Operation In Secula Seculorum

[Lanakov]

On board of a Gallic transport, Orkney system. Two men sitting side by side in the cockpit.

"Feeling better, friend ?"

The pilot was wearing a GMS flightsuit and a tidy beard. His interlocutor had the same kind of suit, though it seemed less used. A suspicious eye would have noticed the contrast between the clean, new suit and its wearer's face, already marked by the passing of time and a likely tumultuous life.

"Much better, thank you. I just can't stop thinking about what would have happened if you hadn't shown up when you did."

The pilot chuckled, trying to hide his pride at having saved the day.
"Wouldn't have left you out in the cold, friend ! It's odd you got attacked in these parts, though. Ever since the military kicked out the Republicans and seized the Taus, pirate attacks in the area have largely decreased. We don't get nearly as many problems as during the first journeys out of Languedoc. The lack of bases of operation, I assume..."

The other man seemed to have lost himself in his thoughts. The pilot couldn't blame him after what he'd been through ; he was probably still shocked. Still, he wanted to be friendly to this man he saved, in order at least to comfort him ; and maybe get some information about him so he could boast about who he'd saved from the claws of the Brigands with accurate details. Ladies from Nevers weren't easy to impress.

"By the way, friend, you didn't tell me your name..."

Major Nitchiev Lanakov surfaced from his thoughts and faced the man who was about to give him an entrance ticket to Gallia. The whole pirate attack cover up had worked so far, now was another moment of truth.

"Bergier... My name is Jacques Bergier."

And while saying this, he observed the pilot's reaction, while keeping his neutral look.

There was no trace of suspicion on the man's face ; only what Lanakov could describe as honest friendliness.
The pilot handed his hand to him, and said ;
"Well then, very glad to meet you friend, my name is Jean-Pierre Le Blanc !"

Lanakov allowed himself to smile.
"The pleasure is shared, especially considering the circumstances..."

The pilot laughed.


As the impressive minefield appeared in the horizon, Lanakov knew Operation In Secula Seculorum was about to begin. He closed his eyes for a second. Deceiving this honest miner proved to be an easy task.
Might be substantially harder to deceive an entire nation, but it was most certainly doable.

As the ship dialed in the jump hole procedure, he opened his eyes. He had now become Jacques Bergier, honest subject of the Gallic Crown. There was no turning back now.

---

Feedback, insults, marriage proposals and declarations of fealty

If everyone was a bit more like Lanakov, the entire world would be more positive. Including pregnancy tests.

[Lanakov]

TWO WEEKS AGO.

Two men of roughly equal size, wearing the traditional Coalition officer suits, are on their way to the famous Kalashnikov's bar.

"Say, Aleksei, about that wedding of yours..." the one on the left said.
The other one shrugged.
"I did tell you about it. And no, you were not drunk. Not this time."
"I blame Liberty."
"Most likely, Lanakov."

Aleksei Stroganov and Nitchiev Lanakov spent much time together, from daring ventures into enemy territory, broadcasting propaganda to stimulate the oppressed, to off-duty conversations like this one, most of which Lanakov did remember. The next few hours were expected to be spent casually at the bar, mostly revolving around Stroganov's spouse. But things were to turn out differently.

As the two officers turned to enter a new corridor, Lanakov's radio went on.
"Major Lanakov, you are expected in the Premier's office at once."
Quick sentence, heavy meaning. Being directly summoned to the Premier's headquarters was not a frequent occurrence, nor really a good sign for your immediate future.
The Major looked at his friend.

"Guess duty calls again. Will you be okay without me ?
Stroganov, used to Lanakov's antics, just nodded.
"Don't worry about me, we'll get that drink later. You'd better go."
"Indeed. I will see you later. Commissar-Major".

He saluted his friend, and hurried towards Premier Katz's office.





LATER THAT DAY.

A dark room. Posters of Coalition spaceships and female officers on the walls. A postcard of Jiangxi. A scaled-down replica of a Nova torpedo, signed by the comrades from the Fighter Corps. Two men sitting at a table, smoking cigars.

"For how long ?"
"As long as it will take, Aleksei. The Premier insisted on that point."
"Does he expect you to survive ?"
"I'm not convinced he even wondered about that."
"I see".

Lanakov had been tasked with a special mission.
No more novaclysms, no more desperate raids against unsurmountable odds, no more brash taunting of fleeing opponents. This one would require more finesse, and a good knowledge of Gallic customs. Lanakov possessed at least the latter, having operated close to the Gallic borders shortly after the Reunion.
He was to become a Gallic citizen himself, gathering as much information as possible, regarding most aspects of the newly-discovered House. It had literally erupted on the Sirius political map, and its entrance had been a loud one - Hence the need for the Coalition to gather intelligence on what could quickly become a serious competitor for the conquest of Sirius.

"Will someone replace you ?" said Stroganov.
"Actually yes. Someone will. Major Artyom Novikov. A real jar-head, enjoys explosive ordinance and women. You'll love him."
"I already do".

A moment passed, during which none of them talked, instead enjoying their cigars. The light consuming the stick reminded Lanakov of time passing and getting him closer and closer to his next, and possibly final assignment.

"Aleksei, before I forget it, I need you to do me a favor."
Before waiting for Stroganov's anwser, he rummaged in his pockets and produced a hand-written letter.
"If you could give this to Katya Vaschenko for me. Don't bother with an explanation, she'll understand."
The Commissar-Major shrugged.
"I'd have picked another last wish than ask me to deliver a letter, no matter how pretty the receiver is."
They both laughed and returned to the delights of fine tobacco.



Dear Katya,


Fate can be hard to decipher sometimes.
You can't have forgotten the past, how we both grew up and learnt our way through the Coalition ranks, raid after raid, from hard-won skirmishes to glorious victories. How many times did we cheat death, how many comrades did Death take... How close we used to be.
Then you disappeared. I was never really informed of what took you away. Secrecy around it was well kept.
There was no knowing when or even if you'd come back. So I just lived on, and kept contributing to the glory and success of the Coalition to the best of my abilities.

I've been tasked to disappear. I can't tell you where, why or how long. I can only say it's an important mission, and a dangerous one. The kind of assignment we all dream about at least once in our careers.
I find it odd that destiny had to push me away just as you suddenly returned from the dead, or god knows where you were. I guess no matter what choices we make, there is always something else to decide for us.
I'm confused, dear Katya. I wished I had more time to explain you what crosses my mind at the moment, but it all came so fast. I wish we had more time.
But time is short.

I hope I will see you again, not at your funeral that is.
Stay safe,

N.

---

Feedback, insults, marriage proposals and declarations of fealty

If everyone was a bit more like Lanakov, the entire world would be more positive. Including pregnancy tests.

[Lanakov]

DIRECT TRANSMISSION TO COALITION HEADQUARTERS
ENCRYPTION LEVELS : GLORIOUS
TRANSMISSION ID : Jacques Bergier, Gallic Mining Service

Comrade Premier,
Commissars,
Comrades,

An update on my undercover mission is quite overdue. It appears I've missed the... last four scheduled reports. You have my apologies for that. What you see from Gallia on the outside rivals what you see on the inside. The commotion is real, the population is hard pressed to deliver results, whatever their jobs are, and the surveillance is everywhere. The Gallic war machine is well provided for, and most of all, very secure and behind high walls. I've finally completed a homemade encryption program : it's not perfect but I'm hoping its artisanal nature will shield this transmission for long enough.

So, the important part, out of the way : there seems to be no calming down of the war effort behind the frontlines. It is hard to measure the general sentiment of the population about it : Gallic society is very diverse, some people seem afraid to talk, others seem not to care much. The publicly available information is generally rather skewed, too... I have taken up employment at the gallic mining service, in order to connect with as many sympathisers to our cause as possible, and maybe draw some of them to join the revolution.

This is a long-run effort, but I've managed to direct a very interesting man to try and join the SCRA. I have compiled a file about him, his story and his motivations. I've advised him to leave Gallia and come look for us in the Omegas. I urge you to give him a chance. You will understand why by reading the report. I am shutting down this transmission now. In the absence of new orders on your part within the next two days, I will resume the operation and send an update as soon as possible.

For the revolution !
Major Lanakov

END OF DIRECT TRANSMISSION.

ATTACHED REPORT :

The man's name is Antoine Joassard. I can't place his age, possibly nearing his fourties.
We met on planet Quillan in the Languedoc system. He found work in reconstruction there some time ago, and my office was in charge of processing him through recruitment. We became fast friends, and started meeting in pubs with other colleagues and people I'd drawn to our side. After a few months, I gained his trust, and learned of his troubled past.
Antoine Joassard is a former Maquisard, an unlawful faction fighting side by side with the gallic Council to overthrow the royal power and build a new democratic republic. What sets the Maquis apart from the Council is a strong tendency towards an "end justifies the means" approach, which includes the destruction of non combatant targets.
Joassard was drawn to this life, having been raised by a very poor family, the kind typically exploited by the regime. He was angry, demanded change and was ready to see it through whatever the cost. His recklessness was very appreciated by his superiors, and his brethren soon nicknamed him Tarzan : his specialty was blowing up bridges right under the noses of the local garrisons and always avoiding capture. After several months, he was promoted and trained to fly a spaceship, after which he was assigned to an attack wing.

Joassard's picture as displayed in the Maquis archives.

The first strikes went down well : military targets, the hated oppressors were the targets of his initial missions. He had adjusted well enough to space combat and proved apparently dependable enough for specialised bomber training. That's at this point of the conversation that Joassard himself became unclear, elusive, which is what prompted me to hack into Maquis human resources database to find his file. Most of the information contained in this report was provided by either Joassard or his file, and correlated whenever possible.

It appears his first mission aboard a bomber was targetted at a civilian convoy. He'd been told to engage targets beyond visual range, as is standard practice for bombing runs, and he proceeded to fire his torpedo volleys at the signature of two large ships. These turned out to be passenger transports headed to Ile de France, ferrying Parisians back to their homes following bank holidays spent in Provence. Four hundred civilians were badly injured or killed in the resulting explosions, and Joassard lost two friends in the resulting reaction of the gallic police, on high alert because of the predicted high traffic. It turns out that Maquis intelligence had mistaken that convoy for a strategic shipment destined to one of the military shipyards in Ile de France. They probably had the wrong date, but still tried to peg on the Gallic government and accused it of using passenger convoys as meat shield for their shipyard supply runs. That, of course, did not sit well with Joassard, who seemingly went through a serious mental breakdown. His file indicates that he remained for several weeks in hospital, eating very little, talking even less and refusing to leave bed. Ultimately, he was taken off the pilots registry, and the Maquis records bear no mention of his name after that. He explained to me, through elusive sentences, that he just left his base, his comrades, his Maquisard life... without a trace, nor a goodbye. He sought ways to relieve the pain, ended up addicted to Nox, got in trouble with the Unione Corse because of debts he had contracted to fuel his addiction, and narrowly escaped with his life. He changed identities and washed up in Quillan, looking for a new start. That's where I picked him up.

Joassard's favourite hobby. (Family photo used by the media to cover the event at the time)

The fire in him has certainly died : he is now a disillusioned man, probably much younger than he looks. He seldom talks and has a relatively restricted social circle. Still, he is quick to laugh, slow to anger, and has not let go of his dreams of a better society. He may be crushed and traumatised, but his fast interest in our cause, quick reflexes and solid constitution lead me to deduce that the fire could be brought back. This life of easy servitude does not fit him, and he's wasted as a miner. He's been extensively trained by the Maquisards, renowned and feared experts at sabotage and blitz tactics. He learned to fly and fight on the rust buckets used by the Maquis, he could do wonders on our sophisticated crafts. I strongly believe we could use a warrior like Joassard was in our ranks, someone our men could look up to in the heat of the battle. Our own Tarzan, as he came to be known.
I recommend the SCRA take him under its wing, get him through training, hand him challenges, have him outdo himself. By giving him a purpose, a cause he has deep sympathy for, and the best tools to carry it out, I know we can bring back the Tarzan in him. And I know we need real fighters like him.

Let him blow the bridges of our enemies.