Chapter 25

 

TWENTY-FIVE

Port Edwards was no stranger to war. During the coup d’état in 98, It had been occupied by rebel forces, only to be liberated again by Allied air power, and while it had largely been spared by the marauding Erusean Army five years later in the Continental War, it had once again become a target during this war.

 

Port Edwards was the lynch pin of Erusean Naval Plan 315, where in learning their lessons from Aegir and Comberth, would instead stage smaller ‘strike groups’ more akin to the Yuktobanian naval doctrine instead of a larger fleet like they had lost. Edwards was deemed a critical ‘nexus’ to support smaller ports along the eastern coast of Usea according to the plan.

Operation Dice, however, was Osea’s few ‘victories’ in the early days of the war. Launching a massive multi-squadron Air raid against the city, concurrent with another mission to rescue former Osean President Harling, the mission planners of Dice hoped to split the Erusean’s Air component into two and cause enough confusion to successfully pull off one of the missions. Twelve F-15E ‘Strike Eagles’ from the Osean Air Defense Force’s 64^th Fighter Squadron, and thirteen F-18E Hornets from the Maritime Defense Force’s 112^th Strike Fighter Squadron ‘Paladins’ deployed against the Su-35’s of the Erusean Air Force’s ‘Fafnir’ Squadron with support from the F-4E Phantoms of ‘Glamrock’.

 

The battle was a pyrrhic victory for Osea, fifteen pilots had been killed during the mission at the cost of nine Hornets and three Eagles. The final battle damage assessment had a total defeat of the Fafnir Flankers and the routing of Glamrock out of the area, leaving Osea with an unchallenged air superiority in the region allowing the Osean Marines to land and force out the Erusean Garrison stationed in the port with minimal casualties. Celebrations at liberation were largely overshadowed by the failure of the Osean Rescue mission and the death of Vincent Harling.

 

With the loss of Edwards, Plan 315 had been forced to change. Instead of Naval superiority and forcing a capitulation of Osea and its Usean allies through a costal siege; Instead, the Admiralty of Erusea would prepare a larger fleet with its aircraft carrier Njord as the primary element. This would eventually prove to be the downfall of the Royal Erusean Navy as months following, the Long-Range Strategic Strike Group would raid the Snider’s Top Naval base the Njord Fleet was stationed at, sinking all vessels that had just gotten underway or were still moored to the platforms. Intelligence analysts in Osea would later joke that Plan 315, along with the subsequent Plans 330 and 331 would all die with Rear Admiral Cole aboard the Njord as it sunk.

 

 

The Broker thought about this as he drank his morning coffee, overseeing the harbor of Port Edwards from his high-rise apartment. He was never a big fan of the Osean’s intelligence community; however, their members had quickly proven to be his best customers over the months following the communications collapse. If the Broker had only one complaint regarding them, it was that their money was always being traced somehow, and it was generally more of a hassle than it was worth for him to get the funds transferred cleanly.

The Yuktobanians took a more direct approach in their attempts against him. Early on into his career, the Broker had become a target of one of Yuktobanian Foreign Intelligence Service’s wet-work teams.  They had hunted him from his base of operations in Expo City all the way to the outskirts of Axel Bay, where through his own meddling, they had been guided to an Erusean Conservative weapons depot that was destroyed in an Osean air strike. They had yet to send another in the months following.  He was particularly proud of that accomplishment.

 

“Hey Boss, I have the recent casualty report you asked for from the Farbanti Garrison”, the Broker startled, dropped his coffee cup.

“David, do I need to put a bell on you or something?” The Broker asked, cursing under his breath at the spilled drink below him.

“Sorry about that sir. I’ll get that cleaned up right away.” David said apologetically.

The Broker shook his head “Don’t worry about it, just make sure that report gets on my tablet.” He ordered, “med en gang sjef” David replied before silently disappearing again.

“I hate when he does that. Fucking Jeager.” The Broker cursed to himself.

 

David was his bodyguard, personal driver, and assistant. He had been one of the first people the Broker met in the intelligence trade, and he appreciated the Nordennavic’s perspective on situations. Former Oversergant David Wash was a member of the Nordennavic Royal Army’s Jeager Corps, the premier special forces unit on the Anean Continent. One of the habits that David had developed in his service, to the dismay of the Broker, was his silent movements in almost every situation. Making him an effective ghost and hunter when the situation required it.

 

The broker picked up his tablet and scrolled through the document. It had over nine hundred names of Osean military personnel who were dead or missing from the attacks a day prior.

 

The Broker felt a twinge of guilt as he read the names. It had been two months prior when the first indications of something crossed his desk. It was from a seemingly innocuous report from an anti-smuggling task force in Verusa. It had noted an increase in weapons shipments through known drug-smuggling channels into Usea, particularly on ships headed into the Chopinburg region of the continent. The Broker, more focused on the Osean and Erusean military efforts against the Radicals let the report go unnoticed. As the weeks went on however, more and more reports would pile up on the movement of arms into Usea. It wasn’t until four weeks prior, that the Broker took notice. A Estovakian Air Force weapons bunker had been destroyed in an apparent industrial accident. Of the weapons lost, was multiple burst missile warheads from the P-1112 Aigaion flying heavy command cruiser. A week following, The Broker had found one warhead onboard a ship bound for Usea.

Having sold the information to an Osean Special Tasks unit, he had hoped the matter would be resolved. With the execution of Operation Ragnarök, and the destruction of the Mount Lambert Complex, The Broker like many others, wrote the Radicals off as a threat and instead focused their attention to other global situations. The Broker had expected the next major hotbed of activity to be along the Romny/Kaluga border between the SRN Insurgents and Kaluga Military.

 

The Broker had expected a final attack from the Radicals, dogmatic groups like them rarely died with a whimper, however he had not expected what would come next and how quickly it would occur.

 

The Broker, along with Osea and Erusea had played into the Radical leaders hands. And in an expertly executed fashion, multiple sleeper units, as well as the remnants of the standing Radical forces launched their attacks. Three Osean bases and six Erusean bases, all located in Erusea, were targeted in the attacks. The Oseans had been the most effective at routing the attacks, finding and disarming two burst warheads, while being able to evacuate personnel before the third warhead detonated minimizing their casualties. The Eruseans had not been as fortunate.

 

The Farbanti Air Base had been destroyed, killing the thousands of personnel based there, as well as members of Princess Cossette’s cabinet and high ranking Erusean Military officials. It was by some miracle that the Princess had seemingly appeared, shaken up, but safe hours later in Osean custody at McKnight Air Base outside of Dennis. The Details of her escape were still shrouded in Mystery but the demoralized Erusean populous had rejoiced at their ‘Unkillable’ Princesses survival.

 

The Broker read through the names of the dead Oseans. Many of whom were Base Security forces stationed at McKnight or Cape Rainy, their battles had been won but at a tragic human cost. The Broker paused on one name. It was a Pilot, and one of the few not assigned to any squadrons that engaged the Radicals that night.

“David!” The Broker bellowed. “Are we sure of the validity of this?” He asked, holding up the tablet.

“Yes Sir, this is the list that’s currently going out to units in Osea to make the next-of-kin notifications.” David reported.

The Broker shook his head in disbelief. “This name right here doesn’t make any sense though… He can’t die, it’s just impossible.” He spoke.

David pulled out a pair of reading glasses and read the name for himself. “Boss, I know you don’t want to hear this but, this pilot was last seen at the Farbanti Air base. You know as well as I do that place is currently a crater. No one survived that.”  

The Broker paused and thought. “Do we still have the tracker on his phone?” he asked.

“Boss, please-” David pleaded.

 

The Broker had a few people he always kept tabs on, they were from different walks of life and held different positions, but they all had a common denominator. They had an intrinsic strategic value to the Broker. This dead pilot was no exception.  

 

“Can you just please run it?” the Broker asked. Not wanting to argue with his employer, David conceded, pulling out a tablet and tapping on the screen. After a moment he spoke up, surprise on his normally stoic face. “That’s… unexpected.”

“What?” The Broker asked. “The Phone is active. It’s also not in Farbanti” “Where is it?” the Broker interrogated “I can’t be too sure but… Dennis?”

“You’re kidding, right?” the Broker said, grabbing the tablet from David’s hands to see for himself.

“What intel do we have out of McKnight?” The Broker asked, excitement rising in his voice.

“Let me go check sir.” David said, once again disappearing into another room of the apartment.

A notification appeared on the screen of the tablet, the Broker tapped it once and a low-quality cellphone picture appeared on the screen. It was of what appeared to be a jet in a hangar.

“Care to explain what I’m looking at?” the Broker asked.

“Its geotagged to McKnight Airbase, taken only a few hours ago. It appears to be an X-02 Wyvern fighter.” David explained.

“Any reports on it?”

“Not a single one sir.”

“And McKnight was the base the Princess showed up at yesterday.” The Broker said slowly as it dawned on him.

 

“Are we sure he was marked as a casualty of Farbanti?” The Broker asked. “Yes Sir, I double checked. Do you think its him?”

“Do you believe in coincidences David?” asked the Broker.

“No, Not at all sir.”

“Good, I want someone to check it out.”

“Yes Sir, I think we have a few informants in that area. Should we send support?”

“Ivan and Cal are still in Selatapura, it shouldn’t take them long to get there if the Informants intel is any good.”

***
Hours passed, then one of The Brokers phones rang. The Broker answered the phone, saying nothing.

“Hachal’nik” The unmistakable thick accent of the Yuktobanian Spetsnaz turned hired help, Ivan, started. “The Phone was at a pawnshop. The Owner was polite enough to provide us the name of the Osean Sergeant who sold it to him.”

“Ok” The Broker said monotone.

“After educating the nice man on trafficking of stolen goods, we then had nice talk with Sergeant Perraulta who gave us the information we needed on the target.” Ivan reported.

The Broker said nothing, continuing to listen. “He is in closed part of McKnight base, Hangar F3” Ivan continued.

“Do we know his condition?” the Broker asked.

“Nyet, our friend did not say, other than that the target has been beaten since he came there.” Ivan replied. That report troubled the Broker.

“Thank you, Ivan. The payment will be in your account shortly.” The Broker said frowning.

“Dah, And Hachal’nik, do we kill him now?” Ivan asked causing the Broker to wince. While he had a soft spot for Oseans, this man could compromise any plans the Broker had.

“Not Yet. I will be in touch later.” The Broker replied hanging up the phone.

The Broker picked up a tablet and scrolled through a collection of documents he had on the McKnight Air Base.

“What is the problem boss?” David asked, walking in with another mug of coffee on a serving tray for the Broker.

“We’re going to need more men.” The Broker replied sardonically.

***
“Eight, Dammit Jack, I thought you were supposed to be a good shot!”

Jack Mancuso scowled briefly before composing himself. He absolutely loathed this part of his job, the cold air off the Great Lakes stung his eyes as he searched the greens for , a small white golf ball, which had landed far beyond the hole. The game of golf never appealed to the Colonel, viewing it more as a waste of a good walk instead of an actual sport. Todays game was with Osean Army General Omar Higgins.

Higgins jotted the shot in the score card shaking his head laughing. “I’m just busting your chops Jack, I don’t think I want to be on your bad side, I’ve seen the after-action reports.” Higgins replied jovially.

Jack grinned, “Not a problem general. You know its customary for a lower officer to let his superior win these kinds of things.” “Well, you’ve certainly done your part well on that.” Higgins laughed, patting Mancuso on the back.

Mancuso, despite his intense dislike of the game, however, was not one to throw a game, and had made a reputation within the General Staff Office to be one of the best players, possibly in the armed forces. If you’re going to do something, do It right. Jack’s mind however was elsewhere. His men had been busy, Saber had started counter-insurgency operations within Romny. As well, Berserker and his Special Task Unit had successfully intercepted and disarmed a burst weapon headed for Usea. Under normal circumstances this would have not even been a blip in his mind as his main assault teams rarely ever ‘failed’. However, through no fault of his men, they still ‘failed’. The Radicals they had thought dead were able to make one final suicide attack and detonated ten burst weapons across Erusea.

 

It echoed painful memories for many of events just across the lakes twenty-five years prior.

Mancuso rationally knew his team could not have been able to stop every event. However, upon receiving the updated casualty report that morning, eight hundred sixty-two Osean servicemen and women were dead or missing, along with thousands of Eruseans and most of the Erusean leaders cabinet; He felt responsible for every one of their deaths because He didn’t see the big picture in enough time.

 

“Jack” Higgins called, Snapping Mancuso back to the situation at hand.

“Sorry Sir, three.” Mancuso apologized, jotting the swing onto the card.

 

He had planned to meet General Higgins at the elite Grand Haven Country Club on the shores of the Great Lakes in North Osea to discuss further Osean Army cooperation in Basilisk Missions going forward. After the Success of Operation Werewolf, between three of the branches special force’s units, Mancuso wanted to keep up a good working relationship between services. The meeting today had taken a more somber tone, with the events weighing heavily on both Officer’s minds.

 

“well Jack, not quite a hole-in-one, but do you want to call it a day? First beer at the nineteenth is on me.” The General offered. Mancuso hadn’t even noticed that Higgin’s ball had landed in the hole. “That’ll be fine sir. Lead the way.” Mancuso said, slinging the golf bag over his shoulder. The cold weather, despite being in the middle of May, coupled with the weight of the gear reminded Mancuso of his time early in his career as a Lieutenant, operating deep in the frozen Yuktobanian Tundra in the late eighties.

So much easier, you saw the Yuke, you shot the Yuke. None of this Politicking about either.

Mancuso’s phone vibrating in his pocket snapped him out of the daydream of the halcyon days.

He flipped the phone open to see the name of his wife, Sarah, and her picture on the screen.

He held up his hand apologetically and whispered “Wife” to Higgins, allowing the older officer to proceed.

 

“Hey Honey! What’s going on?” Mancuso said cheerfully.

“We need to talk.” a voice on the other end of the line said. Normally, those words coming from a spouse would put ice in any man’s veins, however the fact the voice on the other end was not that of his wife, only made Mancuso furious.

“How the fuck-” Mancuso growled before getting cut off.

“Relax Jack. I would say ‘you’d be amazed what I know’ but that would be too cliché and a waste of both of our times. I can assure you that Miss Everheart and your son Brandon Everheart are entirely safe and unaware of anything. I just needed to speak to you.” The voice ordered.

Mancuso knew the man speaking as nothing more than ‘The Broker’, and he was responsible almost solely for every credible lead Basilisk had taken since he appeared on the intelligence scene. Most of the communications with the Broker were through either courier or secure emails, rarely by phone and the Broker’s voice was almost always modulated, Likely to defeat OIA artificial intelligence from tracking him. Mancuso figured it was a gamble for the Broker to contact him on his private phone only known by select family and friends.

“Fine. You have my attention.” Mancuso said coldly.

“Excellent, I am in need of one of your teams for an extraction.”

“That’s a bit of a tall order. I-” Mancuso was once again cut off “Your men in Chopinburg right now, Tasks Unit Rin, are all properly vetted and more importantly, are close by.”

“I’m not even going to ask why you know that. What else do you need?”

“Just the men, as well as select transfers. Staff Sergeant Haver, Chief Petty Officer Hernandez and Sergeant Kyles from Berserker will also have to be transferred to Rin for this operation right away.” The Broker directed.
“I can’t make any promises. You know how much of a gamble working with you is. How soon will you need this done?” Mancuso asked.

“Within the next four hours.”

“Four hours! -” Mancuso yelled in disbelief, He paused to make sure no one was looking at him before he lowered his voice and spoke again. “-You got to be fucking kidding!”
The Brokers voice remained level “Jack, one of the singularities is at stake. I need your men to get them back into play. All the relevant documentation will be delivered to your quarters at Fort Patterson.”
“Fine.” Jack said hanging up.

***
The line went dead. The Broker took a gamble with that call, it was an unsecured line, and he hadn’t taken the usual precautions he normally did to keep the OIA off his trail. The phone call was short enough however that he doubted even the super computers in Oured would have been able to trace him had they been looking at the Colonel’s secret phone line.

“David. Call Fisk and tell him to get us a flight to Axel Bay immediately.” The Broker ordered. “Of Course, sir. Lauren’s crew is in that area as well, should I inform them as well?”

The Broker grinned “That would work perfectly. Her team probably got the contract to move them back.” The Broker thought aloud. “Oh, and one last thing David.”

his assistant stopped and turned around “Yes sir?”

“Get the car ready, we’re going shopping.”