Insurgency: Yanovich’s Inauguration

August 22, 2018 rpgs session-report insurgency delta-green

I recently got to play in Christian Kessler’s game, Insurgency where you play as a rebel cell fighting against a future version of the US called USInc. which has become totally corrupt, fighting in our homeland, the fictitious country Kovakistan. The game is a modified version of Delta Green and is hella fun to play for all of the reason murder and mayhem sandboxes are fun to play in. Here’s the basic setup:

It’s been three years since Kovakistan fell to USInc. forces, and a provisional president (Boris Yanovich; a greedy neofascist businessman heavily supported by USInc.) has just been chosen in a hastily thrown together and almost certainly rigged election. His administration has announced a speech at the footie stadium in Svetly, and local activists have been organizing a protest in defiance of Yanovich’s rule.

Your cell has one in-game day to make any necessary preparations. There’s no reason to expect the occupiers to allow this protest to remain peaceful.

Our cell included:

I played a Shocktrooper named Ciril Volny (basically an ex-special forces operator from Kovakistan who is now fighting as an insurgent in this tiny cell). Here’s his report:

Maripova,

I’m sorry about what happened at the Textile factory, but I hope you understand that I had no other choice. I thank you for covering for me, and I hope that I have not caused you too much trouble.

I have paid the courier in American dollars to wait for you to finish reading my notes, afterwards he will burn it, but you must watch him do this and make a report back to me so that I know he did his job. It is difficult to find good help I’m afraid.

I would have given you word of my coming, but Yanovich and his pig-dogs and leash-holders had scheduled his mock crowning for yesterday (you now have heard what happened, I am sorry I could not make a proper goodbye) and we had little time to prepare.

The question is always whether to do what is expected or to do what is unexpected. We had an opportunity to play, what is it they call… Whack-a-mole” with Yanovich the Puppet, and we feared for the safety of the protestors, the USInc. forces are paid handsomely to carry through and our lives are not worth much to them.

There were many targets, the courthouse being prime among them (so many of our betters are imprisoned, we need them I’m afraid. We’re not much use without their leadership and expertise), but only one opportunity: to kill Yanovich. We put other plans on hold and decided to strike while the iron is hot as they say. They would be expecting us, but they would not expect our fervor.

We do not have clear leadership, though Flayr seems to know his way around. Level-headed, and unwilling to compromise civilians, I believe he has what it takes to mold… this can we call it revolution yet? We talked of making a bomb and putting it in a vehicle in order to ram Yanovich or his escort or some building to make a distraction, but Flayr would not let us put a non-volunteer in the car. A line was drawn.

Passion gets the better of us and we see only the mission and not those left at home. Like you Maripova. When I asked to take your place at the textile factory for a day it was to be close to the action, to have a place to hide. Your boss, she questioned me, but a carton of cigarettes persuaded her to let me stay. The others are not happy that I let so many go, but I think it was a small price to pay for my safety. We can always get more cigarettes.

Our bombmaker, Divats, made pipebombs and silencers and the dreadful car bomb that brought up so much discussion, and Petrov, I hear, infiltrated the convention center ahead of time to wait for his shot.

After I entered the factory though, I was alone. In the morning I took my rifle and hid it under my disguise (I do not know how you can wear this every day) and went with the crowd into the convention center.

Janetskya, I thank god for her, was able to secure us the required identification and stable communication of the temperature leading up to the event. Zvonko I believe had a hand in this as well, but he has grown paranoid. I am afraid he was Secret Police for too long and has forgotten how to live free. As have we all.

For all the work that went into our planning, disguises, forgery, weapons, and timing…I was selected for additional screening at the gates and brought to a dingy, bloodstained room. It was a hard decision whether to fight or be taken in, but I’ve heard of the dark hole they’ll throw you in forever, but would any action destroy our hopes of completing the mission?

I made my decision and dropped a grenade into the room and fought my way out. I could not get the door closed in time, but I killed five of them and left the convention center in chaos. Thank god for the textile factory! Ah those cigarettes see how it is good to be generous to our people, Maripova? We are far too stingy.

I hid in the factory while the coronation continued. In the distance I heard another explosion, this time larger, and I went to the roof with my rifle to see. I am afraid we have lost our bombmaker. You will need to arrange for some of our stolen goods to meet his family. I cannot do it myself, as you will soon see.

On the rooftop it became apparent just how seriously USInc. was taking this mock-coronation. Their forces were arrayed in the parking garage adjacent to the convention center, and they had made a barricade of vehicles — those black SUVS they’re always charging down our streets in — and to my luck I see a shot I did not know I had been waiting my life to take — Yanovich and his escort.

Maripova, you must watch the courier burn this note and burn even the ashes, because it is not my life that I fear for but yours, and mothers, and your sisters and children. I took the shot at Yanovich and he is dead and there is nothing but chaos. Everywhere.

You will not hear from my for some time but know that I am well and comforted by my actions. It will be their turn to respond, but for now we show them that we kneel before no lapdog.

Yours,
Cyril



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