March 30th, 2021
Oured, Osean Federation
9:12AM
"...You're watching OBC news with a breaking story coming just in, our correspondent Paul Simon is at the scene right now. Paul, what's the situation here?"
"Well Cathy, reports are coming in of a huge explosion at the Erusean Embassy here in Bright Hill. We don't really know anything else, but if you look behind me, you can see smoke rising from the building. We're waiting on a statement from the OPD, and we'll update you when it comes in."
"Thanks Paul. Stay tuned for further updates on OBC."
9:21AM
"...Breaking News just coming in here at the KOUR Newsroom, reports of a second explosion, this time at the home of the Erusean ambassador to Osea. We don't have any information just yet, but reports of an explosion outside the Erusean Embassy earlier to day imply that this could be an act of terrorism. Unfortunately, we don't have anything else to go on... Hold on, I'm just being told that the chief of the Oured Police Department is making a statement, and we're going to go to that just now..."
9:28AM
"...Heading over to Apito International Airport, where there has been an explosion at the arrivals area, just outside the Metro entrance. We don't have any details other than that, but if it wasn't certain just a few minutes ago, I think it is now, that our nation is under attack. With more is our correspondent Samantha Taylor..."
9:41AM
Vincent Harling Memorial National Security Campus, Osean Intelligence Agency Headquarters, Oured
The screech of tires echoed through the underground car park as a black Dodge Charger screamed into the building, engine roaring. It sped to the end of the room, coming to a stop across two parking spaces. The engine turned off with a loud growl, and the door opened, out of which stepped OIA director Jacob Sullivan. He reached back in, retrieving a black leather briefcase and a Glock 48 handgun, before holstering said firearm, closing the door, and running to a nearby pair of elevators, forgetting even to lock his car's doors. Reaching the steel doors, he was greeted by a keycard scanner, through which he slid the black card hung around his neck. The elevator, already at his floor, instantly opened as he stepped in.
Inside, he stopped to catch his breath, leaning against the granite wall of the elevator. He turned to face a panel covered in buttons, pressing the one which would take him to the fifth floor, home to the facility's situation room, where he knew a gaggle of equally concerned secretaries, generals and advisers would be waiting for him. As the elevator trundled to its destination, Sullivan looked up to see the name of the building. Even at a time like this, he found humour in the decision to name the world's densest concentration of warmongers and nationalists after the only one of them who ever really aimed for peace. He had barely any time to dwell on that thought, however, as he was alerted to the vibration of his phone. He retrieved it from his pocket, the device notifying him of several unread messages from his colleague, Secretary of Homeland Security, Liam Patterson. Unlocking the phone, he opened the messages, scanning through them for any important information. The frequency of 'fuck', 'shit' and related words confirmed that this was, in fact, written by Patterson.
Before he had the chance to reply, the Elevator's doors flew open and he was blasted with an air of panic and confusion. Analysts, aides and the like, running back and forth, shouting, furiously typing, filling the air with an almost tangible tension. Sullivan hadn't seen this much activity since he was a lowly officer 11 years ago, as the agency reacted to a full-scale Yuktobanian invasion. Ignoring the panic, he half walked, half ran, through the forest of office cubicles, eventually reaching a large room, made almost entirely of one-way glass, with a gold plaque, with 'SITUATION ROOM' etched into it. As he again reached for his keycard to unlock the door, it was opened from the inside, and a security officer with an M4 carbine, who proceeded to effectively drag him in and to his seat at the huge oak table in the centre of the room.
Sitting down, he was greeted by a room full of glaring, disapproving faces. "Punctual as ever..." The commander of the Osean National Guard, Brigadier General Joshua Parker, muttered, in his usual sarcastic, dry tone.
"You know, another bomb has gone off while we've been waiting for you," FBI Director Janice Smith hissed. "Time isn't something we can spare right now."
"The Interstate was backed up," Sullivan rebutted. "Police blocked the whole thing off. And anyway, now that I'm here, let's stop squabbling and get to the point. What do we know?"
One of several Analysts whom the director didn't recognise retrieved a tablet from a briefcase under the table, before clearing his throat. Pressing a button on the tablet, its screen was transmitted to a large flat-screen TV mounted to the wall, which the occupants of the room all turned to face. The screen displayed a hastily-made timeline, showing several times within the last hour or so. "As it shows here..." He stuttered, clearly nervous, before picking up where he left off, more confident this time. "Just after nine this morning, a car bomb detonated outside the Erusean Embassy in Oured. We don't know anything about the explosive itself, but if you look at this..." He paused, tapping on the tablet several times, at which point an image of the Embassy appeared on the TV. The building's Regency-style facade was all but missing, obvious even through the thick smoke pouring out of the structure. There was an awkward silence as the group stared at the scene of destruction, unsure of what to say next.
Sullivan decided to break the silence with a question. "Do we have a casualty report? What about motives? Look, the timeline is nice and all, but it's like Jan said, we don't have time. We need to know what we're dealing with."
The analyst returned to his tablet, electing to briefly explain what he knew as briefly as possible. "Well... We know that at least five bombs have gone off nationwide, all targeting locations related to Erusean politics. Nobody has claimed responsibility yet, and there's no saying who the perpetrators are. Could be Erusean Partisans, Nationalists, Radical elements, Shilagean insurgents, hell, could be Belkans. Wouldn't be the first time."
Sullivan picked up a glass of water from the table and took a sip. "Well, it's not much, but it's still something. Let's get anything Erusean evacuated. Consulates, schools, the lot. Tell Farbanti to be on alert too, though I bet they are already. Oh, and tell your boss, David North, we need that AI of his running calculations ASAP."
Upon hearing that, the analyst silently acknowledged the order, and, along with Carter and Patterson, the latter of whom had been silently listening for the best part of the meeting, stood up and left, ready to order their respective agencies on the next move. The room now filled only by OIA and military personnel, Sullivan undid his red and grey striped tie, placing it on the table, before turning to the two security guards. "Gents," he addressed them, gesturing to the door. "If you wouldn't mind." The two soldiers nodded in unison, headed for the door and left, closing it behind them. The men still in the room could see them standing guard outside through the one-way glass.
The highest-ranked man in the room, Admiral Kevin Zhang, spoke up. "Well, now that the civvies are gone, let's get to work. We need to call the president." There was a low murmur for the next few minutes as they sat, waiting for President Susan Harris to respond via video. Impatiently waiting, they checked phones and watches, swore under their breaths, and acted in a generally agitated mood, watching the seconds tick by. With the pressure on them building, seconds turned to minutes, staring at a blue standby overlay, the one thing preventing them from responding to the attacks.
After the longest four minutes of their lives, the TV flickered to life, changing to display a conference room very similar to the one they found themselves in, this one situated aboard Mother Goose One, the Boeing 747-8i used by the Osean President. Harris herself was the first to speak, asking, "Hello? Is this thing on?"
"Yes ma'am," Sullivan replied, taking another sip of water.
"Good," the President responded. "I understand that this is an ongoing incident, but is there anything we actually know? Anything I can say on stage to stop 300 million people from panicking in the streets?"
"Tell them the truth," General Parker advised. "Of course, that's assuming we know anything near the truth by the time you land. How long until you reach Akerson Hill?
"45 minutes," one of the many aides in the plane's meeting room shouted out, just about being picked up by the mic.
"Could be worse," Sullivan sighed. He was just about to start talking again when the door opened.
A young woman poked her head through the door and addressed the men. "Sir, we have a group claiming responsibility for the bombings. The Erusean Unified State." Nearly everyone on both sides of the call let out a sigh of annoyance, all except for President Harris. "Bots across multiple social media sites are posting a video from them. You should watch it." She used the tablet which the analyst who was using it had left. Using it to bring up the video, the TV changed to show the President and the video side-by-side, also doing so on the linked TV aboard Mother Goose One.
The video opened with a man dressed in Early 2000s Erusean combat fatigues, wearing a balaclava, and with a large Erusean flag in the background, flanked by two similarly dressed men with AK pattern rifles. The man walked closer to the camera, before starting to speak. "This is a message for the President of the Osean Federation. For decades, foreign countries have seen fit to invade our land and oppress our people. We will put an end to this, but the way in which we do so is dependant on the decisions these governments make. Already, in Osea, we have attacked the false traitors who dare to call themselves the rulers of our homeland. With the corrupt provisional government purged from their soil, Osea must make a choice. Should their President announce to the world that they will put an end to their interference in Erusea within the next few hours, there will be no more action on their soil. However, if Osea should instead choose to continue to support the puppet government they have installed, we will have no choice but to teach them the hard way. So, people of Osea, unless you want to die for the actions of your greedy and imperialist politicians, you will make sure your government not only makes the right choice, but honours it. That is all." The video abruptly ended.
Both rooms were deadly silent. Even Harris, who was at first confident and steadfast, had sunken into her seat. The video put everything into place; the motive, the perpetrators, the timing. Everything was now clear, but that just made the revelation worse. "For fuck's sake!" Sullivan shouted, throwing his tie across the room in anger, before calming himself down.
"They played us, didn't they?" Harris sighed in reply.
"They sure as shit did," Sullivan sighed in return. "Just as we were pulling out of Erusea. Just as things were looking up for us! And now what? We either withdraw and the world thinks we negotiate with terrorists, or we stay and end up responsible for who knows how many deaths. The bastards got us. Fuck!"
Harris stared down for a few seconds, before mustering the will to respond with confidence. "Fuck it, we stay as planned. We don't have time to de-mobilise our peacekeeping forces, and I guess we'll just have to take their word that they won't attack again. Besides, they clearly planned this because we were leaving Erusea anyway, if I can remind the public of that, we can at least keep some of the scrutiny off us."
Admiral Zhang spoke up again. "Is a total withdrawal the best course of action? We should at least maintain some presence, we don't know that they'll keep their end of the deal.
Parker spoke in agreement. "He's right. What reason have they given us to trust them? They just killed dozens of people, and for all we know, they could have enough bombs to do it again!"
Sullivan, who had stayed quiet for the past minute, deep in thought, suddenly looked up. "I think I have a solution. An interim one, at least."
"And that would be?" Harris queried.
"We send in our very own quiet professionals. The best ones we have. They go in, find out who's really behind this, and we stop them sooner rather than later. We will not have another war on terror like in South Belka. If we can sort this out now, we can save both our own asses, and the entire continent of Usea from another war. All I need is the approvalof the Commander-in-Chief. So, if it's alright with you, Madam President..."
"Under any other circumstances I'd laugh at a proposal like that, but if they want to fight dirty, we will too. Get it done, Jacob."
He cracked a half-smile and stood up, before acknowledging, "Yes Ma'am." As he turned to leave the room, picking up his tie from the bonsai tree in the corner of the room which it had landed on, the President called out to him. "I know you always wanted to save the world. Here's your chance. Don't fuck up."
So, that's the first chapter done. Hopefully I haven't bored everyone with politics in this chapter. I'll make up for it in Chapter 2. Any feedback is appreciated, as usual. Thanks for reading.