05-10-2023, 06:27 PM
Aegir Sea, International Democratic Union
Field Officer Second Class Matthias Borneholm of UET Grundhavn (Udenlandsk EfterretningsTjeneste, Foreign Intelligence Service Grundhavn) felt a little sick to his stomach. This was his first chance to lead a foreign mission, and now he was being presented with his first big choice. Make the proper choice, ensure the mission went off without any snags, and, his superiors had hinted, a promotion to Field Officer First Class was in the offing. Conversely, screw things up, and he was definitely getting busted down to Third Class, where he'd spend his days in the grubbier nations of the IDU pumping even grubbier people for scraps of barely-useful information. No, First Class meant being a real spy, with luxury accommodations, daring missions, and oversight responsibilities for other missions. Or so he'd heard.
So here was his decision: some of his men had caught a sneaking rat, someone snooping around in the crates. Nobody but his men, posing as NGO personnel and sailors, knew about the real purpose of the mission. None of the captains of the aid vessels, nor their mates, nor anyone else. Except apparently Ordinary Seaman Jon Kristoffersen, a 17 year-old kid on his first voyage. And now Borneholm had a decision to make: dispose of Kristoffersen or beat or bribe him into silence. On the one hand, the mission could not be endangered. Grundhavn's standing in the world depended on both the delivery of these arms and the expansion of her influence and that all other nations believe it was a simple aid mission, the old Grundhavs learning new tricks, learning how to be selfless instead of selfish. If Kristoffersen leaked the information, all would be lost. On the other hand, he was a kid. Was it right to make a Grundhavish citizen "disappear", especially a young one? His UET superiors had told him he had the authority as mission chief, but did he want to exercise it?
It was still the dead of night; plenty of time to decide and then to arrange an accident. But just then, the boy began to stir. His assistant, FO3C Artur Smithsen stifled the boy with an injection. There was no time; he had to do it. "Signal them," he said. Smithsen flashed a series of signals in Morse code with his flashlight at the nearest escort ship. A small boat chugged over to them. "Pump him and dump him," said Borneholm, feeling a bit out of his own body. The men on the boat nodded and took Kristoffersen with them. As the boat receded into the darkness, Borneholm sighed. "You did the right thing, sir," said Smithsen. "Those SBT pirates will do exactly as you say, no questions asked. I'm sure they do s**t like this all the time."
"Shut up, Smithsen," said Borneholm. He walked away, heading for his cabin. He needed a moment. The pirates would pump Kristoffersen full of alcohol and dump him over the side with weights, rendering him unable to swim. He didn't relish what he'd done, but at least those bloody pirates would be the last ones to touch him. His men would put out the story that young Kristoffersen had had a bit too much to drink and fallen over the side. In a way, it was true. His parents would be devastated, of course, but one boy could not be allowed to bring down the government and sabotage this great project. Grundhavn was going to have a speaking role on the world stage.
Field Officer Second Class Matthias Borneholm of UET Grundhavn (Udenlandsk EfterretningsTjeneste, Foreign Intelligence Service Grundhavn) felt a little sick to his stomach. This was his first chance to lead a foreign mission, and now he was being presented with his first big choice. Make the proper choice, ensure the mission went off without any snags, and, his superiors had hinted, a promotion to Field Officer First Class was in the offing. Conversely, screw things up, and he was definitely getting busted down to Third Class, where he'd spend his days in the grubbier nations of the IDU pumping even grubbier people for scraps of barely-useful information. No, First Class meant being a real spy, with luxury accommodations, daring missions, and oversight responsibilities for other missions. Or so he'd heard.
So here was his decision: some of his men had caught a sneaking rat, someone snooping around in the crates. Nobody but his men, posing as NGO personnel and sailors, knew about the real purpose of the mission. None of the captains of the aid vessels, nor their mates, nor anyone else. Except apparently Ordinary Seaman Jon Kristoffersen, a 17 year-old kid on his first voyage. And now Borneholm had a decision to make: dispose of Kristoffersen or beat or bribe him into silence. On the one hand, the mission could not be endangered. Grundhavn's standing in the world depended on both the delivery of these arms and the expansion of her influence and that all other nations believe it was a simple aid mission, the old Grundhavs learning new tricks, learning how to be selfless instead of selfish. If Kristoffersen leaked the information, all would be lost. On the other hand, he was a kid. Was it right to make a Grundhavish citizen "disappear", especially a young one? His UET superiors had told him he had the authority as mission chief, but did he want to exercise it?
It was still the dead of night; plenty of time to decide and then to arrange an accident. But just then, the boy began to stir. His assistant, FO3C Artur Smithsen stifled the boy with an injection. There was no time; he had to do it. "Signal them," he said. Smithsen flashed a series of signals in Morse code with his flashlight at the nearest escort ship. A small boat chugged over to them. "Pump him and dump him," said Borneholm, feeling a bit out of his own body. The men on the boat nodded and took Kristoffersen with them. As the boat receded into the darkness, Borneholm sighed. "You did the right thing, sir," said Smithsen. "Those SBT pirates will do exactly as you say, no questions asked. I'm sure they do s**t like this all the time."
"Shut up, Smithsen," said Borneholm. He walked away, heading for his cabin. He needed a moment. The pirates would pump Kristoffersen full of alcohol and dump him over the side with weights, rendering him unable to swim. He didn't relish what he'd done, but at least those bloody pirates would be the last ones to touch him. His men would put out the story that young Kristoffersen had had a bit too much to drink and fallen over the side. In a way, it was true. His parents would be devastated, of course, but one boy could not be allowed to bring down the government and sabotage this great project. Grundhavn was going to have a speaking role on the world stage.