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PORTSMOUTH, HAMPSHIRE, UNITED KINGDOM OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND
01:24 LOCAL TIME, OCTOBER 4, 1786 COMMON CALENDER
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It was a rather dismal night to be on the coast of the English Channel. A storm was rolling through and the rain was steady in its relentless downpour. It was tough to observe the dock house from their current position, and the fact it was the dead of night didn’t help matters much. The English had been nice enough to leave the lights on, though, so even at a distance they could still make it out through binoculars. Michael watched it closely while Alexander went through the documentation that O’Neil and Crocket had gathered from London, while occasionally checking his watch. The candlelight reflected off both the watch face and his spectacles, giving an eerie sort of double vision of the flame, while the light played tricks with the shadows and turned his normally blonde hair an orange hue. Their counterparts were both in Devonport, likely doing something very similar. It had been a strange trip for all of them really, seeing the old country again, brought back a lot of memories. But then again, they weren’t exactly here as tourists; it was a business trip.
“Shud a be a’boot now,” said Alexander, as he followed the second hand to the top of the hour.
Michael simply said “And to think the Imperials haven’t bothered to bomb this poor town yet.”
Alexander shrugged and replied “Thay ca jus say twas a looky hit.”
No sooner had he finished his sentence than the building erupted in a bright gout of flame, the concussive shockwave forming a hollow cavity amidst the falling rain for a few moments, visible even from the distance at which they were currently situated. The whole outside lit up and Alexander found it possible to read the papers on his lap without the aide of the nearby candle. After a moment the light faded to a dull red glow, and that was when the roar of the blast washed over them. It sounded somewhere between a freight train, a thunderclap, and a cannon shot and the whole building shook. Michael lowered the binoculars and sat down beside Alexander as the church bells started ringing to warn people of an air raid. It didn’t matter whether or not any more blasts occurred, they apparently would believe it.
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[font=”courier new”]
PERSONNEL FILE [SECRET]
Name: Michael Shanks
Rank: Chuui (Second Lieutenant)
Service: 内閣 情報 調査室 (Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office [Section 05])
Serial Number: 184-67-8952
Gender: Male
D.O.B.: 1750.12.15
Place of Birth: Manchester, Lancashire, England United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland
Blood Type: B Negative
Height: 1.832 Meters
Weight: 64.53 Kilograms
Religious Preference: Anglican
Current Assignment: [TOP SECRET]
Notes: British expatriate. Relocated to Kansai region on 1773.07.24. Educational background includes Bachelor’s Degree in Anthropology, attained 1772.04.29 from Oxford University. Background Check Type 01-KYOTO. Operative since 1776.02.09, assignment history includes
[TOP SECRET][/font]
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[font=”courier new”]
PERSONNEL FILE [SECRET]
Name: Alexander Anderson
Rank: Chuui (Second Lieutenant)
Service: 内閣 情報 調査室 (Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office [Section 05])
Serial Number: 516-78-8974
Gender: Male
D.O.B.: 1744.11.13
Place of Birth: Drogheda, Leinster, Ireland, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland
Blood Type: O Positive
Height: 1.903 Meters
Weight: 66.43 Kilograms
Religious Preference: Roman Catholic
Current Assignment: [TOP SECRET]
Notes: British expatriate. Relocated to Luzon region on 1767.08.21. Educational background includes Bachelor’s Degree in Religious Education, attained 1763.05.11 from University of Dublin. Background Check Type 01-KYOTO. Operative since 1769.07.30, assignment history includes
[TOP SECRET][/font]
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“Don’t see why we had to blow it up, it wasn’t what we were looking for,” said Michael, resting his head back against the wall.
Alexander turned the page and without looking up, replied “You knoo ‘ow thay’re, always tha resoolts tha mattar.”
Michael closed his eyes and let his muscles unwind; the operation had taken all night to work out “Even so…”
Alexander closed the report and set it aside, propping his hands behind his head and kicking one boot over the other “Ya knoo better’n ta question, Michael, jus get som sleep.”
Michael said nothing more and they both slept until morning. What they were looking for hadn’t been in London or Portsmouth, and from the evidence it was fairly clear it wouldn’t be in Devonport either. But it never hurt to be thorough to score bonus pay, and they all knew where they had to go next by now. They would rendezvous in Newport, and then…
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REYKJAVIK, ICELAND, UNION OF SCANDINAVIA
10:54 LOCAL TIME, OCTOBER 25, 1786 COMMON CALENDER
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“Ask him about the attack,” said O’Neil, quickly adding “Whatever he can remember about it.”
The man kind of glared at them, since it seemed rather suspicious for a bunch of British to have the wherewithal to be here in Reykjavik, asking about an attack barely a year earlier that had been launched by the British. They told him they were members of the press; press always asked funny questions. There still seemed some anger, but he cooperated in translating for them.
“He says the airships came and started dropping bombs on the city,” said the man, translating what the man’s excited Icelandic with but a brief pause. The man was making gestures up and the skin and by his animation, the team, even though not a word of them spoke the language, could easily follow along with the additional narration.
“Then, all across the sky were white sails with men dangling from them, and they descended to the city,” continued the translation.
“They carried terrible guns that spat fire like dragons, and the bombs they dropped knocked down houses with terrible bursts of vibration when they exploded,” said the translation.
The man crossed his hands over one another and looked each of the four members of the team straight in the eye, as the translator related “Never had I seen anything so terrible in my whole life; it was not like gunpowder going off, it was stronger, more potent.”
The team exchanged glances, before Michael asked “All of the soldiers who parachuted in were eventually killed, correct?”
Their translator relayed it with some difficulty, and the man nodded his head vigorously, the translator saying “They fought like demons but eventually we cut them all down; the Airships could not help them and they withdrew.”
This time, Crocket suddenly spoke up, saying “Which way did they go?”
The translator relayed the question and the response was just a single word: “West.”
The team again exchanged looks, before O’Neil asked “And which way did they initially come from?”
The translator again relayed, and this time the answer was quick, and the exact same: “West.”
After a brief pause they all thanked both the translator and the man for their time, passing the former a few Kroner, before they made their way back to the coffee house they had started the day at. Once inside they sat a table, and ordering drinks, discussed the matter amongst themselves.
“What sort of government launches one attack and keeps perfectly accurate records, and then another with absolutely none at all,” asked Crocket, adding “It makes no sense.”
It was a rhetorical question, but Alexander piped up with “Soonds like tha ‘ne we’re work’n fer.”
Michael shook his head “The British wouldn’t send their air fleet west. They don’t have any possessions out there.”
“What’s west of Iceland,” asked O’Neil. They all looked at one another. The answer was obvious.
Alexander shook his head a little and crossed his arms over one another “Nay a whole bloody lot…”