Eternity RPC Board
06-15-2018, 10:49 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-19-2018, 03:33 AM by STRATCOM.
Edit Reason: MISSION COMPLETION
)
Residence of the MT1
Port Rapier, Vestor Licit People's Mandate
"That's quite a tale," MT1 Humblos said, breaking the silence and waving away the thickening smoke of fine Vestian leaf.
"It's all true," said the man sitting across from him, twirling his cigarette thoughtfully. "Even the redacted parts."
"Especially the redacted parts, as the saying goes," Humblos replied. "I don't need to tell you that it was easily the stunt of the year. Our diplomatic teams were working triple shifts with all the attention. Did you know there's a Lanlanian politician who demands that we deservice every diplomatic facilitator he interacts with? Foreigners know nothing about how we work, foreign journos even less so."
"The attention was secondary," said the man. "I take my duty very seriously."
"Indeed you do," said Humblos. "No brigadier commander has ever redeemed as many thirteens as you, not even close - and you still won't let us promote you to MT4."
"Fours and up are pencil pushers," the man smiled. "I know I am exactly where the state needs me."
"Then what does that make me?" Humblos chuckled, tapping his brass MT1 insignia.
"A pencil factory," the man chuckled back. "But we'd never turn you down on a ground campaign. I've seen you fight."
"Sounds enticing, if it wouldn't give the rest of your people heart attacks," said Humblos thoughtfully. "Just like the good old days."
"Bad old days, you mean," said the man. "We nearly got ourselves stapled for the crap we used to pull back in the day. I'm shocked we ever got back to twelves, much less me running the brigadiers and you running the whole damn bloc!"
"That's exactly why I won't pull the plug on the penal brigades," said Humblos, pointing his burning cigarette at the man. "All the twos and threes clamor for it. They think it makes us look bad on the international stage. Soft cowards, all of them. They grew up with a safe, prosperous Mandate and never had to fight their way up. Even the best lifelong training we can offer our citizens is no substitute for real hardship. I need thirteens to come out of the fire redeemed and ready to be our backbone."
"And on that count, I have failed you," said the man plainly.
Humblos sighed, extinguished his depleted cigarette, lit a new one, and took a long drag.
"For days, your men held up aircraft carriers and battleships and air wings and marine brigades of the most well-funded maritime power on earth. They controlled a nation while the superpowers wasted millions idling their engines. And when they did come, the entire planet watched for days as six hundred dirty, blighted criminals with semi-automatic rifles and hearts of Vestian steel faced a modern tide of war with dignity to the last. If you do not count that as success, then your definition of it is queer indeed."
"There was no way to fight through with survivors," said the man regretfully. "They knew there was no retreat or surrender. I was very much tempted to stay with them, such was their uncommon stubbornness. In the end it was my adjutant who conceived of the deception that saved my life, and sealed it with his own."
"You think too small. While that happened, we all watched. Each Vestian man, woman, and child had the iron put back into their spines at the sight. They realized that for all of the lights and money and propaganda of the foreigners, they were no better than any Vestian, not even rising to the level of the Chiri. You did not bring back any men in body, no - but their spirit had exactly the result I had hoped for. And this is, of course, why you must resume your object lessons overseas."
Humblos handed the man an envelope. He opened it and read it by the firelight, mumbling and nodding. At last he took a deep breath and spoke.
"It is too easy," he said at last.
Humblos laughed, a jolly noise from his diaphragm that betrayed his lack of surprise. He shook his head and smiled.
"I know you too well, Bogand," he said. "The other support will not come into play until later, all bought and paid for by your handlers."
"May I see my granddaughter before I leave?" Bogand asked, changing the subject abruptly. "She has just come back from Rapier and will be very pleased to know that I live."
"Of course. I would keep an eye on Nadia, old friend. From what I hear she shares the Bogand family eye for strategy. Her unit performed curioisly well at Rapier with her as dispatcher. It may not be long before she commands an arsenal plane or more."
"Don't say that," Bogand said, grimacing.
"I know, I know, you want your granddaughter to stay a child forever. How do you think I feel? One second I preside over a class of young people receiving their first tiering, next I hear their children are doing the same. It's joyless business, getting old."
"So don't," Bogand said with a smirk.
"You first," Humblos replied with a laugh. "You've got more opportunity for it anyways. Dismissed."
---
MISSION COMPLETE
OUTCOME: [REDACTED]
MT5 BOGAND RECALLED TO PORT RAPIER
Port Rapier, Vestor Licit People's Mandate
"That's quite a tale," MT1 Humblos said, breaking the silence and waving away the thickening smoke of fine Vestian leaf.
"It's all true," said the man sitting across from him, twirling his cigarette thoughtfully. "Even the redacted parts."
"Especially the redacted parts, as the saying goes," Humblos replied. "I don't need to tell you that it was easily the stunt of the year. Our diplomatic teams were working triple shifts with all the attention. Did you know there's a Lanlanian politician who demands that we deservice every diplomatic facilitator he interacts with? Foreigners know nothing about how we work, foreign journos even less so."
"The attention was secondary," said the man. "I take my duty very seriously."
"Indeed you do," said Humblos. "No brigadier commander has ever redeemed as many thirteens as you, not even close - and you still won't let us promote you to MT4."
"Fours and up are pencil pushers," the man smiled. "I know I am exactly where the state needs me."
"Then what does that make me?" Humblos chuckled, tapping his brass MT1 insignia.
"A pencil factory," the man chuckled back. "But we'd never turn you down on a ground campaign. I've seen you fight."
"Sounds enticing, if it wouldn't give the rest of your people heart attacks," said Humblos thoughtfully. "Just like the good old days."
"Bad old days, you mean," said the man. "We nearly got ourselves stapled for the crap we used to pull back in the day. I'm shocked we ever got back to twelves, much less me running the brigadiers and you running the whole damn bloc!"
"That's exactly why I won't pull the plug on the penal brigades," said Humblos, pointing his burning cigarette at the man. "All the twos and threes clamor for it. They think it makes us look bad on the international stage. Soft cowards, all of them. They grew up with a safe, prosperous Mandate and never had to fight their way up. Even the best lifelong training we can offer our citizens is no substitute for real hardship. I need thirteens to come out of the fire redeemed and ready to be our backbone."
"And on that count, I have failed you," said the man plainly.
Humblos sighed, extinguished his depleted cigarette, lit a new one, and took a long drag.
"For days, your men held up aircraft carriers and battleships and air wings and marine brigades of the most well-funded maritime power on earth. They controlled a nation while the superpowers wasted millions idling their engines. And when they did come, the entire planet watched for days as six hundred dirty, blighted criminals with semi-automatic rifles and hearts of Vestian steel faced a modern tide of war with dignity to the last. If you do not count that as success, then your definition of it is queer indeed."
"There was no way to fight through with survivors," said the man regretfully. "They knew there was no retreat or surrender. I was very much tempted to stay with them, such was their uncommon stubbornness. In the end it was my adjutant who conceived of the deception that saved my life, and sealed it with his own."
"You think too small. While that happened, we all watched. Each Vestian man, woman, and child had the iron put back into their spines at the sight. They realized that for all of the lights and money and propaganda of the foreigners, they were no better than any Vestian, not even rising to the level of the Chiri. You did not bring back any men in body, no - but their spirit had exactly the result I had hoped for. And this is, of course, why you must resume your object lessons overseas."
Humblos handed the man an envelope. He opened it and read it by the firelight, mumbling and nodding. At last he took a deep breath and spoke.
"It is too easy," he said at last.
Humblos laughed, a jolly noise from his diaphragm that betrayed his lack of surprise. He shook his head and smiled.
"I know you too well, Bogand," he said. "The other support will not come into play until later, all bought and paid for by your handlers."
"May I see my granddaughter before I leave?" Bogand asked, changing the subject abruptly. "She has just come back from Rapier and will be very pleased to know that I live."
"Of course. I would keep an eye on Nadia, old friend. From what I hear she shares the Bogand family eye for strategy. Her unit performed curioisly well at Rapier with her as dispatcher. It may not be long before she commands an arsenal plane or more."
"Don't say that," Bogand said, grimacing.
"I know, I know, you want your granddaughter to stay a child forever. How do you think I feel? One second I preside over a class of young people receiving their first tiering, next I hear their children are doing the same. It's joyless business, getting old."
"So don't," Bogand said with a smirk.
"You first," Humblos replied with a laugh. "You've got more opportunity for it anyways. Dismissed."
---
MISSION COMPLETE
OUTCOME: [REDACTED]
MT5 BOGAND RECALLED TO PORT RAPIER