01 April, 2001
1435 Pacific Time (-9 hours Zulu/GMT)

The Department of Reconnaissance and Investigation HQ was the Cowichan Secondary School in the small seaside city of Duncan, located at the mouth of the lush green Cowichan Valley on Vancouver Island.

Winter had been severe, more snow than the year before, which had been more severe than the year before it, and so on since the nuclear strikes in November. It was hard to tell with no comprehensive record-keeping across the province by Environment Canada.

However, the summers were also drier and hotter, people thought.

Even April was hotter and dryer than the prewar ones on record. The Island always had mild summers and winters with plenty of rain, but the farmers were already grumbling at the prospects for the harvest if the summer got any hotter and the weather any drier.

Outside in the bright early afternoon sunshine, a Canadian flag flapped in the breeze from the flagpole in front of the school.

Seagulls rode the breeze overhead, avoiding the odd hawk or eagle soaring in their own patch of cloudless sky.

Orderly rows of green army tents crowded the landscape, colonizing the many surrounding sports and recreation fields. Some held the personnel of the DRI, others were the quarters of the Island Defence Force. Most were the semi-permanent homes of thousands of refugees from Victoria or fled from Vancouver across the water.

Out in the former teachers' parking lot, a group of mechanics on smoke break gathered around a beat-up LAV-III Kodiak with a new coat of paint. Cigarettes were lit, opinions exchanged.

"Fuck, that's the best we're gonna get this fucker." One mechanic shook his head.

"Yeah," another replied, "the thing is, it's the best they're gonna give 'em for this little recce. Good fuckin' luck, eh? A real skookum ride, ha!"

"I hear it's gonna get better once the Aussies start sending us engines 'n' parts."

"Yeah, not like them fuckin' yanks. Man, they promised to help us out, but we got, y'know, fuckall from 'em. Fuck, man, we hadda whip the fuck'n Sovs by ourselves! Pricks couldn't even overthrow their own fuckin' government! I mean, fuck! How hard could that be, eh?"

This wasn't entirely fair; unlike the USA, Australia had never been subject to massive nuclear attack and brutal invasion. The parts for the LAV-III weren't made in the USA anyways but Ontario. It was true that Canadian units had borne the brunt of the fighting against the Soviets in BC and stopped them, paying a bloody price. It was the ferocious American counter-attacks in Alaska that cut their supply line and forced them to withdraw, and then break up.

Still, if there was one regrettable but almost-universal characteristic of Canadians in general and soldiers in particular, it was dumping on their American friends whether they really deserved it or not.

Inside the converted classroom, the heat was building and the cantilevered windows opened to admit whatever breeze there was.

Major Mark Anderson, OC (Officer Commanding) of the DRI's local branch finished the scant briefing.

"Any questions? Sorry, we don't have much more information on the AO. That's what you're there to find out!"

He glanced at his notes, typed laboriously on a scarce piece of paper.

"Oh yes, we're probably going to move the HQ by the summer. The, ah, school district wants their school back. Then want to start classes and so on."

The Reg Force members of the team sat in the back and wished they were allowed to smoke. Chris and Kelsey were dressed in reasonably-clean OD green combats.

Standing out from them were the paratroopers, in cleaner uniforms and shined boots, and the mountie in her summer uniform of grey short-sleeved shirt (regimental badges saying "RCMP/GRC" on her shoulders), pressed navy trousers with yellow stripe, and police cap with yellow band on her knee.

[OOC: for an operational briefing, your characters would normally be wearing whatever they would wear on the operation (which is next day) so combats, camo smock, maroon beret and boots would be perfectly acceptable but wearing a dress uniform would be fine. Berets are worn indoors and out, and when not worn are placed in a pants cargo pocket (and never in any circumstances under an epaulette. For information on the NPCs and the previous briefing, please refer to the OOC Briefing thread.]

[Correction: on an occasion like this, headgear apparently is removed.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:23, Tue 08 Jan 2008.

Robert sat in the back, between Andy and the female reservist whose name had slipped him.  He sat listening, arms crossed, and wondering why in the hell he was picked to take part in the mission. He was tired of this and well beyond that stage of being a keener, always volunteering and looking for something new. That was the old Robert, he thought, although it was time he got off the island.

Orders to transfer to the DRI had only crossed him two days before. Just long enough to shave his head, and clean his gear. He knew Andy from before, in 'The Regiment', and the rest of the team seemed ok. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, he continued to think.

After the o-group had finished, he approached the various maps that had been laid out to help illustrate the mission orders. He looked them over, noting the absence of up to date intelligence markings.

Unsatisfied, but not surprised, he quietly returns to the team sitting in the back. "Alright, while the leftenant sorts out his plan we'll get on with our battle procedure. Final radio check, weapons check... look over the LAV too one more time," (he says nodding to Champlain).

OOC - Fox may not be too visibly enthused about going, but that doesn't mean he doesn't take his job seriously or do what he needs to do.

"Yes sarge."

Andy sits ramrod straight, open palms on his clean, creased green fatigue pants. He is quite happy to get back into the field again. Garrison duty, he feels strongly, is either terribly boring or terribly regimented, in seemingly equal measure. How five years of near total war had failed to rid the military establishment of its complement of REMF sycophants and martinets was beyond comprehension. And garrison duty gave him too much time to think.

In the field, he felt alive- or as close to the living as he could. It was time to go. He wasn't very keen on having to head out into the field in the hull of a steel coffin like the LAV. Days or weeks couped up in that thing would almost be as bad as being stuck any longer here in this camp. Almost, but not quite. And Fox was a good non-com. The Leftenant, well, Andy had heard rumors among the enlisted. He was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt, though- after all, he was Airborne and, like himself a former member of the PPCLI. And Fox had vouched for the officer, which didn't hurt. The regulars, Andy knew nothing about and the Mountie was an interesting, if somewhat unconventional addition to the squad. She'd been a member of a RCMP tactical team, though, or so Andy had heard, so once again, he'd reserve judgement.

LT Jagelis thought over the operational briefing he'd just heard.

Situation-wise, civil order had been absent for years and there were many different groups, most of whom were nominally allied with the federal government but independent for all intents and purposes. Despite the numbers of factions and the presumed presence of at least some looted or abandoned military-grade weapons in civilian hands, open conflict and internecine warfare seemed rare. Thank God, this was not yet Beirut, Sarajevo or Mogadishu, but with deserters beginning to filter into the city, if the communities decided to start acquiring and arming private mercenary armies the situation (and any long term prospects) could change very quickly, and for the worse.

The only civilian group that was known to be friendly with the feds and the Army was the community located at UBC, which included surviving RCMP personnel. Most other citizens they met (with the possible exception of American refugees) were likely nominally still loyal and might respond to appeals to their patriotism and civic duty. However, this could not be counted on initially or taken for granted under all circumstances. Covert maritime surveillance by DRI fishing boat over the last week had revealed several surviving communities on the water, with some in West Van, UBC and Richmond, with the largest communities in Burnaby, New West and the former industrial hub of Annacis Island, all located along or in the Fraser.

http://tinyurl.com/2k2wvc

(Known or suspected settlements)

There were likely criminal elements present which might include black-marketeers, thieves, street gangs, and even Asian gangs and Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs.

The addition of a former anti-gang task force member suddenly made a lot more sense.

The last two groups were the most worrisome. The Asians gangs were well organized, well armed and well-funded. However, they were not anti-authoritarian in nature.

The Hells on the other hand were also well-funded and organized, but more numerous and also likely to strongly resist any return to authority. These bikers had controlled the middle echelon of crime in BC and Canada for a decade before the war, and had long ago transformed from beer-swilling quasi-romantic rebels of the 60's. Bitter drug wars had hardened them, teaching them sophistication and ruthlessness. Long gone were the drunken street brawlers, replaced by hard core criminals more apt to choose assassination by car-bomb and directing strikes with independent hit teams for maximum deniability. By the war they'd absorbed and amalgamated all the independent motorcycle gangs around, turning BC into a "one-patch" province and a corridor for narcotics-smuggling up and down the coast and across the border.

In the here-and-now, URAEL's mission was to recce the physical infrastructure and surviving communities located in the GVRD, open friendly relations and establish a local base of operations with the survivors in UBC and assess any obstacles to reconstruction in the AO.

The initial insertion was to be via water by ship departing from Duncan on Sunday 02 April 2001 at 0500 hours Lima (local time), arriving at the marina at Deering Island at 0800. Then travel overland via surface roads to UBC in the LAV. The LAV would also the primary means of subsequent ground travel in the AO. The area was still technically under military rule but effectively uncontrolled, so deadly force was permitted when justified. However, as this was a recce, disengagement was the preferred option and all care should be taken to minimise collateral damage to infrastructure and civilians. The Airborne's talents for killing people and breaking things would by somewhat tempered.

http://tinyurl.com/2teldk

(Route Map #1)

http://tinyurl.com/2w8ljh

(Reference Red Cross)

http://tinyurl.com/2v55wo

(Reference Red Cross)

http://tinyurl.com/ypplwr

(Route Map #2)

There was a section on how they would get to the insertion point by ancient-but-seaworthy coastal tramp steamer, supplies and stores carried by the unit. Extraction would be by same ship nominally in 2 months time on 02 June 2001 unless the mission was continued indefinitely by DRI HQ. Regular resupply of food, fuel, equipment/spares and ammunition was once a week (on Sundays) by fishing boat and then zodiac, with the resupply point provisionally designated as being somewhere on the beaches around UBC 2 hours before sunset.

If regularly-scheduled radio contact was lost with the team then emergency re-contact or pick-up zones were designated Point Alpha in Lighthouse Park in West Van, Point Bravo at 2nd beach in Stanley Park, Point Charlie was the beach at Jericho, Point Delta was the seawall north of Wreck Beach, Point Echo was Deering Island in South Van, Point Foxtrot was where Westminster Highway dead-ended in Richmond and Point Golf was western tip of Delta. One day after contact was lost, for a 2 hour period before sunset a boat with a rescue team would cruise by these areas once from North to South, then again 2 hours before dawn.

http://tinyurl.com/2cljwd

(Re-Contact and Rescue Points compared to settlements)

Lieutenant Jagelis was OC of the unit, Sergeant Fox was his 2IC. Corporal Lee, brevetted to Staff Sergeant for this mission due to the possible presence of ranking RCMP personnel, was attached as an observer and civilian/law-enforcement liaison. Like the RCMP in general, she was also responsible for enforcing Canadian civil and military law where appropriate. (In 2001 the RCMP was both a civil and military police force, and so have dual jurisdiction in this area.) Sergeant Fox's rank was also brevetted to Warrant for this mission so that his rank and Corporal Lee's ranks were technically equal.

The radio check and reporting schedule, frequencies and day codes were dutifully copied down by the Signaller, Pvt. MacDonald. As well, there were daytime and night-time recognition or distress signals for authentication purposes with the offshore supply transport or rescue (wood or HC smoke, signal mirrors, flags, even random-looking debris piles during the day; flares, coded white and IR flashes, signal fires, etc. at night).
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:30, Mon 07 Jan 2008.

Putting her Glengarry (black with re-white checked band) back on her head and setting it at a rakish angle, Pvt. Champlain grinned in a friendly way at Robert. "Sure thing, Sarge! Can't wait to get out of this town myself. Lived in PoCo (Port Coquitlam, an eastern suburb) for a couple of years, wonder what's happened to the old 'hood, eh?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:30, Mon 07 Jan 2008.

Tongue poking out between lips, Chris copied his instructions and double checked them.

"Sir, I'm ready. Let's take a look at the ride?"

He stood up, stretched, put on his beret.


[OOC: You're basically dismissed. Also, feel free to make your dialogue whatever colour like, NPCs are in red.]
This message was last edited by the player at 12:23, Tue 08 Jan 2008.

Afterwards:

The team spent some time getting acquainted.

The 2 "Militia" (colloquialism used for both singular and plural reservists) were friendly and eager to do finally be doing something after months of taking it easy.

Ben could sense that Kelsey had a bit of a temper, while Chris was more laid-back. Both were intelligent, not needing to be told what to do or have someone stand over them in order to do their jobs.

The LAV was good and bad news. Most of the electronics checked out, as did the weapons systems. Chris noted that the engine and undercarriage was spotless, a good sign that these areas had been washed, probably to hide lakage of various fluids.

Fox verified with Champlain that his radio set was functioning properly, as well as the vehicle radios. MacDonald checked over the medical supplies and instruments they'd been grudgingly alloted by the medical section.

Once their gear was loaded up, they would proceed down to the freight terminal to have the vehicle be loaded onto the ship and secured in the bottom of the deep hold. Departure would be before dawn the next day. In the evening, the Militia went over their gear, cleaning weapons, triple-checking the electronics and supplies

[OOC: if anyone wants anything done or to ask questions, this is the time. Informational questions can be posted to the OOC Briefing thread.]

Before departing to the freight terminal Lee changed from her regular duty uniform to her dark navy ERT set. She followed the direction given by Fox, checked her weapons for serviceability and took part in the unit comms check.

In an effort to help strengthen the ties between the newly formed team, she gathered the members and had them pose together in front of their battered LAV. Using her issued camera she asked a passing soldier to take a shot. "You know, for the history books." she says.

Chris eagerly stubbed out a cigarette and squatted down in front of the vehicle.

Thinking this was a good idea as well, Kelsey stubbed out her cigarette and followed suit.

Fox climbs out of the rear of the LAV where he was stuffing away some of the gear they had been checking over. Wiping his hands clean on his combat pants he digs out his beret and places it on his head, sloped well forward. Standing on one side of the team with the leftenant on the other he takes part in the photo op... complete with standard no-smile. "Good thinking." he whispers aloud, mostly to himself.

Afterwards, satisfied the prep was complete, he wandered off by himself in search of some paint from the transport fellas. Without the aid of stencils he does his best to recolor the black "Canada" on the sides of the LAV. He also stuffs a somewhat clean Canadian flag into one of the storage boxes on attached to the outside. With all those involved in the fighting in B.C. he figured it'd be good to let the locals be well informed on just who they were. Show the flag and remind them there still is a country that they belong too. he thinks to himself. It might also help to convince the locals they were an organization of legitimate authority.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:16, Tue 08 Jan 2008.

Lt Ben Jagelis checked once more on the explosives and demolitions kit he'd carefully packed away earlier that day. Ideally the twenty kilos of explosives, several dozen claymores, 84mm HEAT rounds, nearly 300 40mm grenades, 4 score hand grenades and a handful of other miscellanous nastiness would have been housed more than a metre or two from the highly volatile and very touchy detonators housed within the heavy wooden box on the other side of the LAV.

But that was a luxury they didn't have.

In more "normal" times, their mission would have involved several more vehicles and a dozen more soldiers.

But the Soviets had drained the entire country of it's manpower, industrial might and technology. Years of mostly bitter fighting had virtually destroyed everything that made Canada worth living in. Only pride was left, often not even that for many directly affected by the invasion and nuclear strikes that left the countries backbone not just broken, but smashed into a thousand pieces of sand, glass and radioactive wasteland.

That was why this mission was so very, very important. If the Canada of the 20th century wasn't going to become just another footnote in history, rebuilding had to begin as soon as possible. Waiting much longer would mean much of the surviving industrial capacity of the ravaged nation would be lost to the elements. Even more pressing was the need to safeguard the vital knowledge contained in the few surviving technicians and academics who had not perished either directly from the war or during the famines and plagues that struck repeatedly and without mercy.

Content that the precious cargo was "safely" stowed, Ben cast his gaze about the interior of the battered vehicle that would be their only true home for the next few months. almost every part showed wear and tear from contant moving and fighting. Many of the vehicles components had obviously been scavenged from other damaged and destroyed vehicles, some even had the telltale signs of fire or shrapnel scars.

Still, the motorpool sergeant had insisted the LAV could do the job even if his promises had been underscored by barely muffled laughter from the workshop mechanics several dozen yards behind....

"Well then, ah.... men," he said uncertainly, his eyes briefly resting on Kelsy and Zhang.
"We've got ourselves about 12 hours til we leave and it seems everythings ready to go. How about I buy you all a drink and we get to know each other?"

A little ways from Duncan, Cowichan Bay featured the town of Cowichan Bay with fisherman's wharf on the south side, several interlocking native reservations on the north, and a deep-water ship dock, the Westcan Terminal, jutting out into the bay in the middle.

The Terminal had once specialised in bulk forestry products was and was at the end of a wide causeway/marshaling yard out in Cowichan Bay. It showed signs of war, bomb-craters scattered across the cracked pavement and not patched, holes usually half-filled with rain water but now were dry. An 18-wheeler flatbed tractor-trailer had been flung off the causeway by some catastrophic explosion and into the shallow tidewater to the south. It lay crumpled, upside down, wheels rusting in the air.

The northern berth of the T-shaped dock at the end of the terminal had been blown away by a Soviet Frontal Aviation cluster-bomb dropped by a marauding Su-24 back when they were still flying. The tangled rusting superstructure of a sunken hulk resting on the bottom poked out of the water there. Their ride for the short hop across the Strait was moored at the surviving south berth.

http://tinyurl.com/2w5jkl

The tiny 175-foot 530-ton freighter was dwarfed by the massive terminal facilities. It was a real rust-bucket, but looked to be in at least marginally sea-worthy shape.

It had no heavy weapons visibly mounted, and the crew scurrying about seemed unarmed. There were rumours of pirates in fast boats prowling the Straits of Georgia and Juan de Fuca, coming up from Puget Sound or down from the north coast. It was said they were preying on fishing boats or what little maritime commercial traffic remained. The ship's crew weren't paying heed to this purported fact in any obvious way.

The tub's name, "GB CHURCH", was barely visible under the rust.



The team was on the dock by the Church. Nearby was a large battered OD Green Chevy Silverado MILCOTS (Miltary-Commercial Off the Shelf; aka "Milverado") 4-door pickup truck Lt. Jagelis had borrowed from the threadbare motor pool to assist in the loading and squaring-away of the team. These trucks had started to supplement the VW Iltis jeep for the CF when war broke out, most going to the militia.



Robert Kirsch, the Church's bearded skipper, was a friendly sort. He puffed on his pipe and offered, "there's a pub in Cowichan Bay, by the wharf, that's a good place to grab a pint. Good food, too. Called the Windjammer. We always stop in there when we're here. I'll be there tonight after dinner, myself."

He pointed south across Cowichan Bay to the town of Cowichan Bay, where indeed they could just see a white building on pilings jutting out over the water.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:45, Wed 09 Jan 2008.

"Yeah, man, I could sure use a beer. Once the LAV is on board." Chris answered.

Kelsey seemed enthusiastic as well. "Sure thing! Whatever you say, El-Tee!"

The American slang for Lieutenant was something many militia reservists who'd regularly gone down to Ft. Lewis and Yakima for training and cross-training with the Washington National Guard had picked up over the years.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:29, Thu 10 Jan 2008.

Andy deposited his padded rifle and barracks bags on the cracked and stained concrete and looked hard at the GB CHURCH. He could harly make out the freighter's entire name for all of the rust and filth that streaked her battered sides.

Heh, LURCH... he laughed quietly to himself.

He overheard talk of a trip to the pub and although he wasn't much of a drinker, the offer of a free beer- a real beer- was too good to pass up. Besides, Andy wanted to get a better feel for his team-mates.

Glancing back at the LURCH he thought, only half-seriously, that it may be wise to have a few extra drinks before climbing aboard.

"I'm in Leftenant."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:55, Wed 09 Jan 2008.

Ben grimaced at the Americanisation that had crept remorselessly though the ranks of the newr recruits. Although grateful for the training assistance that had been supplied, he would have much prefered it to have been on home soil with all Canadian instructors.

"Ah, Sir will do." If there was one thing he'd learnt, it was to try and maintain at least a semblance of discipline and military courtesy - at least while the senior ranks were looking.... Once they were over the water and it was just the six of them, he'd be far happier to be called simply Ben, but for now he'd rather not stifle his carreer prospects^*...

"First thing in the morning, I want the C-6 and Mk-19 mounted on the boat. Be nice to have more than rifles to fend off any marauders during the crossing."

The Windjammer was a longish building that projected out over the water.

Around them was the marina and the Government wharf. It had always had been a working wharf, and so the seiners and Boston whalers were nothing new, as well as the sailcraft and houseboats, although they all looked a lot worse for wear. The luxury pleasure craft up from Vic or over from Van that once thronged here on day trips like exotic white birds were long-gone.



The Windjammer pub had formerly been known as the Black Douglas, and before that the John Bull, remnants of when British Columbia had been a far-flung outpost of the British Empire.



Now fishermen thronged here, and about half were native men from the reservs surrounding both the town and the bay. The decor hadn't been updated since the 70's, featuring a scuffed wooden floor and an even more scuffed fake-wood veneer.



It still served moderately good beer, kept cool by the sporadic electrical supply. Over some passable pub food (fish and chips, buffalo wings, scallops and shrimp) the two milita argued politics.

The sun set and fog rolled in across Cowichan Bay as it cooled.

Kelsey was a left-winger, while Chris was more conservative. This being Canada, they were able to get along well enough despite this.

Kelsey criticised the Albertan decision to form a federal government as being unconstitutional, Chris was more sympathetic, except that he agreed that closing off the border was a little excessive because it hamstrung the war effort, even given the fears of disorder and "infiltrating communist terrorist spies". But the battles had been over at that point anyways, so Chris thought maybe it was a good idea, anyways. Kelsey was sure that the rumours of Neo-Nazis being somehow involved in engineering this mini-putsch, and Chris allowed that the Albertans "accidentally" attacking the Homeland First Nations confederacy did stick in his craw a little. Time would tell if and when charges would be brought against anyone.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:21, Fri 11 Jan 2008.

Andy sits quietly at the bar, listening to the others expound about this and that and nursing his beer. The food is remarkably good. It's a rather encouraging sign for what remains of civilization to see the local fishing industry- such as it is- on its way up again. With the grounding of most of the world's fishing fleets, fish stocks must be making a comeback as well. It probably takes half the effort to catch twice the haul in this post-apocalypse world.

Andy's always been a bit of an introvert and prefers to observe the conversation rather than participate. His sniper training has only strengthened this natural inclination. It'll take more time- or a few more beers- to get him to open up, beyond the business side of things. Once he's more comfortable with his companions, a rather funny, personable, and seemingly cheerful young man will emerge.

OOC: Sorry, I'm not very up on my post apocalypse Canadian current affairs! So, Andy will just listen. He will, of course, speak when spoken to. Just don't ask him anything about what's going on in "the news"!

Fox, like Andy, listens more than actually participates in the ongoing discussions. His food seemed more interesting to him than "politics" anyways. Politics and social issues weren't something Fox usually talked about amongst his peers. Dropping out of high school probably had something to do with his confidence to partake in such discussions.

When the discussions got a little too boring for him, his mind wandered to tomorrow and the upcoming deployment. There was alot to wonder about. And only when the two Militia's opinions got heated did his mind get jolted back to the present.

Finished with his food, he pushes his plate aside and does his best to try to not look anti-social.

Ben settled back after they'd eaten with a glass of locally produced port. It wasn't a patch on what they'd had back in the officers mess until the war began, but better than most.
"Well then, I suppose I'd better start off," he stated.
"Some of you have worked with me in the past and we know each other fairly well, but for the benifit of everyone else I'll tell you alla bit about myself."
"I gained my commission just as the war began, coming directly from the academy. Over the years I've picked up skills in small arms and demolitions, can drive anything and I'm totally fluent in both English and French."
Although technically qualified in other areas, he knew that the little ability he had usually caused more problems than not. For example, although he knew how to read a map, it was usually up to the plattoons 2IC to turn the map up the right way first....

Cyprus, late fifteenth century. The popular Shakespeare tragedy of the passionate love of the Moor Otello for his "hottie" wife Desdemona was playing in the recently resuscitated VCR in the form of an opera performance at the Met. Otello, a General, has led the Venetians in victory over the Turks. He is hated by Iago, his ensign, who aspires to replace Cassio as his lieutenant. Most of the thinks that Verdi liked from Shakespeare are found in this drama:

* Love
* Power
* Confrontation and despair
* Hate, rage and revenge
* Heroic nation building
* Nation governing

Taras was relaxed and satisfied of the good work on the Toshiba.
"We were lucky to find the tapes in the concrete reinforced basement"

Sociology professor Angela Kwan, the respected and beloved community leader, or "Council chairperson" of the Faculty, as the UBC grounds were commonly named, was seating next to him. Allain Belanger professor of History and Airborne veteran  (R22e)joined the evening with enthusiasm. He has helped to organize and train the militia.In Act I, the chorus waits for the arrival of the victorious Otello's ship out of the storm...

As with the chorus, there was also expectation of a ship in tonight's audience. The long and painful winter was giving way to a beautiful yet full of uncertainty spring. As suggested by Sergeant (RCMP) Balwinder Singh Khandola, the check points dotting the perimeter should be reinforced. Taras suggested directional mines to prevent being overrun by a hail of bikers. With the approval of Ms Kwan, the schedule was set. He will load the UAZ jeep in the morning with the hardware, pick up Sgt. Khandola at the security HQ and tour, as ironically some residents started to call it, the Western wall .

...In the background, a quay and the sea; a tavern, it is evening. After the crashing opening chord, Otello's ship can be seen making for port through a heavy storm. His opening shout of triumph (Hear glad tidings. Our wars are done. The ocean has whelmed the Turk!), makes a splendid entrance and shows the warrior in all his glory.

Let the show begin!

As Placido Domingo and Kiri Te Kanawa were taking the bows after the final scene, Ms Kwan was already willing to ask Taras, from an Officer's point of view, about Otello's character.

...With all due respect to you, Verdi and Shakespeare, through my military career I've known several Generals. Dozens on a first name basis. Some I've admired more than others. I've known Major Generals, Lieutenant Generals and even a Colonel General. But never, in war or in the Stavka, have I met a General as foolish and just plain dumb as Otello, the Lion of St. Mark's.

Allain Belanger, as a former member of the Canadian Forces and History professor and enthusiast was paying close attention to the debate.

...A victorious and respectful leader is deceived into believing that his wife Desdemona has betrayed him with his second-in-command. A classic example of Maskirovka, should I say...

And what are the lessons to learn here, Taras? Asked Allain.

It is very obvious, Sir. Do not trust single intelligence sources.

Angela let the thought sink deep for a while.

- Very good point, Mr. Shevchenko. But it is getting late and tomorrow will be a busy day. Shall we continue the discussion some other time, perhaps?

Well, of course!

Walking outside, towards his sleeping quarters, Taras felt in a good mood. The evening has been very entertaining: The opera, Angela's charm...Before ending the day he did have a little time to verbalize, under the starry night, a list for tomorrow's task:

PN manual inductors, demolition cable, EDP-R electric detonators...