Moscow Machination

The first Mistral ship, the Vladivostok was undergoing live trials with Russian sailors and the second ship, ironically named Sevastopol, was 80 % done. The boats were moored at the docks of Saint-Nazaire, in western France. Saint-Nazaire itself was on the Atlantic Coast, far away from Russian infested waters.

* * *

Gathered at NATO headquarters, were Lefebvre the French rep to NATO, Doug Sanders the American rep, a Jean Bernard from DGSE — the French Intelligence and the NATO Secretary, Norwegian Torgeir Larsen.

“Obviously a Spetsnaz black ops?” said Richard Lefebvre.

Everyone nodded in agreement. Despite the Russians backing off, everyone knew that some kooky Russian analyst was cooking up a scheme as they spoke, to abduct the Mistrals.

Irrespective of the effectiveness of the Spetsnaz, the French still felt good about protecting the ships. Despite being completed, the Vladivostok and Sevastopol weren’t like an Audi or a Camry, where one could just hotwire it, gas it and drive it into a sunset.

Even if the Russians did manage to get them out of the harbor, there was always the French Navy, the US Atlantic Fleet and a zillion other hostile air aircraft. Without armor, weapons or communications, the chances of a Russian breakout seemed bleak.

“Unless you guys take the ships out into the sea… for training… we can cross that one out,” noted Torgeir Larsen.

“Oui. Obviously we have stopped all excursions,” agreed Lefebvre.

Torgeir Larsen unsure about the presence of the DGSE Intelligence guy, prodded “So Jean, you have anything to add?”

“Well, we have been keeping tabs on the sailors’ quarters. Monitoring calls, movements that sort of thing. Nothing so far. The other thing we are monitoring is new house rentals or purchases by anyone sounding Russian, Ukrainian or Belarusian. Nothing there either. Overall we feel good about the ships. That’s all I got.”

“Ok, now that we know the Russians aren’t stealing it, what do we do with the ships?” the NATO General Secretary, tried to move the meeting forward.

“Obviously we could sell them off to some neutral or allied country.”

The American Sanders finally spoke, “But why even return the money to Russia. Let them roil over it. I don’t give a flying fuck.” Sanders returned to the delicious croissants.

“Yes Doug, that’s what we all want. But we still need to explore the possibilities… right?” said Torgeir the Norwegian.

“Hmmm. Ok, so why can’t you Frenchies, just induct these boats into your own navy? All you would have to do is rewrite the Cyrillic crap with oui and non, oui?” observed Sanders.

American Doug Sanders owned these types of meetings in Brussels as NATO equaled United States plus token contributions from limeys, frenchies, krauts, micks and the ones that got voted in each year.

“Non, Monsieur. The French public doesn’t like weapons or wars. They think our 4 Mistrals are more than enough.”

“Jeez alright, alright. Once again we have to save your soft, untanned asses.”

“Oui.”

Doug Sanders preened, “Before this super productive meeting, I had a word with NATO’s Supreme Allied Commander. He had a few mind blowing suggestions.”

“Oui?” said one of the Frenchmen. The Norwegian had given up.

“Well, we obviously can’t sell your wine cooler to Brazil, China or India. Apparently they are in a freaky four way called BRICS with Russia. That just leaves…”

“Non, Monsieur it’s a five way.”

“Ah, you dirty Euros, always pushing the limits…” Sanders tried to high five Lefebvre.

“Non. Monsieur… BRICS is BRIC plus S, where S is South Africa.”

“Thanks for the lesson, Frenchie. Yeah, I guess they are out too.”

“Oui, Monsieur,” replied Jean.

“So, where was I, ya that leaves what… the Saudis, Australians and maybe the Israelis? But then again, those guys are going to want to refit and retrofit the shit out of the boats. We want none of that. It has to be quick and easy. Plus we don’t feel real comfy about putting boats into the Middle East.”

“Oui. But so what is le solution, Monsieur?”

“Are you suggesting we wreck billions of euros worth of ship?” Larsen the Norwegian tried again.

“Easy fellas. The allied commander says I get to choose what happens to the ships. See I’m married to his third daughter… so… mmm, wish I had seen the second daughter first you know, the BMIs on that chick are off the charts man…”

“I see… wait does it mean she is so fat and her stats are off the charts or… off the charts in a good way… English is confusing?” said DGSE Jean.

“No brah. Off the charts means on the charts.”

“Off means on?”

“Dude she is a fine piece… ok?”

“Ah… I see,” said Torgeir Larsen.

“Ya man, see this Norwegian dude knows what I’m talkin’ about. Bet you ate out a blonde for breakfast.” Sanders then proceeded to high five the General Secretary of NATO. The alarmed Frenchmen said “But… but…” in unison. They had eaten too. Not that morning, but not that long ago.