After Russkyan involvement on what was referred to as "The Peninsula," the Russkyan Intelligence and Security Service had maintained a series of small intelligence-gathering cells, referred to as "Offices." One flashed an encrypted communique via long-range burst transmitter to a communications satellite. This was "bounced" to a recieving dish in the mountains of Russkya's Western Oblast, where it was then transmitted via buried fibreoptic cable to a communications bunker manned by RISS operators and intelligence officers.
The "Office" originating the signal was located in Estonavia, in a bullet pockmarked concrete apartment building. It was guarded by stone-faced men who had assault weapons within arm's reach if not cradled in firm hands, and the defensive peremiter was known as a matter of fact to the locals. They simply accepted it as more foreign intervention in their homeland. They suspected, but didn't know, that the facility was manned by Russkyans, and they suspected, but didn't know, that it was also an intelligence cell rather than organized crime or something similar. Being so open was not comforting to any of the RISS operators, and they looked forward to being redeployed elsewheres at the soonest possible convienence. Scheduled for three days from now, as was RISS's way.
In the well lit, clean, and comfortable surroundings of the communications bunker, an intelligence officer reached for the USB cable on the metal desk he sat behind, plugging this from his tempested computer to the laptop-sized encryption box. He then unlocked a drawer, pulling out a five-ring binder, black, and flipping to the appropriate page.
Rolling back the sleeves of his white dress shirt, the intelligence officer glanced up at the suit jacket sitting on the coat-hook by his workstation before opening the laptop. Glancing up at the jacket also let him note that his five other colleagues in this paticular bunker were also hard at work, though only one other was preparing to decrypt a recieved message. The procedure for this was simple; simply open the laptop like device, hit the power button, ensure the USB cables were securely connected, and then enter the appropriate code strings to allow the machine to decode the message. These code strings were stored in the binder on sheets of paper that were lined with "quick tear" perforations. The ink was water soluable and the thin paper turned to ash with the touch of a match - Russkyans took their communications security seriously. This was only one form of encryption that was commonly utilized.
The officer tore the appropriate strip out of the binder before immediately closing it and replacing it in its drawer, locking that drawer. He referenced the sheet while typing by feel, then hit "ENTER" and let the machine whirr into action. It took four seconds.
Message length was limited to two hundred and fifty characters for operational security reasons only. The end of the first message advised the man that two more messages were inbound with further information. These were likewise recieved, decrypted, compiled onto a message sheet, and then couriered to the watch officer on duty in the communications bunker, who immediately reencrypted them with a different scheme and transmitted them to RISS Central Headquarters in Berisak, Russkya.
There, after three minutes work, the data was sitting infront of the Politburo.
--
Estovakia, RISS "Office," Fifth Floor.
Vadim walked along the hallway, dress shoes clicking on the linoleum. The comforting weight of a CZ-97B resting in its pancake holster was on his right hip, and he knocked twice on a wooden door. This was opened from the inside by a man in olive drab combat trousers bloused into black calf-height boots, adorned with combat gear and weaponry. The contrast between precisely tailored suit and combat gear was sharp, but common to both men.
"What do you need, Vadim?"
"Just checking security. I'd like to take a look, if I may."
"All clear here. Suit yourself though."
The officer walked past the operator, who simply picked his SVU rifle back up and went up the ladder to the sheltered roof which had been built up to look like a sixth floor and consisted of a series of shooting cells providing near-perfect urban concealment and observation of all approach angles. Up here there were already two marksmen in the same garb as this operator on watch.
They'd move in three days. Equipment was being packed already, transport arranged by field officers. These field officers came and went occassionally, always at night to protect their identities, only after tremendous countersurveillance checks. Darkness was in two hour's time. An hour after that, and one of the field officers was scheduled for a face to face check-in and data handover. He'd be wearing blue jeans, a black leather bomber jacket, and an OD Green "Commando" sweater, common enough kit in Estonavia nowadays. He was unarmed.
--
Just as the RISS missives from Estonavia were raising alert flags in "Intel Central," the International Television and Radio Monitoring Department of the Foreign Intelligence Directorate shunted a warning up the priority channel, accompanied by a copy of the Generalissimo's words.
Satellites were re-tasked, RISS's Aequatian, Kilrany, Spazjenian, and Brabander counterparts were alerted and offered cooperation, and the first overhead thermals of Estovanian armoured formations were recieved and analyzed.
Summa summarum, the ball was now in play.




