could question him if they so desired. Another guard would give them directions.

<Car One>

"Gentlemen" Charlie said "A car was parked up on the otherside of the forest, what was in it, are you the drivers?"

<Car Two>

"We'll need to check the car" Tom said to the Security guard "Send one of your people to get the techniction@

Car One

"Oh... yes, that's my car," the older man said. "We brought our gear over in it. Why? Is there a problem?"

Car Two

The technician arrived in the parking lot after a few moments. He made a humorous comment or two about being interrupted, but they fell rather flat; he was glad to assist the federal agents, and unlocked his car for them. A search would reveal a rather messy interior -- there were magazines, empty water bottles, and maps on the floor, and assorted memorabilia from his travels attached to the backs of chairs and hanging from his rearview mirror -- but no sign of any unmarked crates. The trunk was empty except for a spare tire and first aid kit.

"Damn" Charlie muttered as he received a similar report from tom to what he had found "Alright, team three take your target down!"

<Car Three>

Two Helicoptors flew ahead and SWAT Teams fast-ropped down and set up a road block, the other two came down behind the car and the SWAT snipers had their sights on the car

A road block was pretty much unnecessary at 8:15 AM on the P5. Traffic was at a standstill, largely due to construction at a bridge and cars merging in from the P7, so Car Three was more or less immobile, locked amongst dozens of other cars traveling at a fraction of a mile an hour. As the SWAT teams descended into the melee of cars and raced towards the target, dodging in front of and between the cars to reach the lane, its driver only stopped to wonder whether there had been an accident. Hopefully he'd be able to get to Tren'Lar in time for the luncheon.

The SWAT Team was crouching behind cars, telling the drivers to turn the engine's off. The Driver of Car three might find the silince a bit weird. The SWAT team was soon on the other side of the car all around him. The Team leaders nodded to their team and the attack begun. They piled over or around cars shouting.
"SWAT!" Or "POILCE!"

As the cars around his stopped, the driver paused and cut his own engine, wondering what was going on. Overhead he could now hear the helicopters and the sounds of people approaching. He rolled down a window in time to see the first SWAT agents storm in fully armed.

His only experience with such things to date was in movies, so he followed their advice: he got out of the car, kept his hands in the air, and did his best to follow whatever instructions the agents yelled at him. As he got on the asphalt and prepared to be searched he heard them opening his car and examining it rapidly. Apart from his briefcase, containing the various folders and information he'd been planning to bring to the client meeting that afternoon (he was a web design consultant by trade), it was empty.

By now, you're probably wondering what happened to the actual crates. For those we must go to the original car, Car Four, which had been parked in a parking garage in downtown Hell's Gate for almost an hour now (a parking garage from which Car One had departed in its stead). The crates had been moved into a different car, of a different make, with different plates; a rental; and had been dropped off at Dr. Morgan's house about half an hour ago. The three other cars had been a carefully planted diversion requiring a late night or two with a screwdriver and several false but highly noticeable license plates.

"There all clean" Charlie commented to his boss "I don't know what happened to the crates, we're heading back to the yard to talk to the guy again"
All three teams made their way back to hells gate

A thousand kilometers away, in the middle reaches of a faux-Gothic citadel under a reddish sky, Inquisitor Shaëresh read the note he'd been sent over a secure fiber-optic link, and smiled.

Received the cargo today. Beginning Stage II. HM

Dr. Henry A. Morgan's area of expertise was military history. In his mansion he had weapons, armour, and military artifacts from many periods of history, including the full kit of a medieval knight, various swords and bows, contemporary maps of and strategic information about various famous battles and so on. He had contributed his name to articles in various scientific journals and was Professor Emeritus of History at Domorov University. Anyone looking in his basement would be very surprised by what they found.

----------------------------

In Hell's Gate harbor, the supervisor was about to check out -- his shift ended at nine -- when he saw the federal agents pulling up again out of the corner of his eye. Evidently they wanted more information. He told the security guard to let them in.

"Who took the Crates" Charlie damanded

"A man signed for them," the supervisor said. "About five eleven, long dark hair, beard, medium build, dark complexion. That's all I know. He must have kept the sign sheet, too, because his name isn't on file."

"Useless to ask if he left contact details" Charlie muttered "Did you check what was inside the boxes?"

"Nope. Two or three of them were pretty light, the others were heavy, but impossible to tell what was inside. The Tenurian guys who handed them to us said they were fragile."

"They were Tenurians?" Charlie asked "That's interesting, anything else you can tell us"

"Well, they said they were Tenurians. Could have been.... Kaukolastanians, for all I know. That's really all I can tell you about it. You can ask the men at the loading dock, but you won't hear anything new."

Charlie nodded to his agents who split of. He tahmked the guard and walked away taking his phone out as he walked.
"Get onto Northan command, get them to start full checks of all frequencies"

Stage One had been the longest. For three years Dr. Morgan and his allies had been building up the machines, sterilizing the rooms, preparing all the necessary parts; they had faced innumerable setbacks, from the simple financial issues to the threat of discovery. Now, however, with the delivery of perhaps the most essential piece of the puzzle, Stage One was complete.

In theory Stage Two would be even longer, lasting eighteen years or more; Thane Darlash, for instance, had required twenty-five, although it paid off spectacularly. But the geneticist had proposed a simpler solution requiring only a couple of years, and then suggested a revised Stage Three. Shaëresh had felt certain that, were Darlash still alive, he would have approved. Stage Four, of course, remained the same. But the new method was riskier. And what government backing it had was provided mostly by Division Six, which was in constant risk of closure.

There are employees like Division Six in every government. A sub-committee here, a minor department there, told to do something, put on the payrolls and forgotten about. Every now and then they might receive instructions or memos about tasks they were assigned years ago, but mostly they're just normal people who work for unknown government branches. Division Six was a loose alliance that had been formed between some of these capillaries of the government's cardiovascular system. Every few years a new campaign against government waste would lead to some of its branches being shut down, but new branches always developed, and the same people usually staffed them just because they were qualified to do so. As Division Six was not an actual division of the government, it was almost entirely unknown (except for one scathing newspaper article from 1989), and it stayed that way. Division Six was the main reason Dr. Henry A. Morgan and his comrades were able to do what they did, and even then they were rarely capable of offering anything more than moral support.

Now, Division Six had embarked on a far more ambitious project than it had any right to. It only feared that the Tenurian incident had attracted too much attention. Most likely, however, the incident would be forgotten within a few weeks or a month, and its files would wind up in the back of a filing cabinet, gathering dust.

Meanwhile, Dr. Morgan had a new task -- one that, to Shaëresh's initial chagrin, would easily divert attention from a few mysterious crates.

OOC: Yeah, so, a little background. First of all, I'm not actually claiming to roleplay part of your government. D6 is at most an alliance of individuals who happen to work for very obscure branches of the Battlehawk government, and all the money funding it is actually embezzled (although since they're government employees it's considered "Government Waste", and politicians entering office always swear to crack down on it then never do, just like in real life). Second of all, unless you're going to try something else to recover the crates, the next post will involve a time-skip, up to 18 months ahead, where you'll have a chance to derail Stage Two. Tenurian plans are always pretty long-term. :P

OOC That's fine, 18 month gap thats fine, I'll RP it so that IB command is shutting down the investigation, just as we get a new lead, hows that?

Eighteen months passed.

The Tenurian incident faded from people's minds rapidly. It had made the news for a few weeks afterwards -- pundits had criticized the government's decision to pay compensation, arguing that it was the Tenurians' own fault their ship was sunk, and a special piece had run in the Hell's Gate Herald about Tenuria itself, uncovering what little information was available on the Arctic dictatorship and presenting cute little factoids about the population and customs and language, most of them several decades out of date. But after that, it was no longer of much concern.

Police in Hell's Gate itself were more concerned with the crime rate. Every large city has crime, of course; but they were worried about the rate of break-ins and kidnappings. The rate had only increased by a small amount -- perhaps one or two per cent -- but the perpetrators appeared to be getting smarter; there was little evidence left at crime scenes, a tenuous connection or none at all between the victims, as though they had been chosen at random. They had caught a few criminals responsible, but they could tell the police nothing, even under oath; gradually the idea formed that a well-run gang was behind the kidnappings and burglaries, one in which the underlings were kept in the dark about the identities of the ringleaders. The crime wave was not a particularly remarkable one -- Police Superintendent Adam Sadokrin viewed it as a minor annoyance -- but, with little else going on, the police focused on stopping it.

Then, one late night in April, they found one of the victims.

It was about three A.M. and the man was stumbling down the street, apparently soused. He was scruffy and possibly homeless; at very least, he didn't smell as though he'd showered in days. A passing police car picked him up for drunkenness and brought him to the station. On the way there he talked a lot and without provocation, rambling about the Men in White and Division Six, and punctuating his monologues with -- instead of full stops -- a variation on "But I can't talk more. The Great Eye is watching."

Just another nutcase, it seemed, until they found out that he was Joshua Baird, a graduate student and former drug dealer who'd disappeared about thirteen months ago and had evaded all attempts to track him down, as the evidence beyond a certain point had been simply wiped out.

"What are the Feds doing here?" Adam moaned as he watched from his office as the IB turned up outside the precint "This is a police matter"
"This guys been missing for over a year" Inspector Gina Silver commented "Never know they may be coming to congratulate us"
"I wish" Adam said.

<downstairs>

The IB agents flooded into the Foyer. Their suited appearence clashed witht he smart blues of the HGPD.
"We're looking for Superintendant Sadokrin" The LEad agent, Charlie, now looking older an d more worn.
"He'll be down shortly" The Officer on the desk promised.
"Of course he will" Charlie said "For now we'd like to see Prisinor Baird"

<Cell 12A>

Charlie and Tom entered the Cell and sat down oppisate Joshua who was sat behind the desk.
"Good morning" Charlie said

Baird raised his eyes to Charlie's face. They were bloodshot, but he didn't look much more than "awfully tired". When he spoke, he didn't sound very far off normal. It was only what he said that made him strange.

He leaned in slightly. "Don't make any sudden movements," he said in a low voice. "Keep talking normally. They can't hear whispers, you know. I tore out my chip so I know they can't hear me unless I talk loud enough." Pause. "You're a federal agent, right? You'll know what I'm talking about, right?"

Charlie glanced a Tom before looking back "Yes we're Federal Agents" He said "Well?"

"Division Six," he whispered. "They're watching us. They're watching you. Go find them. And let me stay here where it's safe." Then he changed tack entirely; his eyes narrowed, he looked more closely at Charlie and said, louder: "You wanna ask me something?"

"No, nothing" Charlie said "You'll stay in custody here"
They exited the room
"WHat the hell is division six?" Tom asked Charlie softly
"I don't know, give me a few minutes"

Division Six liked to think of itself as a branch of the Battlehawkian government so secret, not even the President knew about it. It met in all kinds of places, from the houses of members, to back rooms in restaurants and conference rooms in hotels; these were usually signed for by whoever represented one of the government departments. And there were many of these.

There was a committee for planting trees along the streets of Hawk Bay, most of the members of which were part of D6. There was a department established to oversee the construction of five new parking garages in Hell's Gate (three had been completed over the past seven years). There were a few hospital administrators, a jail or two, even at least one police superintendent. (For several years the IB had been tracking the superintendent down for the related charge of embezzlement, but had never found enough evidence to identify which one was the culprit beyond a reasonable doubt.) There were many other such government departments where D6 members lurked, most of which the central government paid little attention to except when they were looking for places to cut the budget.

All of the D6 members were all perfectly normal people on their own. Apart from being part of a very secretive and slightly illegal organization, there was little similarity between them; some were old, some young, some liberal, some conservative, et cetera. But their goals were the same, and the methods they had chosen to use for those goals were also the same.

OOC: How would my agents find out about it?

OOC: One of the more obvious ways is for the agents to put D6 on the back burner, resume the search for the embezzling police chief, search his house/office/safe/wastebasket and find a piece of paper mentioning it. Another way is to learn that one of the people who have since disappeared was an undercover federal agent working on D6's case. Joshua Baird does know a little bit about D6, although like most of the other people who disappeared due to it, he vastly overestimates its power and influence.

It had been a few hours now, it was raining and it was beginning to thunder. Armed men approached the quiet suberb, down the alleys and behind the cars. They were covergering on a large house. One of the men nodded to another team who passed the message on.
The men broke from cover and ran to the house they approached the door and one of the men had a door breaker. The man swung and they were soon in the house.
"CLEAR!" Someone shouted minutes later
Three suited men walked up the street and into the house
"Well?" Charlie asked
"We got him, and the house is secure"
The police chief was secure and say in the living room

The police superintendent had been a close friend of Dr. Morgan, and to a great degree he had only embezzled government money because Morgan had asked him to. Otherwise it was the kind of thing he felt very uncomfortable doing, despite his agreement with the ideals of D6. Morgan had also given the superintendent instructions for what to do if he were captured: not resist, but instead activate an alarm in his bedroom when danger loomed. Indeed, Morgan himself and an electrician (the older fisherman who drove Car One) working with him had installed it personally. The implication was that, upon receiving the signal, D6 members would come to rescue him.

In fact that assumption was completely false, but the agents had no opportunity to learn that, as the superintendent had not had time to fully activate the alarm before they reached his bedroom.

The man's house contained little of interest to the agents, with most of the useful materials contained in his bedroom/office. There, located in a safe, was information regarding his finances, including information about the stolen money and what he had done with it -- evidence for the trial, presumably. The drawers of his desk contained more useful information, including a variety of handwritten notes from unknown people and some files on unsolved cases, in addition to the normal contents of desk drawers (such as printer paper and batteries). Of note to Charlie in particular, however, on the very messy desk, was a folder meticulously labeled "Division Six".

OOC: Hold on a sec. I'm not done yet. >:-D

As Charlie picked up the folder, the pile of papers over its corner shifted and fell, scattering on the desk and sweeping papers everywhere. And something made a metallic noise.

The superintendent had not fully activated the alarm. But he had left it so close to activation that even the slightest motion could cause it to go off. And a disk in the pile had fallen onto the alarm itself, a switch on the desk, brought halfway to the "on" position in that questionable zone where it hovered between two extremes. It teetered on the edge of a precipice for a moment, then slammed into the "on" position.

It did send an alert to Morgan's cell phone. But more importantly, it caused two things to happen in the room itself: the door slammed, and what appeared to be sprinklers turned on, rapidly coating everything in the room in a thin layer of something that looked like motor oil, but didn't smell like it. Almost immediately the agents in the room began to feel runny noses, a strange tightness in the chest, and increasing difficulty in breathing.

"Get out of here" Charlie was able to say. The agents made their way slowly over to the door

OOC: is it locked?

OOC: Unlocked.

They opened the door and stumbled into the corridor. The SWAT officer stationed on the corridor saw them.
"MEDIC!" He shouted down the stairs running over. A medic was soon upstairs

The first one to open the door began to experience nausea and vomiting (the doorknob being covered in liquid which was rapidly absorbed into the skin). By the time the medic got there, they were all doing it. Shortly afterwards all three agents began to involuntarily release all fluids in their bodies; tears and blood running down their faces, with a pungent smell and stains informing the personnel involved that the agents had lost control of their urinary and digestive systems as well. Within a minute from the time the alarm was set off, they were twitching and jerking uncontrollably as spasms shook the bodies. Death by asphyxiation would follow as control of the nervous system was lost.

In the room behind them the sprinklers shut off. Vapor in the air would carry the substance to the rest of the house, although not in lethal doses. Certainly the medic was doomed to follow in the tracks of the dying agents.

And the "Division Six" folder? Fluid was soaking into the papers contained within. Touching it for the next six weeks or so would be very, very painful.

The only remaining Agent on site, a young twenty one year old, was watching in shock from the stairs "Everyone out!" He called. The house was soon evacuated.
"Blow that damn house up" He snapped to SWAT "No wait, give me a few minutes"
He went over to the super "WHAT THE HELL IS DIVISION SIX?" He shouted

"Division Six?" the superintendent said. "Why didn't you ask earlier? It's just part of the Government. I worked for it. So did some other people I know. Why, they were the ones who told me... to.... find....."

He trailed off abruptly, looking towards one end of the street, as though he'd noticed something. The Agent followed his gaze. Then a SWAT guy yelled a warning. A car was coming up fast from the other end of the street.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The first shot went wide. The second and third hit the superintendent in the jaw and shoulder, shattering bones and spraying the agents with blood. They returned fire, but the car accelerated to a hundred miles an hour or so and was gone in a moment, speeding through a red light or two and making a turn so abrupt that it smashed through a work zone, overturning police cones and sending debris everywhere.

The superintendent was still alive. Barely. He couldn't enunciate half his words with a bullet lodged in the back of his head, and he would bleed to death in a minute or two, but he was trying to say something. It sounded like "Oh fuck, that hurt."

Remember how I said the alert the alarm sent to Morgan's cell phone wasn't important? I lied. It actually was pretty important.

"Quickly" The Agent yelled where can I find more about "D6?"

The superintendent had been part of the HGPD for long enough to get really pissed off whenever a witness died just before he could give a crucial piece of evidence. So he made a mighty effort to stay alive long enough to tell the Agent what he needed to know. "Assa newspaper 'uy.... the 'ourna'ist.... name's onna tippa my ton'," he managed to say through the blood and broken jaw. Cursing a faulty memory he sought something else useful. "D6 wanna ta'e ove' the 'ovmint.... They sai' they estra't me. They lied. Don' ever get shot, it 'urts li'e 'ell." His breathing became shallow and it seemed he could no longer speak for a minute; the sirens and sounds around him overcame his voice. Then an inspiration seemed to strike him. "'itman. 'is name's 'itman," he said, his voice almost a whisper to avoid forcing undue air through the clenched teeth.

The superintendent slipped into a coma then. He died an hour later in the hospital, without ever regaining consciousness, leaving his earthly goods to a charity fund called Sisters of Mercy, which provided aid to the homeless and destitute. Coincidentally, Dr. Henry A. Morgan was on the board of trustees.

----------------------------

The gunman's car led police on a merry chase away from the city, along the S86 where it continued to flagrantly violate traffic regulations -- causing numerous accidents, destroying several police cars, driving on the wrong side of the road or on the shoulder, and doing a lot of highly dangerous things no sane driver would attempt. The exciting chase ended when it attempted to cross railroad tracks just a few seconds ahead of a train, to throw off the police cars, and misjudged the timing. When the train managed to slow down to zero a mile and a half later, the car was totaled, and the two occupants (driver and gunman) had died a grisly death.

One license plate had survived. It read "ICU".

"Get onto it" The Agent snapped at two Detectives who got in a car and headed for the police stations

------------------

"It matchs" A SWAT officer told the Agent "Same as Eighteen months ago, it's the same case"
"Alright, pull EVERYTHING we've got on that case and get me those deteectives" The Agent ordered

"Yes.... What? It was destroyed? Oh well. ... Yes. ... No, that's fine. At least we managed to get something done. ... Two point two, you say? Go ahead. Now's probably the best time for it.... Thanks. Bye."

Dr. Henry Morgan hung up and checked off another item on his to-do list.

Deal with K. √
Call plumber √
2.2 √
get more VX & frag ammo
groceries

--------------------------------

An article ran on the front page of several major newspapers the next day, coincidentally providing the IB with much more information.

THE HELL'S GATE PLOT
Division Six was the government's best-kept secret -- until it became its worst enemy.
Gavin Whitman, AP

One night eighteen months ago, Rear Admiral James Johnson tells me, he was on a routine patrol mission when he saw an unfamiliar ship up ahead -- one that didn't look like anything on the Battlehawk Navy's payroll.

"It just looked wrong," Johnson said, casting his gaze over the winedark sea from a bench in Hell's Gate's Thompson Park. "Suspicious, as though it wasn't supposed to be there. And when we got closer we could see that all the crew were wearing hoods and robes, like priests of some bizarre clergy."

But things soon took a turn for the dangerous, as a crack team deployed to secure the ship disappeared without a trace, and shortly thereafter, it self-destructed in an explosion of remarkable power that took the lives of at least twenty-four Battlehawkians. This unsettling incident cost the Battlehawkian Government over a billion dollars in compensation, as the ship was claimed to be an emissary from the government of Tenuria, a massive, secretive nation high up in the icebound North Atlantic. But it proved to be only the tip of the iceberg.

The plan was in fact only a ruse, as I discovered when Tenurian officials confirmed that the ship allegedly destroyed was still intact, and had never entered Battlehawkian waters in its lifetime. The ruse put millions of dollars into the hands of Division Six, a top-secret organization spanning dozens of minor government departments, working to destabilize and overthrow the Battlehawkian government through acts of terrorism, while the very Intelligence Bureau that had created it turned a blind eye.

How did this magnificent foul-up occur, and what can we do about it?

The story all goes back to Peter Bannock, head honcho of the IB between 1947 and 1963. A notable proponent of small-government policies, Bannock's column in the Journal was widely read, he was respected by his fellow officials, and in 1988 he even received the Presidential Medal of Achievement posthumously. Obviously, D6 wasn't intended as a terrorist organization from the start. As Bannock's private papers reveal, it was supposed to be a government watchdog organization, kept secret enough that most of the major government heads knew nothing about it; indeed, Bannock himself may have been the only member of the IB aware of its existence. If the government ever failed in its task, or was overthrown by foreign invasion or internal rebellion, D6 would keep things running from behind the scenes, and could also step in when government became corrupt or unworkable.....
The article was several pages long, and included interviews and testimonials from numerous people: comparisons between D6's original ideals and its current activities were vividly drawn, and it seemed to have been months in the making, with research painstakingly culled from all corners. Certainly it provided a convincing explanation for the recent crime wave, and provided the agents with information they would have taken a lot longer to find through conventional means (like spying on people and shooting things).

"Alright" The Agent said "Let's get SWAT teams to the locations we've designatited and tell them to wait for an IB agent to arrive, And be careful, we are not loosing more people this weak, Understood?"
"Understood" The SWAT teams replied

OOC: they're going where now?

OOC: I assumed there'd be 'clues' to potential locals to raid, most false probably, that wrong?

OOC: It's a newspaper article. To be read by the general public. A lot of public figures were interviewed to write it -- R. Adm. Johnson, higher-ups in the IB, Bannock's widow, an official of the Tenurian Inquisition, a guy who claimed to be defecting from D6, a few other people who'd heard about it. All of those people presumably know something. No actual locations were listed in the article, though. That would be counterproductive, Whitman being an agent of D6 himself and all that.

OOC: Ok, ignore that post and I'll send some agents to find the people

IC:

"Alright, we've got a few leads, lets get going and follow them up, two man teams, with a SWAT team as back up" the Agent said "Let's nail these bastards before they do more harm"

Let's take the first lead: Whitman himself. He'd had a busy day: once his article made it through, his office had been barraged with phone calls and interview requests. When he left for his lunch break a TV crew showed up and got a few comments; he explained how much time he'd spent researching this article since the moment when the concept had dramatically sprung into his brain, and mentioned that it couldn't be long before D6 was flushed out of its hiding places and brought to justice for its crimes. He emphasized that it was fortunate this had been discovered before any major loss of life had been caused by their nefarious plans, with only twenty-four Battlehawkians killed so far. Now Whitman was on his way home from work; he lived in a small town about twenty miles east of the city.

A second lead, the apparent defector -- whose name was unknown, but it was known that he worked for the web design company driven by the guy in Car Three, after suddenly retiring from a profitable job as PR frontman for a public hospital -- was at home, on the phone with someone; he lived in a picturesque town of about two hundred thousand souls, sprawling across the foothills of a range of mountains about seventy miles from Hell's Gate. His home opened out on the river that ran through the city and was located about a mile out of the busiest part of town.

A third lead, who worked for a hydroelectric company overseeing several major dams providing power to cities across The Battlehawk, was currently AWOL; he had not been seen at his home for several days now, and his workplace had reported him on vacation. He had taken his car out away from Hell's Gate, apparently only desiring to go as far from it as possible.* His flight could have been the sign of a guilty conscience and finding him would surely be a priority.

Other leads (such as the admiral, the IB officials or former officials cited in the article, etc.) were easily accessible to the agents as a rule, and indeed one of them had ordered a nationwide lockdown and search for signs of D6.

If Dr. Henry Morgan had not done so several months ago already, he would have taken this time to carefully burn all of his papers relating to the organization. Other members had not been so cautious. They were only burning them now.

* actually, do you share borders with anyone else?

OOC: No one confirmed

SWAT teams spread out across the area and we're soon finding the leads. Once found their location was covertly cordended off. The SWAT Team was moving in Lead Number Two.
"GO" The Agent ordered over the phone.
The SWAT teams fired CS Grenades into the house and followed shortly later entering the house

The house was a mess, contrasting with the idyllic landscape without: the defector was on the floor, coughing and hacking, for reasons apparently unknown. The phone dangled on its extension cord, a voice on the other end repeating "Hello?.... Hello?..... Dammit, Jim, what's going on?"

Mercifully no VX seemed to be forthcoming from any of the ventilation ducts, but the SWAT team was wearing protective gear just in case. The house was free to be searched while the defector gave himself up into custody. There was very little evidence to be found, however, except for one crate of what seemed to be ammunition. What papers pertained to D6 had once been contained in a folder labeled 'D6', but all of them were missing now.

The SWAT team shoved the Defector into a SWAT truck and began to drive away. In the back the Leader was questioning him.
"What do you know about D6?"

"Plenty," said Jim the defector, once he had recovered from his rapid abduction and asked whether he could at least get a chance to call back his brother. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything, more specificlly what they are doing in the Battlehawk" The leader said

"They're here to overthrow and replace the government with a more 'sympathetic' one," said Jim. "They claim to have the support of the original charter, but really, it laid out specific instructions for what to do in case of deep-seated corruption, and random acts of violence isn't it."

"Do you know where we can hit them, were's their headquarters, leader, anything"

"That's the thing... they have official government sites all over the place they can use. There's no HQ, and they hold the semiannual meetings in different places each time; the last one was in the conference room of Tom's Restaurant in Tren'lar. Most of the time we're in contact with two or three other members at most, and we only know them by code names. Like, I was Starling, and I kept in contact with Weehawken and Bedstead. As for the leader... we only knew him as England. They wanted to use innocuous words to make them harder to find." He sighed. "And they've probably changed a lot of things since I left, too. I'm only sorry about how little I can tell you. I heard about what they did to that police chief in Hell's Gate..... I didn't even know they had nerve gas."

"Give us something!" THe leader said as another went over to the console and sent a message to the agent

Jim watched the other SWAT guy curiously. "Huh. Well, I can give you a list of places where I know there's been activity of some kind -- meetings and suchlike." He accepted pencil and paper and began to make a list, writing with the paper held to his knee, occasionally pausing thoughtfully for a few moments. Within a few minutes the list contained twenty-odd names and addresses to the best of Jim's memory: restaurants, parks, hotels, conference rooms, private homes, even a convent. Jim offered helpful comments about some of the items on the list. "I've heard references to an arms cache under the Xiao Ling Restaurant. No idea if it's still there though." "We were told that house -- 3732 Peachtree Road -- was the home of a sponsor. Probably worth digging up his finances." Et cetera.

--------------------------------------

Elsewhere

"All right, everyone. Glad you could make it today. These next few months are going to be busy ones.... we're going to have to step up activity on all fronts. Thanatos, your cells are going to have to get Stage Three ready for launch within twelve months. I won't be able to assign you any more manpower, so you'll just have to work harder. Guinevere, Margrave, your cells are assigned to Stage Two Point Three. That means, keep in mind where we keep our weapons. You'll get further instructions from Lapwing. Lapwing, we're relying on you to bring us everything the Feds know." Poindexter, with the countenance and voice of a drill sergeant, cast his glance upon each of the four assembled in turn. "Anything you want to add, England?"

England was older and softer-spoken. He was seated in a large plush armchair, cane across his lap. "No, Poindexter. You did fine." He smiled.

The leaders of D6 filed out, conversing only little among themselves. Behind them, the overhead lights winked out.

"Alright, you'll be taken back to the precinct" The SWAT leader said as the list was sent to the IB

<Xiao Ling Resturant>

Within twenty minutes the building was surronded by SWAT officers. All with protective clothing on. With a command from their leader they entered the building.

The Xiao Ling Restaurant was a busy Chinese restaurant in downtown Hell's Gate, filled with patrons at any hour of the day due to low prices and reasonably good food. It was located along crowded streets; there was an apartment building upstairs; and it was not particularly large, with a dining room seating about seventy, a small kitchen and a basement where supplies were kept. Crowding up against it on either side were other shops, one a bookshop, the other another restaurant, Ristorante La Traviata. There were lines out the door when the SWAT team entered. One passerby jokingly expressed outrage that they were cutting the line, and a second quipped that the food wasn't that bad, but stern looks silenced them.

The Last SWAT officer to enter advised them to retreat to a safe distance before following the teams.
One team covered the Stairs to the basement whilst the rest cleared the building before both teams headed down the stairs

Seventy or eighty people were herded outside onto the sidewalk as the SWAT teams descended into the basement, looking for weapons. The bathrooms lacked any such caches, as did the loading dock in the back; keeping any weapons in those public places would be kind of silly. This left the most likely room: a dark room filled with empty crates, trash of all kinds, broken down refrigerators and more; if there were weapons here, they were probably hidden among all of this junk. The room had, at one end, a ladder leading to the sidewalk, presumably so that the trash could be delivered to garbage trucks; but it didn't look as though the room had been cleared in years. (Where was the Dept. of Health and Sanitation? At very least, that was another violation to book the restaurant with.)

"Get a forensics team in" The SWAT leader ordered as they headed back upstairs

When the forensics team arrived and descended the stairs again -- the crowds were starting to break up now -- they nearly ran into a few of the employees, who were returning from the open door to the loading dock. It didn't appear that any of them spoke enough English to be comprehensible.

"Officer!" The lead of the team called up the stairs.
Two police officers walked down the stairs, hands on their waepons.
"Identify yourselves!" The demanded

The three men and one woman conversed among themselves for a few moments, rapidly, in a language that had the cadence of Hungarian but just as well could have been Dienstadi.

"My - name - Altheon," said one of them. "I - work - here."

One of the others attempted to corroborate this in another rapid stream of whatever foreign language it was.

"Alright, up the stairs" the Officer ordered, and spoke into his radio "Err, unit 21 to SWAT lead, we've got four civvies on their way up, recommend containment until we get their stories straight"

The civilians were herded upstairs (Altheon had to confirm that they were supposed to leave in the language they all spoke), leaving a few boxes on the ground near the loading dock. The boxes were empty, evidently being left out for the recycling. The forensic teams moved on into the large and very messy storage room, reeking with refuse and piled high with empty boxes. Something was moving in there; presumably something rodentine, by the scrabble of tiny feet. Definitely not anyone's favourite assignment, this one.

"Don't take any risks" The Leader instructed "Not after what Happened to teh IB"

Moving carefully, it took a long time for the forensics team to clear enough of the room to find something useful; long enough that the restaurant's owner came downstairs to complain to the police officers. "This is losing me a lot of business! What could possibly be so important that you have to close me down for this long? It's the busiest time of the evening! Customers are lined up halfway around the block!" (et cetera, et cetera)

The room contained no tripwires, no dead man's switches, no failsafes. It was just a room with a lot of trash in it. Until they got to the very back, where it faced onto the sidewalk, and found -- behind a ladder leading up to street level -- several heavy crates piled neatly on the ground.

"Now that looks suspicious" The Team leader commented "Put your masks on and make sure theres no exposed skin"
The Team moved towards it

The crates sat there and absolutely failed to explode. They took the first one down, opened it, and found it to contain grenades.

Well, sort of. The top layer was grenades; deep enough that it looked like the whole box was full of them. But underneath them were several layers of foam peanuts, which were audible when one shook the box.

The second box contained rifles, but again was less than half full, with the rest of the crate filled with padding. And so with the third box (ammunition) and the fourth box, the one on the ground (pistols). The fourth box also contained a note, however, which read:
V YBIR UBJ LBH GBBX NYY GUVF GVZR GB QVT BHG GURFR OBKRF, LRG PBZCYRGRYL ZVFFRQ GUR CNFFNTRJNL HAQRE GUR FGNVEF.

"Get that to Crypotlogy" The Leader ordered "get it worked out"

It didn't even get that far. One of the younger police officers recognized it at first glance. "It looks like ROT13," he said. "Whoever wrote it can't have wanted it to be very secure." Lips moving, he rapidly penciled in the letters; there are some people, most of them huge cryptography nerds, who can simply read ROT13 without having to apply much thought. "Oh my...."

I LOVE HOW YOU TOOK ALL THIS TIME TO DIG OUT THESE BOXES, YET COMPLETELY MISSED THE PASSAGEWAY UNDER THE STAIRS
V YBIR UBJ LBH GBBX NYY GUVF GVZR GB QVT BHG GURFR OBKRF, LRG PBZCYRGRYL ZVFFRQ GUR CNFFNTRJNL HAQRE GUR FGNVEF.

"Stairs now!" The team leader said tersly