2080 Story thread

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Re: 2080 Story thread

Post by Alexios Komnenos on 2008-06-30, 08:09

It was midnight, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. Nikoli Saratov reclined in his personal cabin on his billion-dollar stealth jet, reclining into the soft pelts of endangered species, while sipping champagne.

He paused for a second, before picking up the gold-leaf airplane phone. He set down the champagne in the ornate cupholder.

He dialed the number, then settled back horizontally on his couch.

“Hello?” A voice with a clipped English accent said.

“This is the Doctor.” Nikoli replied.

“Is this line safe?”

“Obviously.” He said. “I called because I’m reshuffling the deck. One to London, one to Cairo, that’s how the cards are dealt.” Reshuffling the deck was code for moving a cell of spies into another country.

“Okay. Thanks for telling me. What do you want me to do?”

“Distraction: give the E.U. something else to focus on. I think they may be on to us. Remember the Munich fiasco?” At Munich, a Murmansk Sunset cell had been identified and after a bloody gunfight, every man was killed. It had been the first time a Murmansk Sunset sleeper cell had been identified and brought down by European agencies. Historically, the only cells they had identified either escaped, or were in the middle of an operation.

“You want me to blow shit up?”

“Nah. That’s old.” He thought for a moment. “Here’s what we should do. You have a list of possible EIN agents and their addresses, no?”

“I do.”

“Then kill them. Drive by shootings or something. More likely than not, many of them are agents, and the EIN will be baffled. Then arrange hits on low-level government ministers, you know, like provincial governors or such. Have our moles come up with “leads” that get them nowhere.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and call Omar. We’re moving another cell to Cairo.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Goodbye.”

Saratov hung up the phone. It was late, and the cabin was warm. And endangered species make the most comfortable beds…
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Re: 2080 Story thread

Post by Seleukos of Olympia on 2008-06-30, 09:18

29 June 2080

It had only taken a week. One week of relentless thrusting by Caliphate armies through Ukraine to punch through to Moscow and isolate the Russian armies in Central Europe and Finland. After nine years of total war, it was all decided in a single week. The Russian government was collapsing, its army was demoralized and without supplies, and the terms of surrender had been handed out by the United Powers of the European Union, the Caliphate and the puppet governments of all the nations soon to be liberated. The gears of history had seemed rusty and heavy to Langevin in the past few months. But now they seemed to be turning with irrevocable momentum, crushing anything that opposed them – ideas, people, armies of empires…

But in the outer regions of the great machine, where those forces were still subtle and lenient, perturbations arose in the grand design. In those regions ideas could still stand on their own, people too; even armies of empires. That was what Langevin thought as he pondered Dimitre Zubrov and his Uralsk-Siberiya. He was an audacious man to demand his own Free Russia, and on public television, on top of that! His offer of alliance and cooperation, should the EU recognize his state, had been politely refused at first, but now the European Foreign Ministry was having second thoughts. It was hoped that the Caliphate would scare Zubrov into stepping back and agreeing to reintegrate into mainstream Russian politics, but the Caliphate had proven more receptive of that new state than it was expected. Agostinho had convinced Langevin that the EU should recognize Uralsk-Siberiya so that it wouldn’t fall within the Caliphate’s exclusive sphere of influence, so that was the new plan now.

In the outer regions, the gears of the great machine broke up in contact with the open air and formed little machines of their own. Complexity was once again reasserting itself. It was, one could say, inevitable.

Langevin’s pondering was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He lifted the receiver detachedly and heard Rose Crawford’s voice. Another emergency EIN update, it seemed. Despite the great machine of history, it was still a subtle world everyone lived in, and any little event…

Hm. Disturbing news. But nothing too tragic.


Last edited by Seleukos of Olympia on 2008-07-20, 16:40; edited 1 time in total

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Re: 2080 Story thread

Post by Alexios Komnenos on 2008-07-02, 17:05

The EIN was unique among intelligence agencies. Actually many separate intelligence agencies in the member states of the E.U. under one umbrella, it was second only to Murmansk Sunset in capabilities, with spies all over the world, collecting data, decoding information, battling the Murmansk Sunset menace which loomed over the heads of the people of Europe for nine long years.

Nevertheless, the atmosphere of the agency was very different from that of early 21st century agencies. The EIN was infiltrated. That was obvious. In fact, every intelligence agency that actively pursued Murmansk Sunset had to come to grips with that basic fact. It might not be a high level infiltrator, but your computers were hacked, your papers were stolen by the copy boy, you could trust nobody. Your agents were under perpetual threat of death or worse.

The headquarters of the EIN was a fortress, surrounded by electric fences and barbed wire, machine gunners and armored vehicles on patrol. But in spite of the fact that this was supposed to be protection from the outside, you got the feeling it was a prison. You lived in a safehouse, a separate district secured from terrorists and suicide bombers, and in your isolation, you could not help feeling like animals in cages.

Agent Tony Smith, Junior Expert on Murmansk Sunset was a mole, and he would die. That much was obvious. He had long come to grips with this fact. The E.U. would eventually find him and kill him. Or Murmansk Sunset would, when he outlived his usefulness or when his loyalty was no longer certain. But he enjoyed what he did. He enjoyed the frustration on his fellow agent’s faces when their plans were foiled. He enjoyed knowing a secret nobody else did, he enjoyed thwarting the system.

Just last night he had received his latest command from Saratov. 20 E.U. agents of low rank had recently been eliminated. But the E.U. was not to know Murmansk Sunset was responsible. Saratov wanted others blamed for the attacks, so that the E.U. diverted additional resources to other terrorist groups.

Easy enough job. The daily briefing’s subject quickly turned to the attacks, and instantly, Murmansk Sunset was blamed.

“Mr. Rossini, I must disagree with you. Yes, this could be Murmansk Sunset, but it does not have the hallmarks of their attacks.” Smith said, rapping his nails on the table as he spoke, a habit that annoyed all of his colleagues.

“Which are?” The Head of Internal Security, Rossini, a tall Italian with a prominent aquiline nose and dark eyebrows asked.

“Not flashy enough. Each of the murders was carried out quietly. 20 men dead, all of them found with a bullet through their heads in their apartment. Highly professional. Murmansk Sunset is professional, but their killings have a certain… flair to them.”

“Explain.” Crawford said, staring coldly at Smith, making her distaste for him obvious. The only reason Smith was not fired was because he was the only person who was paranoid enough to hold the position, in her opinion. Everybody else who ever took the position got careless and was killed by Murmansk Sunset, their lifeless bodies found in the murky waters of the Thames, riddled with bullets. He was the only one who never let his guard down. And somehow he had managed to survive. (Little did she know he was a mole)

“Well, Murmansk Sunset makes much more ‘movie’ style killings. Blowing up somebody’s car, driving by and mowing them down in a hail of gunfire, large-scale pyromania or massive explosions are also commonplace. My predecessor was hit with a Molotov cocktail to the back of the head. It draws far more attention to their cause than silent murders like these.”

“So, then you think we were hit by another group?” Asked Crawford.

“Yes.”

“This is a disturbing event, Smith. If somebody besides Murmansk Sunset could carry out an operation like this, that means we are not only heavily infiltrated by one group, but also by another, one which has so far managed to eliminate 20 of our agents and informants in a single night. Evidence points to further attacks to come.” Rossini said.

“That is why I propose moving several of our teams analyzing Murmansk Sunset to this new threat. Murmansk Sunset is weaker after their military defeat, and does not need so much of our resources.”

Crawford considered for a minute. “I will have to make a report to Langevin. Continue your briefing, Rossini. I must go. Good-day to all of you.”
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Re: 2080 Story thread

Post by Seleukos of Olympia on 2008-07-14, 12:20

29 June 2080

Conakry was once a thriving metropolis of over 3 million souls. It wasn’t always comfortable for all of them, but it was energetic. But that was before the global recession, Orange Death, and the redeployment of UN personnel to more manageable locations. Conakry was now a small city of 40000 people, governed by a succession of corrupt dictatorships that wasted away Guinea’s remaining population and resources in tribal conflicts with its neighboring lands. The remaining citizens of Conakry scavenged the remains of the city and traded with the few ships that occasionally docked in its vast harbour. So it was a matter of much excitement when the 2nd Oceanic Fleet of the European Union appeared off their shores, escorting a flotilla of transports and merchant ships.

Admiral de Vries avoided the crowds gathering at the docks, her helicopter flying directly to the presidential palace, the only public building that seemed to be preserved in a semi-decent condition. Accompanying her was the first EU ambassador to Guinea, Jean-Claude Gassendi, who had only landed on the deck of the EUS Indomitable a couple of days earlier. A military band started playing at the garden of the palace, as a red carpet was extended to the landing site. Kanfory Camara, perpetual president of Guinea, awaited them in a resplendent uniform, decorated with all manners of brass and feathers, while his trusted officials stood still as statues at his sides, their eyes shifting uneasily, hinting at that they were much more used to commanding guerillas in the mountains or harassing peasant girls than participating in formal ceremonies. de Vries and Gassendi stepped out, along with an honour guard of marines, and Camara’s face lit up in a diabolical smile as he shook hands with them.

“I must admit, I was surprised when the European Union decided to aid my government in re-establishing its rightful sovereignty over the whole of Guinea. After all, our request for aid was made thirty years ago!”
“The European Union never forgets those in need.” Gassendi replied. “Our wars in Europe restricted our resources in the past, but now Europe will no longer turn a blind eye to the troubles of the world.”

There were uneasy smiles all around. It was no secret that Camara’s vision of “Guinea” encompassed a large part of western Africa. It was also no secret that the main obstacle to that goal was the United Nations West Africa Command, whose protection of Liberian militias operating in southeast Guinea was a plague on Guinea’s security and economy. And, furthermore, no one at that gathering really expected the European Union to care. But there were deeper factors operating on a global scale, and if Guinea’s interests could benefit from attaching themselves to those factors, then all was well as long as it was so.

“We understand that you have been having constant security problems in the southeast. The European Union in interested in a stable geopolitical partner in western Africa and as such we are willing to offer small quantities of military aid, for the purposes of national defence.”

Two marines came out of the helicopter, carrying a large cardboard box that they ceremoniously presented before Camara.

“This,” de Vries announced with a smile, “is a plasma screen!”


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Re: 2080 Story thread

Post by BasilBulgaroktonus on 2008-07-17, 15:37

"Light em!" screamed the sergeant.

Bob entered the command and the sticks flashed to life immediately, igniting an inferno which quickly consumed what was once an American town. No, a fortress, thought Isaac as he watched the fires reach a crescendo, then slowly dying down.

"We should have done this from the start," muttered Bob, who was watching the fading flames intently.

Isaac had several guesses on what "this" was. Ever since the start of the war the U.N. had been having trouble with its troops from an American background. Quite a large number of soldiers had defected to the to the Americans, some not before inflicting some horrific damage on unsuspecting U.N. units. After a series of incidents the entire military was reorganized. Units with almost no American sympathy began to raid deep into what was left of the United States, trying to cause as much damage as possible. The main armies were reorganized so that U.N. Americans were squashed between more loyal U.N. troops. Non American descended troops were also put in charge of all heavy equipment. Whole units, however, had to be reorganized, so the burden of shifting American interest fell on the raiding parties.

Isaac looked around at the men watching this particular demolition, quickly counting making a mental note of everyone present. He almost ticked of Pratchett and Terry, but remembered that they had been their first casualties, sadly remembering how a few days back they had been the vanguard of a team to scout out an abandoned town. American bastards had stuck explosives in the manholes which blew half the team away, including Terry and Pratchett, the first two to get hit. Thats when they started using the sticks.

The American towns and settlements were rather spartan. There was very little to pillage and the few times that Isaac's group tried to start a gasoline fire very little took to the flame. The sticks took care of them though, igniting a brilliant fire that quickly reduced whatever material the Americans used to make their houses fireproof to ash or glass.

"I just love watching that shit go off," wooped Evan after the other 3 stick sites ignited. Bob merely looked on with a hungry stare in his eyes.

"Serves those bastards right for dragging my ass halfway across the fuckin planet just because the last beating wasnt enough." He said. Evan quieted, noting the deadly seriousness in Bob's statement.

Isaac, meanwhile, turned to radio the raiding back together. Time to move to the next town, destroy it, tear up some roads, and do everything to devastate just as much land in between the United States and the U.N. as humanly possible.
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Re: 2080 Story thread

Post by Alexios Komnenos on 2008-07-20, 16:44

The sun was shining in the PSSA, as Saratov’s stealth jet touched down on a top-secret military airstrip, deep in the jungle. Saratov was still fast asleep in his office as the wheels hit the tarmac.

The Siberian Tigers had already landed and cleared the area with the utmost military precision, scanning the landing zone for any threats.

Saratov awoke a few minutes later, as the ramp extended, his hair a mess from sleeping on the chair (his attempts to fix it were in vain) he stumbled out into the bright outdoors, the sun beating down on his pale Slavic skin.

He saw Noriega striding towards the plane and waved, while climbing down the ramp to the tarmac.



“Are we safe here?” He asked, his eyes darting across the small military airport, seeing only Siberian Tigers on patrol.

“Of course.” Noriega said. “I must express my condolences for the disaster at your Kamchatka base.”

“Thank you… However, our Siberian Tigers, have, for the most part, been killed in the attack…”

Yuri, meanwhile, had only barely left the plane. He raised his right hand in a salute.

At that signal, a shot rang out. Saratov fell to the ground. The bullet had ripped a hole in his chest, and blood flew across the tarmac, staining it red. There were random yells. Noriega dropped to the ground quickly, ducking and covering. The Siberian Tigers, seeing that it was one of their own who had done it, shot him dead on the spot.

Yuri retreated into the plane, smiling. Nikoli had served his purpose. The vain drug addicted idiot had wasted enough of his time. Murmansk Sunset was his, as it should have been, if bastards like Dedenko hadn’t ruined everything before.

Now, everything was his… Murmansk Sunset would rule the world under his guiding hand…

He didn’t see the Siberian Tiger standing in the isle, and almost ran into him. He felt the AK press against his head.

“I saw you give the order, Yuri.” He shot, and Yuri fell into a seat, his brains dripping out.
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