05-19-2023, 06:22 PM
Northwestern Auria
Field Officer Second Class Matthias Borneholm strode down the gangplank in Juraceda. The aid convoy had finally arrived in northwestern Auria and he now needed to meet his contacts. The ship staff, harbor workers, and actual NGO employees would do the work of unloading the ship and beginning to set up distribution. He and his associates, ostensibly under order from the State Office of Education, Health, Social Services, and Charity, would undertake "humanitarian outreach" to "assess the needs of local populations and report on logistical challenges." In reality, they were going to fan out to local defense posts or, in some cases, towards the border of General Michelin-controlled territory to see where their supplies could be most useful.
A man walked towards him. "You are the Grundhavish outreach leader?"
Borneholm nodded.
"Welcome to Auria. I am-"
Borneholm cut him off. "It's best if we don't use names."
"Certainly," said the man. "May I ask you to come to my office?"
Borneholm went with the man and entered into a dingy office. The man offered him coffee and a cigarette, both of which were...not the best, to put it mildly. The man noticed his grimace and smiled ruefully. "It's all the hospitality we can afford to offer. To be honest, most of us were hoping that your shipment would involve better coffee and especially cigarettes. The men on the front are incredibly grumpy, to say the least, due to cigarette rationing."
"Don't worry," said Borneholm. "We managed to sneak some in among the more mundane staples. We don't want to deny the people of this region small pleasures."
"I thank you," said the man. "Of course, I'm more interested in the ah, shall we say, less mundane items your convoy is bringing us."
Borneholm put a finger to his lips. "How many spies do you have in your office? In your command structure? In your army, such as it is?"
The man looked surprised. "Why, none. I trust all of my staff and we in the command are scrupulously loyal to General Michelin. It is he who offers us our best chance of survival and of reconstruction of our beloved country."
"Then you are a fool," said Borneholm, perhaps a little more harshly than he'd intended. "What I mean to say is, in a civil war, there will always be spies and there will always be those eager to turn traitor for meager rewards. If there are truly no spies in your camp, then it means your adversaries consider you beneath notice and you have no chance to achieve anything."
"I see," said the man. "Then we shall discuss matters more carefully from now on. So are you my contact going forward?"
"Officially, your contact will be some bureaucrat from Foreign Affairs and Self-Defense, who will be talking with you on logistics, foreign relations, and the civil war. Your civilian counterparts will deal with Education, Health, Social Services, and Charity personnel. Unofficially, my assistant will be your contact. Please funnel any information for me through him. I will see you again now and then, but in my cover as an NGO worker, I'll be moving around your territory. To the front, to training sites, counter-intelligence work, and, of course, I'll be overseeing the matter of recompense. That is our top priority at the moment. I'd like to inspect the site. Is there someone available to take me?"
"Certainly," said the man. "I'll take you to one of my men, who'll drive you to just the person for the job. One of the few engineers we have in this godsforsaken part of the country."
Shortly after, Borneholm was heading out of Juraceda in a military vehicle, the man having assured him it was a "short and mostly smooth ride." What a metaphor for this whole project. He hoped it would prove apt rather than horribly misguided.
Field Officer Second Class Matthias Borneholm strode down the gangplank in Juraceda. The aid convoy had finally arrived in northwestern Auria and he now needed to meet his contacts. The ship staff, harbor workers, and actual NGO employees would do the work of unloading the ship and beginning to set up distribution. He and his associates, ostensibly under order from the State Office of Education, Health, Social Services, and Charity, would undertake "humanitarian outreach" to "assess the needs of local populations and report on logistical challenges." In reality, they were going to fan out to local defense posts or, in some cases, towards the border of General Michelin-controlled territory to see where their supplies could be most useful.
A man walked towards him. "You are the Grundhavish outreach leader?"
Borneholm nodded.
"Welcome to Auria. I am-"
Borneholm cut him off. "It's best if we don't use names."
"Certainly," said the man. "May I ask you to come to my office?"
Borneholm went with the man and entered into a dingy office. The man offered him coffee and a cigarette, both of which were...not the best, to put it mildly. The man noticed his grimace and smiled ruefully. "It's all the hospitality we can afford to offer. To be honest, most of us were hoping that your shipment would involve better coffee and especially cigarettes. The men on the front are incredibly grumpy, to say the least, due to cigarette rationing."
"Don't worry," said Borneholm. "We managed to sneak some in among the more mundane staples. We don't want to deny the people of this region small pleasures."
"I thank you," said the man. "Of course, I'm more interested in the ah, shall we say, less mundane items your convoy is bringing us."
Borneholm put a finger to his lips. "How many spies do you have in your office? In your command structure? In your army, such as it is?"
The man looked surprised. "Why, none. I trust all of my staff and we in the command are scrupulously loyal to General Michelin. It is he who offers us our best chance of survival and of reconstruction of our beloved country."
"Then you are a fool," said Borneholm, perhaps a little more harshly than he'd intended. "What I mean to say is, in a civil war, there will always be spies and there will always be those eager to turn traitor for meager rewards. If there are truly no spies in your camp, then it means your adversaries consider you beneath notice and you have no chance to achieve anything."
"I see," said the man. "Then we shall discuss matters more carefully from now on. So are you my contact going forward?"
"Officially, your contact will be some bureaucrat from Foreign Affairs and Self-Defense, who will be talking with you on logistics, foreign relations, and the civil war. Your civilian counterparts will deal with Education, Health, Social Services, and Charity personnel. Unofficially, my assistant will be your contact. Please funnel any information for me through him. I will see you again now and then, but in my cover as an NGO worker, I'll be moving around your territory. To the front, to training sites, counter-intelligence work, and, of course, I'll be overseeing the matter of recompense. That is our top priority at the moment. I'd like to inspect the site. Is there someone available to take me?"
"Certainly," said the man. "I'll take you to one of my men, who'll drive you to just the person for the job. One of the few engineers we have in this godsforsaken part of the country."
Shortly after, Borneholm was heading out of Juraceda in a military vehicle, the man having assured him it was a "short and mostly smooth ride." What a metaphor for this whole project. He hoped it would prove apt rather than horribly misguided.