A telephone rang in the ECMP detachment at UBC and a volunteer picked it up.

"Police, fire, ambulance?"

"Okay, thank you, once moment please.

The call was transferred to the duty NCO.

"RCMP, please state your name and the nature of your call?" The NCO picked up a clipboard to take notes.

After the call was complete, several calls were placed to the various community leaders.

The last one was placed to the residence of Taras, formerly Sr. Lt. Taras Vladmirovich Shevchenko.

When he picked it up, the duty NCO told him, "Taras... that ship that transited the Strait about forty-five minutes ago, we think it's the representatives from the government. They're looking to land somewhere around Checkpoint #4, maybe the Celtic Shipyards. The coast watcher says there's some soldiers and a mountie. Also, they have some kind of heavy vehicle."

"Sergeant Khandola says he'll meet you at West Mall and SW Marine."

[Javier: feel free to post. It's mid-morning, around 10:45AM. You have not worked out what procedure you'll use at this point.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:52, Mon 21 Jan 2008.

Thank you.

Taras felt dizzy. He slapped his face a couple of times. For once he was happy that the Government was sending somebody. On the other side, it appears that a Mountie was on that boat. Not good.

Remembering that performance at the Met, Taras couldn't help but to compare Sgt. Khandola to a modern times Iago. Relationship was strickly professional and for several reasons. Does have the Sargent a reason to clash with Taras? For once Angela has passed over Khandola over "promotion" in the militia training program over Allain. Balwinder resents this as Allain is a professor without field experience in Police work, unlike him. Now the defector was gaining a strong foothold with the Council and even providing advice with the tacit approval of Angela and her cohort of academics. But those were hard times and the security and well being of everybody was more important than personal quarrels.

I'll get my jeep and I'll be there as soon as possible

Taras grabs his "Ksyukha" and exits the room towards the courtyard.

The UAZ started immediately, blasting out a cloud of blue smoke from the alcohol.

The spring day was warm, and he drove with the top and wind-screen down. Driving past the other UBC residences, a few people out and about in the glorious sunshine waved at him as he passed.

He drove through the clusters of low modern structure and a few of the larger residences and other buildings.

He turned right onto West 16th Ave from Westbrook Mall and accelerated through the roundabout.

Parked near the intersection with SW Marine was Sgt. Khandola's "Supervisor" GMC Suburban SUV. Beside it waited Sgt Khandola of the 185th Provost Company (RCMP), Detachment C. He nodded to Taras as he drove up.


This message was last edited by the GM at 16:56, Mon 21 Jan 2008.

Good Morning Sargent!

Taras dismounted the vehicle and with a swift, almost elegant movement, retrieved his "Ksyukha" or AKS-74U and slung it across his shoulders. With a folded stock the weapon was easily concealed from the front. The last 2 inches of the protruding large capacity magazine were tucked in between the small of the back and a duty belt making a confortable arrangement (the weapon will not move while running) and helping to keep an upright posture.

Seems that we are going to have visitors!

"Mr. Shevchenko, it is pleasant to see you. I would like to meet our guests where they have landed, then guide them in personally. We should get there in ten minutes or less. I will lead, you follow, okay?"

[OOC: I take it Taras is dressed normally for this occasion? Fatigues, hiking boots, Kyuskha slung across the back etc. but leaving the webbing, Lifchik chest ammo harness in the UAZ. Or is he dressing up a little with the black-striped Telynashka and issue boots, boonie hat?]

Ok, I'll follow you.

Taras was wearing a pair of cammo pants, a black cotton T-shirt, duty belt with a multitool pouch and expensive (yet "liberated") hiking boots. Seating next to him was a common "The North Pole" 30 L. backpack with small items like a first aid kit, paracord, fishing gear, etc. "hugging" the bag was the chest rig. An RPK gunner type with 4 extra magazines and also a couple of handgranades. The back of the jeep was clear. Only a fixed toolbox and a spare tire together with a jerrycan populated that area.

Damn! This Sargent sure is a daredevil. My goat (traditional russian nickname for the UAZ jeep) almost cannot catch up!

What a gorgeous day!

Taras was trying to reconcile with himself and the past. The landscape was running fast behind him and so did the flashbacks. [...] Odessa, the warm shores, school years [...} Leo Tolstoy's "Hadji Murad" the fictionalized account of the caucasian rebel being probably the first intimate approach to the Islamic culture and the eternal East vs West struggle. Both sides of absolutism European and Asiatic represented by Nicholas I and Shamil. Not unlike Tolstoy came the Transcaucasus deployment as a young Lieutenant. A new reborn fierce and ruthless Shamil. Brief combat operations, mostly mining of the border triangle of Ingushetia, Georgia and Chechnya. Then the terrifying stories and empty stare from the troops containing names like Vedeno, Argun, Urus-Martan, Grozny...He couldn't help a hostile, almost threatening feeling towards the turban clad Sargent.

It's time to forget, Taras. Thought to himself. The war, this war, is over.

After slaloming at high speed through a series of concrete barriers laid down to help slow down and canalize attacking vehicles, the two vehicles sped down the empty 4-lane divided highway.

They drove past the turnoff to the TRIUMF particle accelerator complex, still speeding up until they were topping 100 km/h. The Suburban could easily go faster, but the "Goat" was running at the high end of its revs due to the lower gearing.

On their left was thick forest. On the right they glimpsed the sun-lit ocean through the trees.

This well-constructed thoroughfare's led from New Westminster through South Vancouver to dead-end at the university. Basically from nowhere to the end in the sea via no place in particular. This was someone's pork project dream come true!

After a few minutes high-speed travel, they came to the checkpoint at the intersection of SW Marine and W 41st St.

To their left was the forest. To their right was an abandoned luxury housing development on Musqueam land.

In between were two concrete bunkers flanking the road, which was blocked by a removable barrier and obstructed by rows of concrete traffic barriers that forced approaching vehicles to slowly weave back and forth in a narrow S-pattern.

Barbed wire stretched off to the left, forming the bulk of the perimeter. To the right the perimeter was unfinished due to the area south being reserve land. There were more than a few political considerations to take into account!

About 20-30 people in a half-dozen families. lived on Musqueam land. They generally got along well with the people in UBC, relying on them for protection, medical assistance and supplies. A week ago the Faculty had dispatched an ambulance to take a diabetic child who'd fallen ill to UBC Pavilions Hospital, where they were in recovery.

The Musqueam kept watch over their sector, compensating somewhat for the unfinished barrier that would otherwise bisect their land.

The two off-road vehicles pulled up at the bunker. An on-duty militia in surplus camouflage with a rifle slung over his shoulder waved hello at them.

A mountie in uniform met them outside, looking worried. He came around to Khandola's window.

"I got another call from the natives... apparently, they gave permission for the army guys to land at Celtic Shipyard. But they sent a party to clear the yard buildings without permission, and people are a little upset."

The Celtic Shipyard was on reserve land. Before and during the war it had built small but advanced (CAD) small craft made of aluminum for National Defense, the Coast Guard and the RCMP. Now it was idle, except for the odd craft the Faculty contracted for, but the shipyard and its boat-building capacity would be important in the future. Keeping their Musqueam neighbors happy was of critical importance!

The mountie lifted the barrier and let them through. The maze of almost rural streets leading to the shipyard was complicated by the endless series of speed bumps placed to slow down traffic.

Khandola hit the gas and he sped away, tires squealing.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:01, Wed 23 Jan 2008.

Taras was hardly trying to keep up with the aggressive driving of the Sargent. For what he could listen at the brief stop at the checkpoint it was better to get there and the sooner the better.

Native people are very proud people. I hope this small incident will not affect the good relations with the band. Heck, they are in charge of a decent chunk of our own perimeter!

But somehow there was a feeling of acomplishment on this one. Communication has worked well and the checkpoint was able to quickly report the dispatched party.

Well, I hope at least that they gave the poor fellow a pack of cigarettes or some booze...

They turned on to Blenheim from SW Marine. The checkpoint disappeared from view.

Khandola's tail lights came on as he slowed to go over the speed bumps the residents had placed on the long straight roads to prevent traffic from going too fast and spooking the horses.

Almost all the lots here were huge and isolated by hedging. Inside were horse barns, stables, corrals. Some houses were new and large indeed, but there were many older houses dating back decades.

Once well-kept with immaculate front lawns, they were starting to look a little ragged without regular care and maintenance.

Once past the bump, the Suburban sped up again with a roar of V8 horsepower.

The radio behind him crackled with incoming message traffic.

A dispatcher back at UBC notified Khandola that their contact on Deering Island was at the Celtic Shipyard's gatehouse. He was on the telephone there, saying he believed his children were somewhere around the wharf where the army was in the process of disembarking. Understandably, he was in something of a panic for their safety.

Over the radio, Khandola had the dispatcher relay the instructions to not approach the army personnel until they arrived, and to wait at the shipyard's gatehouse.

Taras couldn't see the gatehouse all the way down the long road, but he knew they would arrive in minutes.


This message was last edited by the GM at 11:04, Fri 25 Jan 2008.

Taras acknowledged the radio message. There was something strange in this situation and he felt uncomfortable.

Did this guys just disembark and start moving around without having a meeting with the local residents? How could it be possible? He asked himself in a low voice. His left hand hard on the wheel the index finger tapping nervously his lips.

If the military where checking the buildings by themselves it would be a bad idea to go there. Taras picked up the radio.

Alpha 1. This is Tango 1. I strongly recommend to go to the docks and find the ship's captain. He may have radio contact with the party and call them back before things get bad. If not, we should try using the loudspeakers of your truck.

"Tango 1 from Alpha 1. I concur. We will stop at the yard entrance and proceed from there."

In less than a minute, they passed by a cul-de-sac sign, over a deep water-filled ditch and into the dead end. To the right was the closed entrance to the small marina, in the middle was a horse gate for a paddock that was along the river, and to the left was the iron gate for the shipyard.

Signs warned this was PRIVATE PROPERTY, NO TRESPASSING, and "Berths Available", although the latter had a notice below it saying "Marina Closed Until Further Notice".

The gate was left open, and a couple of ATVs were parked outside the gatehouse just inside to the right on the unpaved driveway.

Khandola skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust, Taras behind him.

Two native men emerged from the small building, one dressed in blue jeans and plaid shirt, the other in a security uniform.

The man in the casual clothing seemed very agitated, and the security guard was trying to calm him down. Khandola talked to them for a second, then emerged from the Suburban.

He walked over to Taras.

"The security guard saw the ship dock and called us. Dennis there, he lives on the island and says he talked to them and did give them permission to land on the wharf, but now they seem to be searching the building without permission. Not that they need it, but it's a little rude."

The shipyard, the island, indeed the entire Southlands neighborhood around them were on tribal land, so in a sense the native man probably did have some kind of authority here.

"This Dennis fellow thinks his children are in the building the soldiers entered. It's been broken into already and it's kept unlocked. So he's concerned. They both want to come."

"I request that you accompany us in my truck. Please leave your weapon behind."

He walked back to his truck and opened the rear door for the two men, and the passenger door for Taras.

Once inside they drove off.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:50, Sat 26 Jan 2008.

Taras climbed into the passenger seat of the RCMP labelled vehicle. Turning his head over his left shoulder, nodding his head, addressed Dennis:

Don't worry my friend. We'll get them soon. First we will go to the ship. They may have radio contact. To make sure they get the message the Sargent will call the soldiers with the loudspeakers. I think they are a little bit nervous and want to make sure this place is safe. That's all.

By the moment Taras finished his words the SUV was reaching the rusty hull of the GB "Church". Sgt Khandola was flashing the emergency lights.