[Sweden]: Exercise Black Raven

[Connor]

Exercise Black Raven Directorate 47 (D47) Department of Defence

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Official Operation Order​

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Swedish Department of Defence
Directorate 47, Stockholm
Operation Order
November 2006
TOP SECRET - D47 EYES ONLY​

Situation Report
In light of evolving hybrid threat environment, asymmetric warfare, foreign subversion, state-sponsored sabotage and non-conventional domestic incursions the Kingdom of Sweden has faced a marked increase in high-complexity national security risks. These threats are deep rooted throughout the world, particularly towards controversial Swedish territorial claims worldwide which include, but are not limited to, South Africa and Antarctica. Existing frameworks domestically , while effective in conventional enforcement and intelligence gathering, have proven insufficient in addressing these emerging threats. A classified review conducted by the National Security Council, within the Executive Office of the Prime Minister, identified systemic gaps in Sweden's response to irregular warfare and state-aligned paramilitary disruptions.

As such, following their recommendations, approval was given for the formation of a specialised entity exclusively for the intelligence interests of the Kingdom of Sweden: Directorate 47 which will run as a clandestine, compartmentalised operational directorate tasked with defending national security through direct, pre-emptive and covert counteraction. This agency, whilst primarily civilian, will include a specialist field operations section responsible for tactical paramilitary operations and covert action - the personnel for which have been hand selected from the Swedish Army for special operations training. This exercise will include: covert special operations, direct action, crisis response, influence operations, disinformation and information warfare, human intelligence, cyber intelligence gathering, data analysis, logistics, technical surveillance, communications and command support.

Belligerents
Kingdom of Sweden v.

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Objectives
EBR/1/P/06 - COMPLETE - Initiation of Directorate 47 (D47) candidates.
REDACTED

Campaign Register
REDACTED

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Live Deployment

Directorate 47​

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├── Tactical Interventions Division (RAVEN)
│ ├─ Team Alpha
│ ├─ Team Bravo
│ ├─ Team Charlie
│ └─ Training and Development Cell
│
├── Strategic Influence Division (PHOENIX)
│ ├─ PsyOps and Disinformation Cell
│ └─ Media and Cyber Influence Cell
│
├── Intelligence Reconnaissance Division (OWL)
│ ├─ HUMINT Operations Cell
│ ├─ Cyber Intelligence Cell
│ └─ Analysis Cell
│
└── Operational Support Division (FALCON)
├─ Secure Communications Cell
├─ Logistics and Field Support Cell
└─ Technical Surveillance and Electronics Cell

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Copyright © Swedish Armed Forces, Kingdom of Sweden
All information is subject to the Swedish Document Classification and Security Act 1995​

 

[Connor]

[CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET - D47 EYES ONLY]
[LOCATION: UNDISCLOSED MILITARY SITE – BRATTHOLMEN, NORWAY]
[TIME: 04H15M]
[WEATHER: OVERCAST, -2C, LIGHT SNOWFALL]
[EXERCISE BLACK RAVEN - PHASE ZERO: INITIATION]

An initial two hundred personnel had been hand-selected by seniors within the Swedish Department of Defence from the shadows of the Swedish Army. They're drawn from special forces, reconnaissance battalions, cyber intelligence, psychological operation cells. Some had combat experience in Africa, others had spent an unreasonable amount of their time in the freezing deep Artic/Antarctic in a variety of different overseas military installations and temporary operating positions. Each and every one of them had been hand-selected to join a brand new intelligence agency: Directorate 47. An elite task force. Yet, not a single one of them were told what was to come and how this initiation was about to completely change their lives.

This was not a transfer. This was a total disappearance from life as they knew it.

There were no briefings, no introductions and no orders. One by one, each and every one of them were abducted. They were each engulfed by black bags over their heads which totally obscured the outside world before they were bundled into civilian hire vehicles, each missing their registration plates or any identifying marks. Some found themselves ripped from their homes, attacked in public bathrooms, sedated during flights, removed from logistics convoys or grabbed straight out of their barracks during night watch rotations. They all vanished without any paperwork, without a trace and their personnel files rapidly redacted, doctored, closed and sealed, classified at the highest possible level to appear genuine. Their families were informed of a temporary reassignment but even their closest friends and colleagues were told nothing of what was about to come... and it was likely they'd probably never see them again. They needed a new life.

Having been driven to Brattholmen, Norway they would find themselves on Swedish sovereign territory surrounded by Norway on every single directional border. But that meant nothing as they were soon to wake to total violence and isolation. The bags were ripped from their heads with brute force by what they would soon learn to be the command team of this newly formed unit. Floodlights decorating the courtyard would sear into their eyes whilst they unsuitably dressed bodies shook in the cold - they'd be wearing nothing but grey joggers, stood barefoot on ice-covered concrete. It was dark and the wind cut straight through their bodies, letting them feel the chill right through to their bones. As they looked around they'd see not5hing but concrete, wire, steel, walls and the blinding floodlights. No markings, no flags, no indication of where they were at all. One candidate would turn, in a desperate attempt to look for an escape route as they still remained clueless as to what had happened. Within seconds, a baton would crack across his bare ribs, causing him to fall down to the harsh concrete floor in a ball of pain before he was then dragged away. The rest remained, stood frozen, standing into ranks that'd been drilled into them from their Diverse Combat Readiness Program from the army. Not that any of that mattered here.

The distinct clap of smart business shoes across the concrete would draw their attention to the silhouette of a precisely professionally dressed male, shadowed by the training personnel on both side of him. He would clear his throat before addressing the clearly terrified crowd: "Gentlemen, your lives have just changed. You have each been hand selected for a brand new agency." His voice was calm, but without any warms. It cut through the wind like a scalpel but nonetheless the crowd listened intently as the only possible source of any information. "This agency does not exist in public records. You do not exist in public records. From today onwards your history, your rank and your name mean nothing."

He would take a moment to let the silence set it, walking from his original position through the ranks of personnel.

"Each one of you need to remember that from today, you aren't here to serve, you're here to endure. You will be broken, reshaped and reborn as something entirely new. The new generation. The first generation of a project that will never be acknowledged. Directorate 47."

Murmurs would rumble through the crowd, nothing loud enough for any of the training staff to notice but an underlying tone of disbelief and confusion would be immediately apparent. With that, the silhouette would raise a hand. The training team would immediately spring into action, long extendable batons let off a crack as they rack to their full length. The wave of black-clad instructors would rush into the crowd like a riot, batons striking muscles and bones forcing the candidates to the floor where they were trampled and forced into submission. The pain was unnecessary, but pure, systematic and unrelenting. But then, as quickly as it started, the chaos would stop. Several candidates would writhe around the floor in pain, snow clinging to their skin and having been absorbed into their orifices. Blood regularly being spit across the concrete.

The man in the suit would speak again in his calm dulcet tone: "This is the first minute of your first day." he says, scanning the crowd carefully "There is no safe word. There is no union or bond. You can stick the Geneva Convention up your tight Swedish arseholes. I want results... and I'll get them"

He steps across one of the candidates, continuing his speech "Over the coming months, you will be tested in ways that violate every contention of military training. You'll be interrogated, tortured, starved and psychologically fractures. No because I enjoy it, but because I want to make warriors out of each and every one of you. One day you will understand exactly why" another pause as the wind whistles through the courtyard "Some of you will learn to influence foreign regimes through disinformation, some of you will hack their grids, rock their politics, blackmail their leaders and some of you will make people simply disappear... then you will disappear. Directorate 47 does not fight wars." he turns to face a set of black doors, the training team separating to create a tunnel towards them.

"You now belong to the black" he said, without looking back, slowly now walking towards the black doors "Prove you deserve to remain in it."

The man in the suit would disappear into the abyss, along with the training team. Without any command, one by one, the candidates would stand, limp and crawl towards the doors. Some bleeding, many bruised and every single one of them humiliated. Those that couldn't make it were left behind. The doors would slam shut behind the final candidate, they were now within the confines of the most secretive agency Sweden had ever known.

 

[Connor]

[CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET - D47 EYES ONLY]
[LOCATION: UNDISCLOSED MILITARY SITE – BRATTHOLMEN, NORWAY]
[TIME: 06H45M]
[EXERCISE BLACK RAVEN - PHASE ONE: SELECTION]

Daybreak never really came in Brattholmen, only an endless swirl of snow under the floodlights and the low drone of the wind battering across the wire-topped walls and the echo of machinery powering the facility. They still had no clue where they were, and to ensure the integrity and secrecy of the agency, they weren't to know that the training was infact taking place on the grounds of an old farm and ranch. The candidates had survived the first couple of hours, some barely. A few had passed out from the exposure, others had stayed upright through sheer force of will, teeth chattering and skin burning with the freezing wind wrapping around them. There was no shelter or respite, just the next phase. Selection.

Inside, the candidates were now recruits, and the command staff were watching them carefully to separate them into the most appropriate cells for their skillset. The blinding lights in the hall were set to full brightness and sub-zero water cannons would erupt from mounted scaffolds in the ceiling, dousing each and everyone of of the candidates in sheets of freezing cold water. The intention was to wash them of the blood and dirt they'd accumulated outside and give them a fresh wash for the next stages of this intensive course. Within seconds of the cannons stopping, followed by a loud mechanical boom, the doors at the opposite end of the hall would fly open and the swarm of instructors would come back out to join then, they'd bark orders with a vicious undertone, dragging those on the floor to their feet and metaphorically kicking them into action. They were clear: get up and move. Those that refused? They were struck hard and fast with a steel baton across their calves, slammed up against the wall and firearms pushed into their ribs. One of the candidates had even vomited, catching the vomit in his cupped hands and running with it, entirely out of fear of what might happen if he'd left it to project over the floor. This phase wasn't just about their obedience under disorientation, it was about endurance when every part of them wanted to give up.

The first three days of this exercise were referred to as 'the strip'. Every candidate, regardless of their background, was systematically broken down, names were banned, personal histories were liabilities. Each and every on of them were assigned a number and nothing more. Fuck your rank. Everyone was equal on the strip.

Beyond the induction hall, there were a number of blocks decorating a vast yard which were referred to as evaluation blocks. They were marked by large hand-painted symbols: a ravel, a phoenix, an owl and a falcon. Each symbol aligned with the future divisions of Directorate 47, though the recruits had absolutely no idea. They were simply moved, by force where required, from block to block. Tested in complete exhaustion against unknown standard, all while instructors observed silently from observation points behind glass.

In Block Raven, candidates were forced through back-to-back close quarters battle simulations inside freezing, lightless kill houses. Ammunition were paintballs, there were no safety briefs and they all remained in only their grey joggers throughout. Targets were hostile roleplayers in balaclavas using paint rounds with riot-level force. They hurt, bruised and crippled when a shot landed.

Within Block Phoenix, they were given shoddy distorted mission briefings and dropped into stages foreign villages manned by actors speaking unfamiliar languages. They were tasked with spreading misinformation, turning the actors against eachother and staging fake operations. Every inch of their behaviours were filmed and reviewed in real-time.

Block Owl pushed the intellectual elite past their limits. Cyber specialists were locked in cold, steel rooms with nothing but dead consoles and instructed to hack their way out. It wasn't your average high street escape room, there were no hints and no manuals. Pressure was applied with safe gas leaks within the room which instilled utter fear in the candidates who were clueless to the fact it was just uncomfortable rather than damaging. Flickering lights, white noise and water leaks only made the objective more intense. The room had speakers hung throughout which, on occasion, would broadcast false claims that candidates had died.

Block Falcon demanded a sensible resourcefulness. Candidates were blindfolded and dropped into snowfields with a broken radio, a torn and burned map, and a small amount of food. They had a number of hours to extract to a recovery zone. Failure meant a night outside.

Sleep for the candidates would take place in one hour intervals every twenty hours. Food was cold and tasteless, on occasions only being given expired military rations. Some would get fed nothing at all, with the instructors desperately waiting to track how long it would take for them to beg, barter or steal their way to better health. Violence was not punished, but monitored. Some would find themselves rewarded for the most obscure things, only adding to the utter confusion through the entirety of the training program. They were being shaped... shaped into weapons... weapons that Sweden needed. Despite the heavily intense exercise, each candidate would also be monitored for their welfare and, where required, extracted for only essential medical attention before being thrown back to the lions. The instructors of D47 sought pure human instinct, not the trained military mind.