Odessa, Ukraine
A response comes back almost immediately over the radio.
"Alright Polish HQ, we will hold this position and prepare to defend the city. We have one thousand troops and about eighty APCs, so we'll try our hardest but if this is a sizable force or an armored one, we'll definitely need some assistance. Our heaviest firepower is a few RPGs and the turrets mounted on the vehicles."
Buenos Aires, Argentina
The Brazilian and Argentine scientists leave for New England to work on the various scientific projects being started there.
Santiago, Chile
President Adriano Claro stood out in the middle of the Chilean congress, ready to deliver his appeal to their government to accept the new agreement.
"Good Congressmen of Chile, I come to you today in the wake of recent events to issue a call to reason. Let no South American deny the perils of our time. While we disagree with one another, divided by the petty strive of our common history, the tide of a greater conflict is turning against us, threatening to destroy all that we have accomplished. It is time for us as nations and as individuals to set aside our long-standing feuds, and unite. The tides of an unwinnable war are upon us, and we must seek refuge upon higher ground lest we be swept away by the flood. The old world of stability is no more, whatever semblance of unity and protection it once provided is a phantom: a memory. With our enemies left unchecked, who will you turn to for protection? The devastation wrought by these communist invaders is self-evident. They have corrupted good nations with a promise of utopia that they transformed into an authoritarian, oppressive dystopia. Unprecedented and unimaginable though they may be, these are the signs of our time. The time has come, my fellow South Americans, to rally to a new banner. In unity lies strength, already many independent countries have joined our cause. Out of the many we shall forge an indivisible whole, capitulating only to a single government. And from that government, I shall watch over you. From this day forward, let no South American make war upon any other. Let no corporation or cartel conspire against this new beginning. And let no man consort with communist powers and to all the enemies of democracy, seek not to bar our way, for we shall win through, no matter the cost."
(First person to tell me what that's based off of gets a cookie)
Southern Mexico
Across the southern parts of Mexico, strangely similar people drive through cities and across highways, while others walk. They all seem to be walking in the direction of one particular city...
Sahle and Baruti had spent the greater part of the night hopping across the roofs of houses in the Addis slums, hindered only by their lack of natural athletic talent and the women's clothing they disguised themselves with. As time had led to practice, the speed and grace in which they jumped with had increased, and as their journey in the city was coming to its close, they glided across the top of the slums like a gazelle glides across the savannah. However, As they came to the edge of the city, the houses were becoming sparse and the jumps became wider. As they came to the last house before they bypassed the last roadblocks, the distance of the last jump was enough to sap their confidence.
"You do this one first" insisted Sahle, "I command you as emperor!"
Baruti did his best to hold back his laughter. "If you think that works anymore, go try to use it on those roadblock guards. I bet they would be impressed. You first"
Sahle fumed. "When I get my throne back, you'll be sorry you said that."
"You dunce! I am the reason you are still alive" snapped Baruti, "I cleared all the questionable jumps first so far. Emperors are supposed to lead, not follow."
"I can lead." replied Sahle, having taken surprising offense to being called a follower "And I will ****ing lead. Out of my way."
Sahle backed up to the opposite edge of the house they were standing on. He gained his footing, focused on his target, and took a running leap. Seconds felt like minutes as he hung in the air, watching the roof he was aiming for slowly come toward him. He was going to make it... he was going to make it... and then.
He descended. With an uncomfortable thud, Sahle landed face first in the street.
"Sahle!" Baruti shouted in a hushed voice, "SAHLE!". ****, he was out cold. For a few seconds, Baruti stood frozen on the rooftop. Did he go down and help, or did he flee? He had spent so many years tending to the young prince that "Help him" strangely dominated his instincts. But logically, helping could be dangerous; and this was an opportunity to finally ditch this stress and go do something else.
What else? Something...
"Bah" Baruti decided, "I guess I should help."
Dismounting the house, he ran to the fallen Emperor, turning him over to make sure he was still alive. Sahle responded with a moan.
"Did I make it?"
"No" Baruti answered, "Now come on, before..."
Baruti was interrupted by a shout from behind. "Hey, what are you women doing?"
****, it was the roadblock guards. They must have heard them.
"N... nothing, nothing!" Baruti cried, attempting to make his voice sound as female as possible.
"What's wrong with her?" asked the guard, growing suspicious.
"She... She's just had too much excitement for the day." Baruti answered, continuing his horrible woman impression, "It was the... mmm... the killing. The killing. It was too much, she... she fainted is what happened."
"Does she need help getting home." answered the guard.
"NO!!" shouted Baruti, still maintaining his hacked female sound, "Um.. No. I can get her home."
The guard was suspicious, but he also preferred to not bring anybody to their house. He was just about to shrug it off, when Sahle groaned in a very masculine tone.
"Hey!" shouted the guard, "What is this?" He approached Sahle with his machete drawn. Baruti could just stand there, there wasn't anything more to be said. The guard kneeled over Sahle and pulled back his veil. He knew instantly who he was looking at.
"HEEY!" he shouted loud enough for the other guards around the corner to here, "Come here! You won't believe who I just found!"
Congo Airspace, En Route to Nairobi ((Chinese Dialogue by permission of Aaron))
Hassan and his entourage were on their way to take control of the Eastern portions of the military that were mobilizing in Nairobi to move against Addis Ababa. Reports had been saying that the Yaqobist forces in the city held the remaining Sahlians under siege, and that is was only a matter of time before the Yaqobists took control. All that needed to happen now was for the military to restore order in the city and bring about an end to the Civil War.
Hassan's entourage at this point was just his Aide de Camp, a strategist, and the Chinese agents who had originally arrived to sort out the diamond trade but were now caught up in the last stages of the war. Hassan hadn't had much time to talk with these Chinese members of his retinue; they had mostly just communicated between themselves. In truth, he knew very little about them, or China for that matter. It was, for him, a world away; a serious of blurbs in newspapers and letters from Yaqob; a mysterious empire known for it's contradictions; the isolationist imperialists, the diamond seeking socialists, the evil empire that had played a vital role in preserving Africa.
Of course, contradictions could just be seen as inconsistencies in media. After all, the Spanish media often reported Hassan to be "The Communist Devil in the Heart of Africa", yet communists in Africa had once complained about how Hassan was plotting their destruction.
In truth, he didn't even give a **** about economics. Considering nobody could get him right, who knows what the Chinese were really like. Perhaps it would be better to learn about them from them.
"So..." started Hassan, breaking the ice, "I hear some of you guys were in Russia? I've heard so crazy **** about what goes on up there."
Out of the Chinese group, only Gang Goongji responded.
"I served there for a few years."
"Ah!" Hassan responded, "What did you do up there?"
"Sabotage mostly" stoicly responded Gang, "Though I gained a bit of a... reputation among the Russians"
Hassan grinned, "I take that to mean you have some stories from your time there?"
"A few" responded Gang. "I managed to take out a few Russian officers during my time there."
"Ahhhh! Do tell!" replied Hassan.
Gang leaned in to tell his first tale...
"In the middle of a wintery night in the city, I had finished short-circuting a section of the Yakenterinburg grid by throwing a lead pipe up into the high-tension wires. It caused a disasterous short plunging the area into darkness. I had done my job, so I left the power station. That's when I ran across a group of three soldiers from one of the local independent groups of the Imperial Army."
"I didn't have very many places to go, so I took cover behind a trash-can and watched as the three foot soldiers entered the power station to investigate the cause. As they passed through the front gate, I followed them, keeping low and quiet so they didn't see me."
"They stopped below where I had thrown the pipe from earlier. As they gazed up at the strange placement of pipe and chatteret about how it got there, I got to work. I went for the closest man and grabbed him by the head and quickly twisted it, killing him. Before his body could drop for the ground I took out my knife and dove at the second, sticking him under the arm and puncturing his lung."
"Right about then the senior officer had more-than-heard the ruckus and was drawing for his pistol. Keeping hold of the second soldier by the hilt of the knife and the shoulder, I threw the dieing man at his officer, knocking him down and pinning him against the ground. His pistol fell out of reach."
"At that point, I pulled the knife from the second soldier's side. I lunged with the knife and opened his throat. Killed the *******. Then I bolted..."
Gang smirked, "Had to change my shoes.
"Beautiful work!" replied Hassan, "Masterful kills it sounds. Did you do anything like that again?"
"I'll tell you" replied Gang, "But I want to hear yours first."
"Mmm" answered Hassan, "Fair enough... I suppose. Well, I joined the army in '45. I was... 17 I guess. Really, things were peaceful until '48. About that time, ol' Iyasu, who was emperor at the time, started to get loud about religion again after stats were showing most people we at least claiming to be muslim. It was pissin' off the remnants of the Christians. We had to stop riots and, well, boring **** like that"
"But, in '50 or '51 **** got interesting. The christians started another civil war. Third ****ing civil war in the century. Hell, with this one recently, we're up to four civil wars in a century. That is some sort of record. Anyway, in that civil war I was part of the Somali core since that's where I had been raised, and we seen much of the action because... well, we were muslim before the war, I suppose Iyasu figured he could trust us."
"Anyway, that was my first taste of war. The ****in' battle of Lalibela. The Christians were fortified in the hills and it was our job to knock'em off. My unit was tasked with clearing one of the churches there. The churches were carved out of the ****in' mountain, so they were basically natural fortresses. They guys in there were not what you'd expect either. We're talking about people in civilian clothes with bandoliers and tommy guns. Looked like you pissed off some townsfolk, but they fought like hyenas in heat. We lost a lot of men on that hill."
"Anyway, we got inside one of the churches and a few of the Christian ****s came at me with big ass knifes. British made, like their guns. You could tell who was funding them. Anyway, I had a gun but I just drew my saber and sent at them like some sort of pirate. It felt more... right. All these tanks and machine guns, they're not the warriors way. Cowards play with guns, real men wield swords; that was what my grandfather always said. Might sound stupid, but until you've hacked three men into pieces with nothing but a blade and your own rage, you haven't ****ing fought."
Gang grinned, "I see what you mean, Comrade. I've killed many up close myself. It is a very different experience."
Hassan smiled, "Yes, but now your next stories."
Gang nodded, "Yes, well... Several weeks following the first story I told you about, I found myself unwittingly trapped by a lieutenant and his highier-ranking friend who thought they could take it on themselves to seek out the killer of their comrades. The two had gone about on a killing spree of their own and made the cliche mistake of telling their hunting story to me. They told me they had tracked me down through a "man with a glass eye"."
"The lieutenant - with his pistol drawn - thought it intelligent to get in close to me. With his arm outstretched and pistol pointed to my head he came within inches of the my forehead. Right then I grabbed hold of the man's wrist, Swinging around with his elbow I promptly broke his arm at the his's elbow and inverting it a full 90 degree, forcing him to drop the pistol. I spun him about and planted my fist into the man's throat so he couldn't breath. I let him collapse to the floor, but I took two shots to the shoulder from his partner's own gun."
"So I round-house kicked the second man in the face causing him to spill to the floor before beating him with the lamp. The other lower-ranking officer was still alive and attempting to crawl away on a barely working arm."
"I finished that man with the fire-place poker that was in my apartment at the time. I decided to flee the city of Yakenterinburg all together, not before catching the apartment complex on fire."
Hassan laughed, "Hah! If I was a skeptical man, I might call ********, but it's too beautiful not to believe! Excellent work, man"
Gang said nothing.
"Oh yes" understood Hassan, "My turn... well."
"That war ended pretty damn quick. After Lalibela the Christians never gained a foothold anywhere else. It looked like their leadership was about to escape again, but we got word they were hiding out in remote old monastery... Debre Damo if I recall right. Just my unit was sent in to see if we could catch some of these people. We approached in the middle of the night and scaled the cliffs around the monastery using our own climbing equipment. Our job was to kill the guards quietly and take possession of the leaders without too much bloodshed; command felt that a battle on a monestary was the type of thing that made good enemy propaganda and we were expected to make sure we didn't feed into that."
"I came up the side and hid behind a building. Right around the corner, I could see a guard. When he turned to light a cigarette, I came up around his back and slit his throat so he could scream for help, then I broke his neck so he couldn't flail around and make that sort of commotion. Perfect kill. I was ****ing proud to be honest, real ****ing proud. Anyway, I looked around and seen my comrades moving, so I joined up with them. They had killed the remnants of the guards there, but we weren't sure who was in the church. A few of our guys went through a back door while the rest of us waited at the front. There was no noise at first, but then the door opened. I just about started shooting, but it ended up being one of our guys. As we entered we could here some pleading and shouting coming from a backroom; apparently one of our men had just found where the nobles had been hiding."
"Excellent" stoicly replied Gang, "My turn then I presume."
"I always found that a good way to disrupt traffic flow is to fell trees in the middle of the roads. Working with Russian Socialist sympathizers west of Omsk, I was working laying trees across the main supply road late one night. Shortly after we had finished a truck flying the flag of the regional gang drove over to where they were clearing. The truck had been escorting one of the army gang's major's. As the troops on the truck unloaded, my companions opened fire killing the lower ranks as they disembarked but their Major tried to escape down the road."
"I took the chainsaw I had been using and gave chase. Minutes later I caught up with the fat ******* and severed his spine with a "glancing" hit from the chainsaw before decapitating him."
"Nice" approved Hassan, "But that was short. I think another one is in order.
Gang was enjoying the approval he was getting for his stories. "Ok, another"
"I figured at that time that I was pretty good at killing, so I decided to actually choose a target rather then my typical self defense method of murder. Specifically, I targeted a high-ranking officer in the current "Russian Republic" party that now controls the region. A ranking Colonel that had decided to take it on himself to chase me down and take the "local menace" in himself."
"Before I was summoned home, I had gotten wind that this man was en-route to Perm from Chelyabrinsk via the train. I figured I should get a good kill to my name before the coming autumn, so I hopped onto the train before it could leave the station. I was armed with a hatchet, knife, and several fire-bombs. I got on the roof of the train and deduced the target was in the caboose."
"I lit a Molotov and smashed the windows on the rear-most cabin, then I set to work setting that whole car on fire with the two molotovs, burning everyone inside and preventing anyone from moving in to the caboose to save their colonel. His body guards bolted out looking to investigate. One was knocked off the train and promptly killed by the train's wheels on the track where as the other was killed by the hatchet before he could be tossed off."
"I moved in and confronted the Colonel. He was unarmed and the scuffle was brief. I kicked him in the chest and he was forced to the floor where I split his head with the hatchet."
"Afterwards I leapt from the rear, hitting the grassy ground with a roll and soon after, via a contact with the east departed the region."
Hassan grinned, "Your life, my friend, it is like a movie! If you're indicative of what China typically produces, I sincerely hope China always is a friend."
((6 pages, 2833 words, and about two hours of writing. Shit****))
(Thanks, Vilage. I was actually proud of how long mine was...)
The screams ended in a gunshot.
The busy camp stopped for a fraction of a second before resuming its work, and from behind the Consul's tent walked the rebel who had captured the soldier the previous night. Quickly saluting the guard obstructing his way into Tullus' tent, he muttered ' class='bbc'>"É fatto". The guard stepped aside, and for the second time in less than a day, the rebel--a lowly recruit who had only just been allowed into active service--found himself in the Consul's tent.
Tullus was preoccupied with other matters when he entered. Discipline within the rebellion had been lax, as evidenced by the dismissive "Si" he had received the previous night. The RRC had no front-line troops, and were primarily striking through bombings and assassinations of low-ranking officials, and so the lack of discipline would not be a major issue, but he worried that by missing the key to the success of the legions, he would miss out on victory. His musings were halted by the re-entrance of the rebel, whose name he did not know. The man saluted and proceeded with his report. "I got some valuable information on that soldier we captured yesterday--he wasn't much, just a low-ranking ground pounder, but it would seem like our assassination campaign is working well," he paused, then remembered. "Sir."
"Excellent work, legionary. This will help." He paused for a moment, expecting the rebel to exit. He didn't, instead standing rigidly at attention. At least the RRC had that part right...
"You may go," Tullus said finally. "Of course," the rebel responded, turning on his heels and leaving the tent, no doubt rushing to tell his friends of his recent exploits. None of that for Tullus. He had barricaded himself into this tent for the past week, trying to plan out what the rebellion's end goal actually was. Of course it was a coup--it had always been a coup. But that wasn't realistic. Batista never was open enough to be killed, so the RRC had fallen back on the assassination of low-key officials in an effort to prevent people from applying for government office. There had also been the bombings: the Metro bombing in particular had left a lasting scar. But those were unreliable, and would only turn the public against them.
Taking Rome was not an option--he did not have one soldier under his command, while Batista had tens of thousands. Granted, the Italian military machine wasn't all that efficient, but even then his several thousand civilians stood no chance. Even if he did manage to take the city, he could not hold it for more than the week or so it would take the pretender Batista to counterattack. The few Ottoman Turks left in the south had been helpful recruits, but their numbers were not enough to bolster his "legions", such as they were. There was another consul, operating up near the Po Valley, but he was unreliable at best and the "Senate", made up of a handful of self-important civilians, knew nothing of military strategy. There was not a person in Italy save God who could help him, and God seemed to be on a vacation.
Tullus paused, his eyes brightening. There wasn't an entity in Italy that could help him--but that was it! Italy wasn't the only place in the world. Spain, for example, probably had a grudge against Batista, who was a renegade Spaniard. Not only this, but a Spain-Rome axis against communism when the Bellum Romanum was over could bolster the already substantial UND and perhaps turn the tide in the "Border Wars", as they were known.
Consul Tullus knew his target; now he needed only find out how to contact them. He had decided early on to bypass the Senate on this decision. Despite their small numbers, they had a habit of arguing the most simple decisions. No, they wouldn't need to be consulted.
Contact would be simple enough. Send a civilian overland to Spain through France (I'm assuming that Spain and Italy aren't on the best of terms and there aren't any direct routes. Also, I get to use two players' countries.). He'd need to get on that immediately.
For the first time in a week, his mind cleared and he exited the tent.
Two men stand in front of a room filled with one hundred of the new Japanese Todoroku Ryu interceptors. The taller one turns to the shorter one, smiling. "So, tell me again, Higa, how amazing are these marvelous creations?"
The shorter man, Higa, pulled out a clipboard, and flipped through the pages, finding the specific notes his superior wanted. "Well, Tanaka-san... These are, by far, our fastest ones yet. Capable of hitting Mach 3.3 in an emergency, and having a stable speed of Mach 2.9, they will definitely be something to be feared. While they are more susceptible to incoming fire, they make up for it in their speed. I would highly recommend using them for recon more than anything else, though they can handle themselves in a fight. They are armed with two chokubi missiles on each side, and one on the bottom. If you decide to use them in a fight, I would highly recommend sending them in larger groups. This hangar holds one hundred at the moment, but there are five more hangars which are currently producing more, as His Majesty has ordered an additional 300, as well as 100, which will be sent to our friends in Poland, seeing as their scientists helped us perfect these."
Tanaka smiled again, and thanked Higa before turning around, taking his leave. He now was to head to a personal transport which would take him back to Tokyo, so he could report to Hirohito about the production being close to completion.
[The creation of these was mention waaaay further back, and since there was a promise to give some to Poland, I figured I better finish them up before I finish with Japan. They're basically MiG-25's, without the powerful radar, an additional missile, and a slightly faster speed. 2.9 is the highest they can go without ruining their engines, but they can get up to 3.3 if they need to get out in a hurry.]
The Canadians had been sitting in the water long enough. Today was their order to completely withdraw from the great lake waters and dock at Canada. It seemed like this was the likely next step they would take, nothing was really happening at the great lakes.
"Naturally, as soon as those bombs went off I already had people preparing a counter. Samples taken from Seattle have allowed us to create Gas Masks that completely stop the gas. Making it 100% ineffective, we even ran a few tests. No injuries. We've been mass producing them for the last week." Said Fernandez, "Every military soldier and all civilians in the northern states will have them by October 1st."
((More to be added... later))
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
The world is a cold, unforgiving, maple-syrupy place for a Canadian
"Excellent thing." Hou said, "But how long until you can accelerate production? I'd personally like to commission the production of some of these masks for China."
When Basilio Ermano heard the knock at his door, he nearly had a heart attack. All this planning...all this work...all for nothing. Cursing, he grabbed a pistol from his dresser, loaded a round into the chamber, and went to answer it.
The door burst down before he managed to reach it, and a pair of tear gas grenades were lobbed in. Ermano barely had time to dive to the ground before they burst, filling the house with noxious gas. He managed to squeeze a few ineffectual rounds off before several dark figures were on him. They began kicking him as everything faded to black.
--
A political prison in Rome
Ermano awoke and groggily looked around. He was dimly aware of a piercing pain in his head, but he could see nothing--either he had gone blind or the room was too dimly illuminated for him to see anything.
Lacking a better alternative, he felt around, feeling sheets, a mattress--more of a solid block of indeterminate material--and a metallic headboard. After a few deep breaths, Basilio tried to sit up, immediately falling back as small explosions peppered the back of his eyelids. Damn, that hurt...why was he here? Where was he?
Ahh, he thought. One of Batista's political prisons. He now remembered being captured, which would explain the violent pangs running through his head, but if he had been captured, then everything had failed. Perhaps Consul Tullus would smuggle him a razor to slit his own throat, or perhaps even a rescue team...no. No one went in or out of Batista's prisons. Nor did anyone last long in them. Basilio had seen enough comrades disappear to know that.
The prisons had been formed after Batista had gone rogue, and had originally simply housed dissidents. Nowadays they were almost exclusively home to careless or stupid RRC members who had been captured by the state's secret police. Ermano now could be counted among that number.
The room became white. Basilio was dimly aware of someone talking. The strange voice gradually became clearer, but his sight returned before his hearing, and he noticed that he was in a tiny cell with a bed on one side and a chair on the other. An average-looking Italian man occupied it.
"--hear me? I said, get your ass out of bed!"
Basilio did so.
"No wonder you idiots are loosing this war. If your comrades are all as dumb as you, we'll have Tullus within a month at most. Now, we have some questions to ask you. Sit on the floor."
Numbly, Basilio did so.
"Okay, listen. Here is our deal to you. If you talk to us--and be honest, we have ways of making sure you are--we let you walk." Like hell, Basilio thought. The interrogator went on. "You don't talk, we put you in an extreme amount of pain for as long as we can. And by that, we mean months of continuous pain. Your choice."
Without waiting for a response the interrogator went on. "Now: you are with the neo-Romans, correct?" When Basilio said nothing, the interrogator stood up, walked over to him, and kicked him in the rib. It broke, and he doubled over, gasping. He was aware of being yanked up, and the interrogator dangled a tiny aquila patch in front of him. "Cut the ********. We searched your house," he said, and returned to his seat. "Now, shall we continue?"
Basilio managed to gasp out a weak "Si".
"Good. Why were you in a house so close to the Vatican?"
"I have...always lived there," Basilio said weakly. It was true enough, but not good enough for the interrogator, who snapped "How long?" almost before he had finished his response.
"Since I turned 20...about seven years ago."
"Very well. Mind telling me what this says?" the interrogator asked, and dangled a sheet of paper in front of Basilio's worn face. His heart dropped. Those were the plans for the contact with the Spanish. They included troop movements, planned ops, even the location of Tullus' camp and the Senate. Thankfully, the sender had the foresight to encode it (aside from writing it in Latin), but, like any code, it could be broken.
He tried to remain calm. It didn't work. The interrogator noticed his reaction and grinned a sadistic grin. "Care telling me what this says, friend?"
"It is Roman," he said, and then paused for a breath. Damn. That rib hurt like a *****. "But I am unfamiliar with the encoding method...I can tell you...no more than your codebreakers could."
The seemingly terrified, defenseless man pinned to the ground could barely speak French. He struggled to comply with Garcia's demands, attempting to speak but being too frightened, exhausted and confused to do so. Garcia never stopped screaming at the poor man. He demanded the man told him his name and all he wanted to hear was " Thomas Graham ".
" Tell me your goddamn name! " Garcia demanded, forcing the man against the pavement.
The man could only utter out a response in his broken French, " My name is... It's Bernhard! "
" ********! " Garcia snapped, extending his arm toward Durand, " Let me see that damned picture. " he asked, pinning the man down with his other hand.
Durand, who had been instructing curious citizens to stand back, scouranged through his many pockets. Finally, he pulled out the 'wanted' picture and handed it to Garcia before going back to keeping people at a distance.
Garcia, having rudely snatched the picture out of Durand's hands out of frustration, compared the man in the picture with the man pinned to the ground. There was a striking resemblance.. except for one thing. The man in the picture bared a scar across his mouth -- the man pinned to the ground, did not.
" ****. "
Realizing his mistake, Garcia settled down, although still somewhat frustrated with the whole situation. He helped the man up to his feet and apologized, " I'm sorry. It was a mistake. Do you understand? " he said, speaking at a slow pace for the man to understand.
" Ja, ja.. " the man replied, speaking Norwegian.
It was then that Garcia understood why the man ran. The man was an illegal immigrant fearing deportation, not the fugitive they were looking for.
" You can leave now. " Garcia added, allowing the man to leave despite him being an illegal immigrant. It was the least Garcia could do. Having chased a man for several blocks, tackled him to the ground and accused him of being one Tejero's murderers.. It only seemed right to let him go.
A grin shot across the man's face. Grateful to have been allowed to leave, the man nearly gave Garcia a hug, " Takk, takk! he said. Without wasting another moment the man took off in a different direction.
Not wanting the few bystanders that had been watching from a distance to think of it the wrong way, Garcia assured it was all a mistake, "' class='bbc'>Ne vous inquiétez pas, c'était une erreur. Rien à voir ici."
Garcia turned to face Durand, a dissatisfied, saddened look on his face.
" Don't worry about it. " said Durand, trying to cheer up Garcia.
It seemed things had turned the opposite. It was now Garcia who was tired of chasing false leads to the point where he felt depressed.
" You know what? Let ME buy lunch. " Durand added, trying to keep up with Garcia, who was now heading back to the cruiser.
" No. I said I'd buy lunch. " he declined.
" I'm buying lunch. " declared Durand.
Knowing it was a pointless, ridiculous thing to argue about, and of course, not exactly minding saving himself a couple of bucks, Garcia agreed.
" Alright. Just don't make it romantic. " he joked.
(( Bleh. Not much different from what it was earlier, but slightly better. Still, I just wanted to get this out of the way so could focus on the other side of the chase. ))
(This is assuming that this is after the Tokyo conference. I tried to leave it vague but found myself having to bring it up once. I also only proof-read half of this, which is a lot better than I have been doing on some of my other posts.)
A shining beacon stood nesetled in the trees along the shores of the Lijiang River. The mighty river cutting through a dramatic mountainous landscape of sharply rising rocky hills standing fast against the dark, star-pocketed skies of Southern China. Their forms, the deepest black when set to contrast against the stars and rising moon. The forest around it just as dark. The distant late-evening lights of Quilin glowing against the sky. But within the darkness of area there was only that light. That beacon.
Set off the main road leading into Guilin sat a tucked away home. Built in the atypical Chinese style. The ceramic-tiled roof, bowing gentle out away from the home. A heavy brick base kept the wooden structure lifted off the wet, river-side soil. It was large, with several small wings expanding from the side. But not so much it would draw criticism from the Party to the owner of the house; one of their own. And with stately comrades alike in the home, it was best to not flaunt too much. Esspecially not after Mao, five years ago.
Rolling up the front came a long black car, a late atendee to the event within the house. As it rolled up to the front a man dressed in an officer's uniform stepped out. Walking stiff and mechanically he rounded to the rear-passenger side of the automobile and opened the door with a black-gloved hand. Hou stepped out, dressed more formally than usual. Adjusting his tie he nodded his farewell to the driver and strolled up to the home.
"Comrade Hou!" one of two guards at the door called, "How pleasent of you to drop by. Zhang Auyi is waiting inside."
"Thank you brothers," he said smiling at him. Making polite conversation before he could pass he added: "How have your nights been?"
"Good." they said in almost perfect unison, letting their highest commander walk by without further comment.
The interior was certainly well tended and prepared. The floor glowed and shone in the lights and the various ink-paintings on the wall showed perfect care. Men - officers and statesmen alike - milled about socialising with glasses of wine and cigarretes in their hands. Smiles and laughs abounded as jokes, humorous stories, and metaphors for current events were traded. From somewhere in the house the rich smells of roasted duck drifted along with a wave of other succulant aromas.
"Comrade Hou!" someone called. It was inevitable that someone would recognize him. He turned to meet the greeter and smiled wide as the resident of the house walked to him, a smile brimming with the hieght of joy that broke his wide face.
"Zhang Auyi," Hou crooned, bowing to the joyfull person coming to see him. His smile making his already wide lower-face wider, "Happy birthday."
Comrade Auyi laughed, a great booming voice, "Thank you comrade," he beamed, "I've heard that alot tonight and I imagine I'll continue to. But each time it's just as nice to hear as the last."
"I bet it is." Hou smiled, "So tell me, what year is it for your now, forty-eight?"
"It is. Feels like yesterday I was twenty. Time flies."
"I have plenty of experience with this. No need to tell me."
Zhang chuckled, "I'm sure you have. Well if you need to eat then I have appetizers out in the main dining room. Help yourself, I had it all made by a local chef earlier this evening. He's doing the dinner too, so if you like what he has out now you'll enjoy dinner."
"Thank you comrade," Hou commented in faked relief. In truth he had just eaten on the train here, "But if you don't mind I may have to leave after we eat. I fear something may come up and I'll be forced to make myself free."
"I understand, it's nice you to stop by though, thank you."
"You're welcome." Hou said, giving his political partner a bow and walking off.
With the two parted - if only until later in the evening - Zhang Auyi carried on to mingle with the rest of the guests at his party. Greeting passing hellos with a wide and polite smile.
He passed through into the library and into the thick of a congregation. "Comrade Auyi!" someone cheered. Spinning on his heels Zhang turned to the man who had called him out. Standing alongside a shelf full of photographs was an elderly gentelmen with distinct Mongolian features sipping on a glass of wolfberry wine, "I didn't know you collected photographs."
Auyi smiled and shook his head, "No, I don't collect photos, I take them myself, congressman Batukhan."
The elderly Mongolian raised a bushy eyebrow in curiosity, "You do Photography?"
"Yes I find it a rather explorative art." Auyi said with cheer, strolling over to alongside the collection, "It's speed, at least in the moment allows the artist to seek out more subjects to photograph. I develop them too, I have a dark-room in the basement."
Tapping on the wood-frame of a mountainus landscape he added with pridefull cheer: "I mostly just do landscapes. Goes well with hiking, and I can do it easily while going out to personally see the agricultural communes throughout the nation. Doesn't really require any future warning to anyone and I can break for an hour to go on a brief walk."
"Fascinating, comrade," the Mongolian politician said, "You done anything in my home-land yet?"
"I would love to," Zhang said, smiling politely, "but I'm afraid the few times I've been to Mongolia I've been kept inside."
"Sad, I think you'd like to see central Mongolia. I find it magnificant. Riding with some of the tribes in that region I can't help but be astounded by our expanses! Somedays, you can see for miles. Nothing but grassy meadows and the odd rolling hill."
"I'll keep note to try and venture around there when I get the chance to see your home."
"Indeed, thank you." Bathukhan cheered, "And perhaps you can owe me and my family a journey through the mountains here. My son would be enthralled to see such formations and exicting things as this."
"I will, and then you'll owe me a journey through central Mongolia. It'll be a favor."
"Aye, and bring your wife."
"I'll bring it up!" Zhang said, "She loves horses very much, so I'm sure it would be a dream to her."
Bathukhan rose his glass to him and let the minister stroll off. The Mongolian turned back to the photos and continued marveling at each of the black and white landscapes. As the two parted the moment the sound of someone saying, "Who stole my eggroll?" rolled through the general party atmospher, just barely audible.
Barely a few steps away Zhang's attention was summoned to yet another congregation of individuals. "Brother!" a man in military uniform shouted, calling the attention of Zhang. His arm rested across the hilt of his jian as he twirled an unlit cigarette in the other hand, "Beutifull evening. Say, you got a lighter on you?"
"Certainly." Zhang smiled, shuffling in his pockets and pulling out a small silvery lighter, "You need a light?"
"Yes, I seem to be a bumbling fool and forgot mine in my normal fatiques."
"It's no problem," Zhang said, flipping the top open he produced a tongue of flame at the twitch of his thumb. He held it out for the man to puff on, letting him get the flame and get his smoke to a good burn.
"Say, just wondering." the officer's friend said (another military gentelmen), turning to Zhang, "Have you ever been around Russia?"
"No," he said, flipping the lighter closed as the smoking officer got his cigarette to light, "Why's that."
"Just wondering." he said, "The two of us here have gotten word that we could be deployed somewhere up around the Eastern shores soon and we were wondering what the country is like."
"Ah, well if you want to know that, Baojia Hen I hear has had some time up there. Veteran military guy, helped Nikolov Nitski get a get grip when he was rising to power. He's a big guy, has a burn scar over his left ear. Ask him."
Before he could turn away he stopped and turned to the group, "When you do try not to point the scar out. He doesn't like it very much. But I bid you good fortunes when you're deployed there."
"Thank you!" the officers both said. The one with the cigarette went silent while his friend finished off: "We'll be sure to speak with him when we have the chance. Happy birthday."
"Thank you."
Zhang Auyi walked through the rest of his house, tradding continued light chit-chat with his guests. Passing into the dining room the smell of duck and hot tea became stronger. An open door to the kitchen provided fleeting glimpses of the men that zipped about inside trying to keep replacements for the appetizers and snack dishes already laid out flowing while making the last-hour finishing touches to the the main dishes. A couple guards - dressed in their formal military wear, with the addition of revolver pistols in holsters ontheir belts - milled about inside keeping watch of the cooks and making sure none of them attempted to poison the rather important people here. Often times they sampled the foods themselves (no doubt succumbing to the awesome power of smell).
Passing by the table he saw Hou chatting with Wen Xiogang, the secretary of the National Congress and Politburo. Predictably, the chairman held a glass of Lychee in his hands where Wen had a small cup of tea. Wen wasn't known for drinking much very often, where as Zhang had come to picture Hou with a glass of Lychee at least in his hands at almost every chance he had. If not that, water.
Zhang's smiled broadned as he passed his view over his wife, Bao Yu Auyi. She was a skinny flower with silky black hair, she conducted herself with a kind of royal elequence as she conversed with some of the other wives that had come to visit. Picking up a small eggroll from the table Zhang walked over to her.
"Oh, there's the birthday boy!" she smiled as her husband walked over, "How's the night?"
"Good," he grinned, "What are you ladies talking about?"
"Nothing you'd like to hear." she teased.
"Oh she lies," one of the other wives cackled, "No, we're talking about these beutifull fans she has hanging about the house."
Turning to the wall Zhang notted a cerulean blue fan with a large white heron painted on it. He chuckled, "She loves her fans,"
"Oh yes," Bao Yu smiled proudly, "I go into town and buy them from some of the artists there, if you look hard enough, you can find some simply gorgeous ones."
"Very," another wife added, "You know, you'll have to give me some names. I'd like to get some myself."
Before he could hear anymore Zhang kissed his wife on the head, "I'll catch up with you later tonight." he said sliding away. The giggling from the small gaggle of women could only make him hope that something wasn't taken too deep. But a trouble-maker's smile creased his face as he departed.
Looking back over the dining room he noticed Hou had parted company with Wen Xiogang. Comrade Xiogang and invariably followed another fellow Politburo member to another part of the house. Whereas looking through the glass door leading out onto the back patio Zhang had found where the honorable Chairman had departed to. He stood alone in the light of a few lamps sipping on his glass of wine, staring out into the mountains.
Zhang excussed himself and joined his employer on the porch. The sounds of the party momentarily defeating the silence of the night, attracting the attention of Hou as Zhang shut the door. Auyi walked casually over to the railing, eggroll on plate still on hand. "Nice night." he said smiling.
"Very." Hou said, looking into the mountains, "It's nice. You're lucky to live out here."
"What can I say," he said, "I was born here."
"It's a good place to be born." Hou commented.
"What about you? What about Tianjin?"
Hou looked over at him. "You've read up." he said, almost surprised.
"Tianjin's nice." Hou sighed, almost nostalgically, "Always had a view of the sea where I was raised. Technically outside of the city. I liked it."
"I would have loved to live out by the sea." Zhang said, "Unobstructed sky, clean smell."
Hou scoffed out a light laugh, "And then the industrial smell of the port greats you and you know something's off." he commented, "Like a lot of things at those times."
"It was rough then. I remember fearing the Japanese as a teenager. Now, I guess it's looking good between us."
"I won't spare much on it." Hou said, "But it's looking very good indeed. Strange how time may change one man's thoughts."
"And we've healed up nicely I think." Zhang said.
Hou nodded, "I remember marching through these mountains. It's difficult terrain, a pain to take. Lou Shai Dek was understably nervous should anyone try to ambush us. But, at that time how else were we to get the southern communes up to liberate Nanchang. Not to mention the country here was one of those odd 'grey' zones."
Zhang nodded understanding this all to well from a different perspective. "My classes then were always delayed under threat of the Japanese or Republicans." he said, "Somedays I wasn't sure if I'd wake up with my apartment on fire or not."
"University of Guangxi, Nanning China. Class of 1959." Hou said, almost as if reading from a personal briefing, "Yes I remember. Going for, agricultural administration was it? Odd considering what you were going for would have otherwise lead to private enterprise and not public. Lucky too you were under NPN protection, a lot of universities around that time took a huge hit if they weren't watched over."
Zhang Auyi laughed, "Yes, yes. And you've done your own research." he said smiling modestly.
"At least what's avaible." Hou quoted, illiciting another laugh from Zhang, "Dare I go on to prove my point."
"No, you don't have to, it's quiet enough." Zhang said, "So, why aren't you inside?"
"Honest thought?"
"Honest thought."
"When you see enough people, it's sometimes suffocating to be put into a house full of them." Hou sighed, reluctant on if he should share this information, "And for these past few days I've been dealing with a lot of people. I like a break now and then. And being doubly trapped inside Beijing, I can't pass on the chance to breath in some country air."
"You know." Zhang said, "Have you ever thought about taking a vacation."
Hou started laughing, "****, you must be talking with Comrade Mang," he said, putting his laughter to rest and taking another sip of his Lychee, "He always says I should. Go home for a week and stop trapping myself in that office. Truth be told, I don't think the nation'll let me leave it now-a-days."
"Why can't you?" Zhang said, "I mean, Comrade Mang is a capable person. Isn't he?"
"To a degree he is, and when left to his own devices and familiarities." he said, "But I fear that the moment a military or a purging request graces his desk waiting for some kind of signature he'll invariably stuff it in the darkest drawer possible and hang up the system. Further more I think he doesn't like the National Congress enough.
"Don't get me wrong on him, I like him. He's a good statesman and knows how to over seeing the national infrastructure and media in a broad sense. But he can't do everything. And he has a mixed feeling of interaction with the outside, it's difficult to predict him in that sense. I don't know if he'll shut down everything or open up everything. So for as long as a vacation will inevitably last, I don't like him to be anything more than a second-in-command for long. Esspecially when I was in Japan just this past month."
Zhang nodded.
"I sense there are some... intereing people in this regieme." Hou said, "I fear what'll happen if the wrong ones took power. Throw China to the wolves, or let her go public too soon. I want to handel this carefully. We're in strange times."
The two politicians stood silently, gazing out into the darkness. "And another thing," Zhang broke in, now becoming slightly uncomfortable. His mind batteling over whether it wants to feed its curiousity, or keep safe and avoid being purged, "As I've rea-, no. Uhm. How come I've never seen your wife?"
"I don't want to talk about it." Hou grunted, leaving the topic at that. It was appearant he wouldn't dicuss it any further. Nodding, Zhang finally took a bite off his eggroll.
An hour later into the evening and dinner was served. The normal dining room itself was unfortunately too small to fit everyone in the party, certain officers, regional officals, and other persons Zhang Auyi had come to know. But many of the guests had voluntereed to surrender the main table for the high-ranking personell. Disperssing themselves to armchairs, couches, or anywhere else they may sit the lower-ranked officals disperessed throughout the open rooms of the house to eat their dinner. In the main dining room national congressman to Chairman alike took a seat at the table. Bao Yu Auyi, Wen Xiogang, Wen Daohang (who was visibly becoming worn and would be soon holding to his promise to depart for home early, the event was obviously taxing him), Hou Sai Tang, and even the late-arrived generals Han Jang and Lou Shai Dek.
The food was set up on tables in the living room and main dining room for the guests to pick at their choice. With the completion and distribution of dinner the house became ever more filled with the aromatic flavors of pork and duck. Bowls of rice and mixed vegitables were spread on the table, some bowls mixed with pidan and bits of pork. Dumplings, and pastries. More bottles of Lychee and Wolfberry wines were produced from the basement and more tea put on to brew. A venerable birthday feast.
"My compliments to the chef!" Bathukhan said from the far side of the table, "This is an excellent dinner."
"I'm a particular fan of the pork." Wen Daohang croaked, "It's well cooked."
"Thank you all dear comrades," the chef said, hiding in the doorway to the kitchen, "We worked hard to keep the sirs happy and our hearts are bleeding happiness that you are enjoying your meal."
"Well, I invite you gentelmen too to fill your own plates and eat," Zhang Auyi said, "It'll be horrendous if you miss out on your own work. Go, go."
"So Zhang," Wen Xiogang said, "I heard you invited Quoram to pay a visit. Yet I never saw him in the house. Could he not come?"
"Yes, he couln't come," Zhang said, "sad, I was looking forward to him being here. But he wrote back saying he had other appointments to attend to.
On that note also... I invited the Ethiopian, Yaqob, to join us. But he wrote back declining because he's busy with home-based business. He did send his regards though, like Quaram."
"Security on him might be a little worried to," Xiogang laughed, "Afraid that he might spread 'seditious Persian thought' to some of the more falliable people in this house."
There was a round of laughter from the table. "Talking about yourself Wen?" one of the Politburo members at the table joked. There was another round of laughter at that.
"If you say so." Wen returned, "But no, I shouldn't riff on him too hard if that's the impression I gave. I met the Persian on a few occasions and he's a bright kid. It's the guys that Sing has on him that sometimes worry me. They're not dangerous per-say, but they're very orthodox in their position. They want to know exactly who's going to speak with him and about what, and afterwards what the conversation was about. I think it might be worse than what he has on Yaqob Yohannes."
"Yes, but they do do what they're told to do." Lou Shai Dek said, "I can say their inteligence farming abilities are well worth it and their encrypting techniques well worth having them about. Even if I must say, the whole department is a little odd."
"I think most of us know exactly how odd," Hou smirked, "I force Sing to report to me on everything they do and who does it so I can purge them properly."
"Purged by the mighty pen." somone at the table said, "Still, nothing will ever be as violent as when Mao went down."
"Oh no, not for a while I think." Hou said, "At least, hopefully not until the rest of his crew his brought down."
"Zhang," another man at the table said, leaning back from his plate for a moment, "May I ask you something."
"Yes comrade Huang Hi."
"Some of my communal constituants have wrote to me," National congressman Huang He said, "pertaining to a possibility of there being the potential of there being rough harvests ahead. Although we're making quota some farmers are reporting a drop in their production over the last few years. Now we cleaned up enough of the salt in the region to rule out it being an issue with salt in the soil. I sent some notes on it to you several months ago. I'm wondering if you got around to reading it?"
"Yes," Zhang said, "I read it over and forwarded it to some of the professors I knew from back in college. I've requested that they go in to conduct soil research and search for the reported issue as well as search for a solution. They sent me their preliminary hypothesis and they think it could be a lack of soil nutrients from generations of heavy use. But we'll no for sure.
"Know though that if there's anything wrong I'll work to get things back on track. So don't you worry."
"Thank you." Huan He said.
From the middle of the table there came a bit of laughter, "You really trust those egg heads?" a deep voice cut in.
"You have a problem with the minister's efforts comrade Gei?" Wen Ziogang asked, clearly puzzeled if not slightly offended.
"A bit." Gei said, "But can you think that they would surely find anything. Those college intellectuals know nothing. Their heads filled with ********. There a new cancer on China, as much as the Republicans were."
Hou, Zhang, and Wen clearly took some offence. "I think you've had too much to drink." Wen growled, "So comrade you better stop before you make a fool of yourselves. In case your muddled mind has failed to notice, quiet a bit of important people here are of those 'intellectuals' you insult."
Gei scoffed, "Little more than a restructuring of old things."
Zhang's mind was raced with unease. Feigning confidence he said: "Let's change the subject, shall we? What about North America?"
"As I said five years ago," Wen Xiogang said eagerly, "still an orgy of madness. Even if the current US government makes it a bit more of a thing to invest in and watch."
"We're supposed to be going in there, aren't we?" Bathukhan commented, he too eager to move on, "At least that's what word in the Party is?"
"We're still." watching Lou Shai Dek added, "To see where this war progresses. Or to obtain an opprotunity."
Commander Lou passed a look to Hou. "Opprotunity or escalation," he confirmed, "opprotunity or escalation."
"Well I think with the withdrawl of Spain from the region things might be more balanced." Wen Xiogang added in, "Wouldn't you say Comrade Lou?"
"That would seem to be, but we need to remember that most of the damage thus far has been conducted by the Canadians. Or at least they have the potential to raise Hell, like they did last time. Although, the Spanish were certainly a threat. But their departure won't change our plans or make anything softer. But it's nice that New England has arranged for us the disappearance of that threat."
"And we can't forget their own home-land troubles." Zhang said. His wife - silent through all this having nothing to truely input into the conversation - nodding by his side. "And you can't seriously think of Trajero that highly?"
"It's called gaining face." Hou said, "I wouldn't call him purely nobel or make him out to be a knight. But so long as I address the people about it, and the Spaniards haven't done anything publically atrocious it looks good on us to refer to him as a nobel player. As for preserving the board for them, we need to utilize this time to move to secure a better position. While our only threats are the scraps that is Brazil and those 'Republicans' in Russia."
"With our progress we will gain great footholds." Han Jang commented, "When Spain is finally capable of being on the field again, we'll be more than a match."
"I sense you have something up your sleeve." Bathukhan chirped, "Is it relevant to Deep Gobi?"
"I'm not obliged to say." Han Jang smiled, "So no comment."
"You're a horrible lair, you'd never make it in the Congress." Wen Xiogang joked.
"I'd never make it if I went on air." Han Jang said, "My good looks wouldn't be distracting enough!"
"Good looks? You look like you were kicked by a mule!"
//... after a day of ballot counting, the Derecha Unida candidate Alfonso Sotelo has won a landslide victory in the emergency elections, winning nearly 83% of the popular vote. At a ceremony in the palatial plaza this afternoon, the Cordovan senator became Prime Minister Alfonso Sotelo of the Second Spanish Republic. In an address to a nation shocked by the killings of Miguel Tejero and more than 1,700 others in the firefight that destroyed the Palatial Complex, the new prime minister announced his desire to bring justice to those responsible.//
A younger woman, who had been reading the editorial section of the Heraldo de Zaragoza, looked up from the newspaper laying flat on the coffee table she sat behind and immediately became transfixed on the evening news on the television in front of her. The live feed of a news correspondent standing in front of a dispersing crowd in front of the ruins of the Palatial Complex, where the remains of a large crowd could be seen slowly dispersing from the area in the background, cut to Alfonso Sotelo speaking before a crowd on the plaza earlier that day.
//... and for the heinous violence that killed our beloved Miguel Tejero and took so many of our friends and loved ones from us, companions, we shall soon have absolute justice!! I have been informed that the Justice Department, despite the chaos of the past week, has been working tirelessly here in Spain and abroad to track down Tejero's murderers! Law enforcement agencies throughout the world are graciously cooperating with Spanish authorities as I speak to find the communist sympathizers that have brought such grief to us... and here in Spain, any supporters or cells of communism shall be rooted out and brought to justice!"//
"See what I mean? You think I'm so paranoid now?" A suitcase-bearing man said, descending from the stairs into the living room where the woman was seated.
"Ay, cariño, you don't think they're going to think you're one of those people that shot Tejero, do you? You've never even had so much as a traffic ticket. Just because you were in the socialist party back when you were in college doesn't mean you're some kind of serial killer. You're just overreacting."
"If only you knew Sotelo... This ******* is the slimiest son-of-a-***** to ever enter Spanish poli-"
"You know I don't like it when you talk like that, cariño."
"Excuse me," The man said with a sigh. "But I'm not exaggerating. Sotelo has made a career out of doing nothing but being the most radical and vocal opponent of communism in Spain. He was already popular in the regular election, but this whole thing with Tejero getting killed has put this election in his lap. Now that's he's in power, he's going to keep on doing what got him to be prime minister in the first place: taking even more radical steps against communism and marginalizing and isolating anyone that disagrees. I'm fairly famous as a liberal journalist as it is, and with this getting published, I'm basically calling out Alfonso Sotelo on his bullsh-... nonsense." The man pointed at the editorials written in the Heraldo de Zaragoza titled Sotelo's Victory, and a Second Spanish Inquisition, are Inevitable.
"I don't think it's anything to worry abou-"
There was a knock at the door. The man, suddenly alert, tiptoed to the front window of the house and peered out. There he saw a black van parked in the street and two suited figures standing in front of the house.
"Señor Alvarado, can you please come to the door?"
"Mierda!" The man whispered. He walked back to his suitcases and his wife as quickly as he could without making any sound.
"Who's at the door? What's going on?" Mrs. Alvarado whispered.
"They've come for me!" He whispered. "I need to you to answer the door and distract them for as long as possible, I'm going to climb out the back window and get out of here."
"Open the door, Señor Alvarado!" An annoyed man standing outside called out. The knocks were quickly becoming more forceful.
"Where will you go?!" The wife whispered.
"Andorra... then France. When it's safe, I'll call you and arrange for you to leave the country. You'll be fine, I swear. Just tell them I'm out of town." He gave her a quick peck on the lips and then took his suitcases, ran to the living room window and threw the window open.
"Now go!" He whispered.
Marseille, France
"Where have you seen this person?" A suited Spaniard demanded in French, holding up a mugshot-esque photograph of some man with a scar on his lip. "We know he was here... we know you saw him here." He said agitatedly.
"Je ne said pas... I DONT ****ING KNOW!" A dockworker, handcuffed to a gas pipe in the corner of an empty warehouse, practically screamed.
"Stop yelling, frog." Another suited Spaniard snarled. "We don't have to follow the laws here. We're not afraid to just ****ing shoot you. Hell, it'd just be easier for us to put a bullet in your head if you're just going to keep yelling for help... don't make things easier for us."
"Shut the **** up - that's not helping." The other Spaniard, older and calmer, demanded. "Now listen," he said with almost friendly warmth as he turned to the captive Frenchman. "I'm just as tired of being here as you are, because every minute we waste here is another minute this man has to evade us. We know this guy was here at the docks for at least two days. Considering you work here, there's no way you couldn't have seen him. Now, I want you to think back and see if there was anyone that looked remotely like this guy."
"I already said a thousand ****ing times that I do-"
"You're not thinking. Think back to the past few days, try and actually recall someone that looks like that."
The Frenchman paused, thinking to himself for thirty seconds. The younger interrogator was getting restless and irate with the Frenchman, but the older one gestured for him to calm down.
"Honestly, I remember this one guy." The captive said, with his eyes closed. "He was bald though, not like the guy in the picture, though obviously he could have just shaved his hair. He had kind of a slender nose like that asshole in the picture."
"See, there we go." The older interrogator said with a smile. "What else?"
"He was with four other guys. I think they were buying an empty shipping container and wanted to have it put on a freighter, which I thought was weird and that's why I remember him."
"Did you hear that? Four other people were with him? Holy ****, they just might be the ones were after." The younger interrogator said excitedly. His elder ignored him.
"Please tell me you know the name of the freighter that container was being shipped on."
"Yeah." The Frenchman replied, squirming in his handcuffs. "The Spirit of Zanzibar. Some Ethiopian freighter. It was either going to Ajaccio or Benghazi, I can't remember. You're probably going to just beat up someone in the offices and have them hand over her manifests once you're done with me anyway."
"Snarky ****ing frog." The younger interrogator snarled.
"But that ship is eventually going to make its way to Perth. After that I have no ****ing idea... now let me go, goddamnit!"
The older interrogator obliged, unlocking the handcuffs and allowing them to fall to the concrete floor with a clatter. With the dockworker free to go, the two Spaniards made their way to the door on the other side of the warehouse.
"We know where you and your family live, frog. You say a ****ing word and it'll be the last word you ever say."
"Shut the **** up." The older interrogator snapped. He turned back to the Frenchman, still sitting limply in the corner of the warehouse. "But he's right. Keep your mouth shut."
The North-Western Front((This is after the meeting in Tokyo is concluded))
"Um... yeah. Here." Said the corporal, handing him an umbrella that was on his back. He, being from Seattle, shrugged off the rain like it was nothing. As they entered the tent, the American took out a piece of paper with a lot of writing on it.
"Alright, let me start." He coughed, "The United Socialist States requests an unconditional surrender of the North Western Coalition, and will begin an occupation the nation until the rebel problem is dealt with with. Upon which, the occupation will end. Failure to accept these therms will result in an invasion by the combined armies of the Asian Socialist Block and the United Socialist States Armed Forces. Followed by a forced occupation that will last much longer. All chemical weapons held by the NWC will be destroyed and all plans for them eradicated. The creators of the weapons will be sent to trial in a court of law for the death of three million people in... the Seattle area."
Tokyo
"I'll be able to get you masks and the designs for them within a month, at least." Fernandez replied. "Now then, when I return to my nation, I'll negotiate with the NWC for a surrender, so we can have less bloodshed. I'll also see if perhaps, an occupation will allow my forces to deal with the rebels since the NWC has failed to do so."
The Northern Front
The Canadians seemed to begin to loose the will to fight, and the Red Army began to take the advantage. They began to push forward into Canadian territory. It was the first time the Americans have pushed into Canada since The War of 1812, only this time... there would be no white house burning. Only Toronto and the rest of the Canadian cities. Nearly 50,000 Red Army soldiers pushed in, reinforced by 200 M1 Abrams, 250 M551 Sheridan Light tanks, and 400 M113 APCs. Grouped of the Air force, it seemed like the entire American army was pushing down on them. In some eyes, it was.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
The world is a cold, unforgiving, maple-syrupy place for a Canadian
Hirohito nodded, agreeing with what Fernandez had said. "I believe that is the best course of action. We shall still be sending the armed trade ships, however. If the NWC wishes to resist, they shall assist you in taking them down. However, if they agree to a ceasefire, my men shall assist in taking down the rebels, as well as delivering the supplies, which the NWC could use in this time of need."
Hirohito then turned his attention to the representatives from the various parts of his empire. "I believe you all are fine with this. Am I correct?"
One by one, each of the representatives nodded. Hirohito, of course, didn't need their permission, but it was a formality. After each of them agreed, Hirohito turned his attention to Hou, waiting to hear his response.
Tokyo, Office of Foreign Affairs
Again, foreign mail came in. This time, a letter addressed from Chile, and President Adriano Claro. Again, the man there snatched up the letter, and made his way to the meeting hall, this time in a much calmer manner. When he arrived holding the letter, the guards recognized him, and ushered him in. One of the guards took the letter, and cracked the door open, motioning for Nori.
Nodding and excusing himself, Nori left the room. After closing the door behind him, Nori took the letter form the guard, thanking both him and the man. Cutting open the back, Nori pulled the letter out, and began to read.
"A letter from President Claro of the United Confederacy of Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay and Paraguay to the government of Japan and Royal Emperor Hirohito:
Greetings. Our countries have never formally established ties, but I have heard much of your nation and its great culture. This letter comes as an offer. Your civilization has long been suspended just off the coast of one of the greatest communist powers in the world. However, this need not force you to become like them. Your nation revolves around ideals of honor, justice and independence. We ask you to retain your values and instead of submitting to the Chinese power, align yourself with those countries that will not force you to follow your ways. We ask you, Japan, to speak to other nations like Australia or ourselves, and consider other options before you take the plunge."
After reading it over again, a shocked expression spread across his face. He personally was against Japan joining the ASB, so this was a ray of hope for him. Quickly jotting down a note on his legal pad, he thanked everyone one last time, and entered the room again. Walking next to Hirohito, he turned the legal pad towards him, showing him the note. Taking a quick glance at it, Hirohito read the note, and silently nodded, still focusing on the meeting, but making a mental note not to ask about joining the ASB just yet.
[Though I still don't quite get how they knew Hirohito was considering joining the ASB... ;P]
"I'll see to it some of our men are devoted to this mission." Hou said, "Not much. I'll see to it then ten-thousand of our soldiers are deployed for this mission.
"But if anything transpires that doesn't set well with us then I'll call in to withdraw our numbers from the campaign. A fair rule of warning."
(Considering that the decision or the contemplation was never made public I would consider the situation treading over into meta-gaming zones. Or whatever the term is for someone knowing something's going on when they can't see it, such as someone figuring out the upper echelons of Japanese government are considering joining the ASB.)
(It (the message) would still be worth showing Hirohito, even if the dude had no idea that joining the ASB was being considered. And it seems to me that it could have been inferred anyways.)
(If I'm understanding this right.)
(Ah. In that case, just take the "instead of joining the ASB part" out.)
(It (the message) would still be worth showing Hirohito, even if the dude had no idea that joining the ASB was being considered. And it seems to me that it could have been inferred anyways.)
(If I'm understanding this right.)
(Ah. In that case, just take the "instead of joining the ASB part" out.)
((My thinking was along these lines. Just agree to disagree, let what is done be done.))
Hearing that everyone was in agreement, Hirohito stood, and spoke. "Well then. If we are all in agreement here, I believe we can call this an end to this meeting. I shall send my ships with the ships form the ASB as soon as we hear the reply from the NWC, and have them act accordingly. Now, before we wrap this up completely, does anybody else wish to add anything..?"
[Eh. I'm fine with just thinking it was assumed in the letter... Though I still don't know if I should throw joining the ASB out the window...]
Odessa, Ukraine
A response comes back almost immediately over the radio.
"Alright Polish HQ, we will hold this position and prepare to defend the city. We have one thousand troops and about eighty APCs, so we'll try our hardest but if this is a sizable force or an armored one, we'll definitely need some assistance. Our heaviest firepower is a few RPGs and the turrets mounted on the vehicles."
Buenos Aires, Argentina
The Brazilian and Argentine scientists leave for New England to work on the various scientific projects being started there.
Santiago, Chile
President Adriano Claro stood out in the middle of the Chilean congress, ready to deliver his appeal to their government to accept the new agreement.
"Good Congressmen of Chile, I come to you today in the wake of recent events to issue a call to reason. Let no South American deny the perils of our time. While we disagree with one another, divided by the petty strive of our common history, the tide of a greater conflict is turning against us, threatening to destroy all that we have accomplished. It is time for us as nations and as individuals to set aside our long-standing feuds, and unite. The tides of an unwinnable war are upon us, and we must seek refuge upon higher ground lest we be swept away by the flood. The old world of stability is no more, whatever semblance of unity and protection it once provided is a phantom: a memory. With our enemies left unchecked, who will you turn to for protection? The devastation wrought by these communist invaders is self-evident. They have corrupted good nations with a promise of utopia that they transformed into an authoritarian, oppressive dystopia. Unprecedented and unimaginable though they may be, these are the signs of our time. The time has come, my fellow South Americans, to rally to a new banner. In unity lies strength, already many independent countries have joined our cause. Out of the many we shall forge an indivisible whole, capitulating only to a single government. And from that government, I shall watch over you. From this day forward, let no South American make war upon any other. Let no corporation or cartel conspire against this new beginning. And let no man consort with communist powers and to all the enemies of democracy, seek not to bar our way, for we shall win through, no matter the cost."
(First person to tell me what that's based off of gets a cookie)
Southern Mexico
Across the southern parts of Mexico, strangely similar people drive through cities and across highways, while others walk. They all seem to be walking in the direction of one particular city...
Addis Ababa
Sahle and Baruti had spent the greater part of the night hopping across the roofs of houses in the Addis slums, hindered only by their lack of natural athletic talent and the women's clothing they disguised themselves with. As time had led to practice, the speed and grace in which they jumped with had increased, and as their journey in the city was coming to its close, they glided across the top of the slums like a gazelle glides across the savannah. However, As they came to the edge of the city, the houses were becoming sparse and the jumps became wider. As they came to the last house before they bypassed the last roadblocks, the distance of the last jump was enough to sap their confidence.
"You do this one first" insisted Sahle, "I command you as emperor!"
Baruti did his best to hold back his laughter. "If you think that works anymore, go try to use it on those roadblock guards. I bet they would be impressed. You first"
Sahle fumed. "When I get my throne back, you'll be sorry you said that."
"You dunce! I am the reason you are still alive" snapped Baruti, "I cleared all the questionable jumps first so far. Emperors are supposed to lead, not follow."
"I can lead." replied Sahle, having taken surprising offense to being called a follower "And I will ****ing lead. Out of my way."
Sahle backed up to the opposite edge of the house they were standing on. He gained his footing, focused on his target, and took a running leap. Seconds felt like minutes as he hung in the air, watching the roof he was aiming for slowly come toward him. He was going to make it... he was going to make it... and then.
He descended. With an uncomfortable thud, Sahle landed face first in the street.
"Sahle!" Baruti shouted in a hushed voice, "SAHLE!". ****, he was out cold. For a few seconds, Baruti stood frozen on the rooftop. Did he go down and help, or did he flee? He had spent so many years tending to the young prince that "Help him" strangely dominated his instincts. But logically, helping could be dangerous; and this was an opportunity to finally ditch this stress and go do something else.
What else? Something...
"Bah" Baruti decided, "I guess I should help."
Dismounting the house, he ran to the fallen Emperor, turning him over to make sure he was still alive. Sahle responded with a moan.
"Did I make it?"
"No" Baruti answered, "Now come on, before..."
Baruti was interrupted by a shout from behind. "Hey, what are you women doing?"
****, it was the roadblock guards. They must have heard them.
"N... nothing, nothing!" Baruti cried, attempting to make his voice sound as female as possible.
"What's wrong with her?" asked the guard, growing suspicious.
"She... She's just had too much excitement for the day." Baruti answered, continuing his horrible woman impression, "It was the... mmm... the killing. The killing. It was too much, she... she fainted is what happened."
"Does she need help getting home." answered the guard.
"NO!!" shouted Baruti, still maintaining his hacked female sound, "Um.. No. I can get her home."
The guard was suspicious, but he also preferred to not bring anybody to their house. He was just about to shrug it off, when Sahle groaned in a very masculine tone.
"Hey!" shouted the guard, "What is this?" He approached Sahle with his machete drawn. Baruti could just stand there, there wasn't anything more to be said. The guard kneeled over Sahle and pulled back his veil. He knew instantly who he was looking at.
"HEEY!" he shouted loud enough for the other guards around the corner to here, "Come here! You won't believe who I just found!"
Congo Airspace, En Route to Nairobi ((Chinese Dialogue by permission of Aaron))
Hassan and his entourage were on their way to take control of the Eastern portions of the military that were mobilizing in Nairobi to move against Addis Ababa. Reports had been saying that the Yaqobist forces in the city held the remaining Sahlians under siege, and that is was only a matter of time before the Yaqobists took control. All that needed to happen now was for the military to restore order in the city and bring about an end to the Civil War.
Hassan's entourage at this point was just his Aide de Camp, a strategist, and the Chinese agents who had originally arrived to sort out the diamond trade but were now caught up in the last stages of the war. Hassan hadn't had much time to talk with these Chinese members of his retinue; they had mostly just communicated between themselves. In truth, he knew very little about them, or China for that matter. It was, for him, a world away; a serious of blurbs in newspapers and letters from Yaqob; a mysterious empire known for it's contradictions; the isolationist imperialists, the diamond seeking socialists, the evil empire that had played a vital role in preserving Africa.
Of course, contradictions could just be seen as inconsistencies in media. After all, the Spanish media often reported Hassan to be "The Communist Devil in the Heart of Africa", yet communists in Africa had once complained about how Hassan was plotting their destruction.
In truth, he didn't even give a **** about economics. Considering nobody could get him right, who knows what the Chinese were really like. Perhaps it would be better to learn about them from them.
"So..." started Hassan, breaking the ice, "I hear some of you guys were in Russia? I've heard so crazy **** about what goes on up there."
Out of the Chinese group, only Gang Goongji responded.
"I served there for a few years."
"Ah!" Hassan responded, "What did you do up there?"
"Sabotage mostly" stoicly responded Gang, "Though I gained a bit of a... reputation among the Russians"
Hassan grinned, "I take that to mean you have some stories from your time there?"
"A few" responded Gang. "I managed to take out a few Russian officers during my time there."
"Ahhhh! Do tell!" replied Hassan.
Gang leaned in to tell his first tale...
"In the middle of a wintery night in the city, I had finished short-circuting a section of the Yakenterinburg grid by throwing a lead pipe up into the high-tension wires. It caused a disasterous short plunging the area into darkness. I had done my job, so I left the power station. That's when I ran across a group of three soldiers from one of the local independent groups of the Imperial Army."
"I didn't have very many places to go, so I took cover behind a trash-can and watched as the three foot soldiers entered the power station to investigate the cause. As they passed through the front gate, I followed them, keeping low and quiet so they didn't see me."
"They stopped below where I had thrown the pipe from earlier. As they gazed up at the strange placement of pipe and chatteret about how it got there, I got to work. I went for the closest man and grabbed him by the head and quickly twisted it, killing him. Before his body could drop for the ground I took out my knife and dove at the second, sticking him under the arm and puncturing his lung."
"Right about then the senior officer had more-than-heard the ruckus and was drawing for his pistol. Keeping hold of the second soldier by the hilt of the knife and the shoulder, I threw the dieing man at his officer, knocking him down and pinning him against the ground. His pistol fell out of reach."
"At that point, I pulled the knife from the second soldier's side. I lunged with the knife and opened his throat. Killed the *******. Then I bolted..."
Gang smirked, "Had to change my shoes.
"Beautiful work!" replied Hassan, "Masterful kills it sounds. Did you do anything like that again?"
"I'll tell you" replied Gang, "But I want to hear yours first."
"Mmm" answered Hassan, "Fair enough... I suppose. Well, I joined the army in '45. I was... 17 I guess. Really, things were peaceful until '48. About that time, ol' Iyasu, who was emperor at the time, started to get loud about religion again after stats were showing most people we at least claiming to be muslim. It was pissin' off the remnants of the Christians. We had to stop riots and, well, boring **** like that"
"But, in '50 or '51 **** got interesting. The christians started another civil war. Third ****ing civil war in the century. Hell, with this one recently, we're up to four civil wars in a century. That is some sort of record. Anyway, in that civil war I was part of the Somali core since that's where I had been raised, and we seen much of the action because... well, we were muslim before the war, I suppose Iyasu figured he could trust us."
"Anyway, that was my first taste of war. The ****in' battle of Lalibela. The Christians were fortified in the hills and it was our job to knock'em off. My unit was tasked with clearing one of the churches there. The churches were carved out of the ****in' mountain, so they were basically natural fortresses. They guys in there were not what you'd expect either. We're talking about people in civilian clothes with bandoliers and tommy guns. Looked like you pissed off some townsfolk, but they fought like hyenas in heat. We lost a lot of men on that hill."
"Anyway, we got inside one of the churches and a few of the Christian ****s came at me with big ass knifes. British made, like their guns. You could tell who was funding them. Anyway, I had a gun but I just drew my saber and sent at them like some sort of pirate. It felt more... right. All these tanks and machine guns, they're not the warriors way. Cowards play with guns, real men wield swords; that was what my grandfather always said. Might sound stupid, but until you've hacked three men into pieces with nothing but a blade and your own rage, you haven't ****ing fought."
Gang grinned, "I see what you mean, Comrade. I've killed many up close myself. It is a very different experience."
Hassan smiled, "Yes, but now your next stories."
Gang nodded, "Yes, well... Several weeks following the first story I told you about, I found myself unwittingly trapped by a lieutenant and his highier-ranking friend who thought they could take it on themselves to seek out the killer of their comrades. The two had gone about on a killing spree of their own and made the cliche mistake of telling their hunting story to me. They told me they had tracked me down through a "man with a glass eye"."
"The lieutenant - with his pistol drawn - thought it intelligent to get in close to me. With his arm outstretched and pistol pointed to my head he came within inches of the my forehead. Right then I grabbed hold of the man's wrist, Swinging around with his elbow I promptly broke his arm at the his's elbow and inverting it a full 90 degree, forcing him to drop the pistol. I spun him about and planted my fist into the man's throat so he couldn't breath. I let him collapse to the floor, but I took two shots to the shoulder from his partner's own gun."
"So I round-house kicked the second man in the face causing him to spill to the floor before beating him with the lamp. The other lower-ranking officer was still alive and attempting to crawl away on a barely working arm."
"I finished that man with the fire-place poker that was in my apartment at the time. I decided to flee the city of Yakenterinburg all together, not before catching the apartment complex on fire."
Hassan laughed, "Hah! If I was a skeptical man, I might call ********, but it's too beautiful not to believe! Excellent work, man"
Gang said nothing.
"Oh yes" understood Hassan, "My turn... well."
"That war ended pretty damn quick. After Lalibela the Christians never gained a foothold anywhere else. It looked like their leadership was about to escape again, but we got word they were hiding out in remote old monastery... Debre Damo if I recall right. Just my unit was sent in to see if we could catch some of these people. We approached in the middle of the night and scaled the cliffs around the monastery using our own climbing equipment. Our job was to kill the guards quietly and take possession of the leaders without too much bloodshed; command felt that a battle on a monestary was the type of thing that made good enemy propaganda and we were expected to make sure we didn't feed into that."
"I came up the side and hid behind a building. Right around the corner, I could see a guard. When he turned to light a cigarette, I came up around his back and slit his throat so he could scream for help, then I broke his neck so he couldn't flail around and make that sort of commotion. Perfect kill. I was ****ing proud to be honest, real ****ing proud. Anyway, I looked around and seen my comrades moving, so I joined up with them. They had killed the remnants of the guards there, but we weren't sure who was in the church. A few of our guys went through a back door while the rest of us waited at the front. There was no noise at first, but then the door opened. I just about started shooting, but it ended up being one of our guys. As we entered we could here some pleading and shouting coming from a backroom; apparently one of our men had just found where the nobles had been hiding."
"Excellent" stoicly replied Gang, "My turn then I presume."
"I always found that a good way to disrupt traffic flow is to fell trees in the middle of the roads. Working with Russian Socialist sympathizers west of Omsk, I was working laying trees across the main supply road late one night. Shortly after we had finished a truck flying the flag of the regional gang drove over to where they were clearing. The truck had been escorting one of the army gang's major's. As the troops on the truck unloaded, my companions opened fire killing the lower ranks as they disembarked but their Major tried to escape down the road."
"I took the chainsaw I had been using and gave chase. Minutes later I caught up with the fat ******* and severed his spine with a "glancing" hit from the chainsaw before decapitating him."
"Nice" approved Hassan, "But that was short. I think another one is in order.
Gang was enjoying the approval he was getting for his stories. "Ok, another"
"I figured at that time that I was pretty good at killing, so I decided to actually choose a target rather then my typical self defense method of murder. Specifically, I targeted a high-ranking officer in the current "Russian Republic" party that now controls the region. A ranking Colonel that had decided to take it on himself to chase me down and take the "local menace" in himself."
"Before I was summoned home, I had gotten wind that this man was en-route to Perm from Chelyabrinsk via the train. I figured I should get a good kill to my name before the coming autumn, so I hopped onto the train before it could leave the station. I was armed with a hatchet, knife, and several fire-bombs. I got on the roof of the train and deduced the target was in the caboose."
"I lit a Molotov and smashed the windows on the rear-most cabin, then I set to work setting that whole car on fire with the two molotovs, burning everyone inside and preventing anyone from moving in to the caboose to save their colonel. His body guards bolted out looking to investigate. One was knocked off the train and promptly killed by the train's wheels on the track where as the other was killed by the hatchet before he could be tossed off."
"I moved in and confronted the Colonel. He was unarmed and the scuffle was brief. I kicked him in the chest and he was forced to the floor where I split his head with the hatchet."
"Afterwards I leapt from the rear, hitting the grassy ground with a roll and soon after, via a contact with the east departed the region."
Hassan grinned, "Your life, my friend, it is like a movie! If you're indicative of what China typically produces, I sincerely hope China always is a friend."
((6 pages, 2833 words, and about two hours of writing. Shit****))
The screams ended in a gunshot.
The busy camp stopped for a fraction of a second before resuming its work, and from behind the Consul's tent walked the rebel who had captured the soldier the previous night. Quickly saluting the guard obstructing his way into Tullus' tent, he muttered ' class='bbc'>"É fatto". The guard stepped aside, and for the second time in less than a day, the rebel--a lowly recruit who had only just been allowed into active service--found himself in the Consul's tent.
Tullus was preoccupied with other matters when he entered. Discipline within the rebellion had been lax, as evidenced by the dismissive "Si" he had received the previous night. The RRC had no front-line troops, and were primarily striking through bombings and assassinations of low-ranking officials, and so the lack of discipline would not be a major issue, but he worried that by missing the key to the success of the legions, he would miss out on victory. His musings were halted by the re-entrance of the rebel, whose name he did not know. The man saluted and proceeded with his report. "I got some valuable information on that soldier we captured yesterday--he wasn't much, just a low-ranking ground pounder, but it would seem like our assassination campaign is working well," he paused, then remembered. "Sir."
"Excellent work, legionary. This will help." He paused for a moment, expecting the rebel to exit. He didn't, instead standing rigidly at attention. At least the RRC had that part right...
"You may go," Tullus said finally. "Of course," the rebel responded, turning on his heels and leaving the tent, no doubt rushing to tell his friends of his recent exploits. None of that for Tullus. He had barricaded himself into this tent for the past week, trying to plan out what the rebellion's end goal actually was. Of course it was a coup--it had always been a coup. But that wasn't realistic. Batista never was open enough to be killed, so the RRC had fallen back on the assassination of low-key officials in an effort to prevent people from applying for government office. There had also been the bombings: the Metro bombing in particular had left a lasting scar. But those were unreliable, and would only turn the public against them.
Taking Rome was not an option--he did not have one soldier under his command, while Batista had tens of thousands. Granted, the Italian military machine wasn't all that efficient, but even then his several thousand civilians stood no chance. Even if he did manage to take the city, he could not hold it for more than the week or so it would take the pretender Batista to counterattack. The few Ottoman Turks left in the south had been helpful recruits, but their numbers were not enough to bolster his "legions", such as they were. There was another consul, operating up near the Po Valley, but he was unreliable at best and the "Senate", made up of a handful of self-important civilians, knew nothing of military strategy. There was not a person in Italy save God who could help him, and God seemed to be on a vacation.
Tullus paused, his eyes brightening. There wasn't an entity in Italy that could help him--but that was it! Italy wasn't the only place in the world. Spain, for example, probably had a grudge against Batista, who was a renegade Spaniard. Not only this, but a Spain-Rome axis against communism when the Bellum Romanum was over could bolster the already substantial UND and perhaps turn the tide in the "Border Wars", as they were known.
Consul Tullus knew his target; now he needed only find out how to contact them. He had decided early on to bypass the Senate on this decision. Despite their small numbers, they had a habit of arguing the most simple decisions. No, they wouldn't need to be consulted.
Contact would be simple enough. Send a civilian overland to Spain through France (I'm assuming that Spain and Italy aren't on the best of terms and there aren't any direct routes. Also, I get to use two players' countries.). He'd need to get on that immediately.
For the first time in a week, his mind cleared and he exited the tent.
Two men stand in front of a room filled with one hundred of the new Japanese Todoroku Ryu interceptors. The taller one turns to the shorter one, smiling. "So, tell me again, Higa, how amazing are these marvelous creations?"
The shorter man, Higa, pulled out a clipboard, and flipped through the pages, finding the specific notes his superior wanted. "Well, Tanaka-san... These are, by far, our fastest ones yet. Capable of hitting Mach 3.3 in an emergency, and having a stable speed of Mach 2.9, they will definitely be something to be feared. While they are more susceptible to incoming fire, they make up for it in their speed. I would highly recommend using them for recon more than anything else, though they can handle themselves in a fight. They are armed with two chokubi missiles on each side, and one on the bottom. If you decide to use them in a fight, I would highly recommend sending them in larger groups. This hangar holds one hundred at the moment, but there are five more hangars which are currently producing more, as His Majesty has ordered an additional 300, as well as 100, which will be sent to our friends in Poland, seeing as their scientists helped us perfect these."
Tanaka smiled again, and thanked Higa before turning around, taking his leave. He now was to head to a personal transport which would take him back to Tokyo, so he could report to Hirohito about the production being close to completion.
[The creation of these was mention waaaay further back, and since there was a promise to give some to Poland, I figured I better finish them up before I finish with Japan. They're basically MiG-25's, without the powerful radar, an additional missile, and a slightly faster speed. 2.9 is the highest they can go without ruining their engines, but they can get up to 3.3 if they need to get out in a hurry.]
~DED
Great Lakes
The Canadians had been sitting in the water long enough. Today was their order to completely withdraw from the great lake waters and dock at Canada. It seemed like this was the likely next step they would take, nothing was really happening at the great lakes.
((Might add more, we'll see))
"Naturally, as soon as those bombs went off I already had people preparing a counter. Samples taken from Seattle have allowed us to create Gas Masks that completely stop the gas. Making it 100% ineffective, we even ran a few tests. No injuries. We've been mass producing them for the last week." Said Fernandez, "Every military soldier and all civilians in the northern states will have them by October 1st."
((More to be added... later))
(( I'm going to make a better post ater when I'm not so sleep derprived. ))
"Excellent thing." Hou said, "But how long until you can accelerate production? I'd personally like to commission the production of some of these masks for China."
My DeviantArt, so sexy
The door burst down before he managed to reach it, and a pair of tear gas grenades were lobbed in. Ermano barely had time to dive to the ground before they burst, filling the house with noxious gas. He managed to squeeze a few ineffectual rounds off before several dark figures were on him. They began kicking him as everything faded to black.
--
A political prison in Rome
Ermano awoke and groggily looked around. He was dimly aware of a piercing pain in his head, but he could see nothing--either he had gone blind or the room was too dimly illuminated for him to see anything.
Lacking a better alternative, he felt around, feeling sheets, a mattress--more of a solid block of indeterminate material--and a metallic headboard. After a few deep breaths, Basilio tried to sit up, immediately falling back as small explosions peppered the back of his eyelids. Damn, that hurt...why was he here? Where was he?
Ahh, he thought. One of Batista's political prisons. He now remembered being captured, which would explain the violent pangs running through his head, but if he had been captured, then everything had failed. Perhaps Consul Tullus would smuggle him a razor to slit his own throat, or perhaps even a rescue team...no. No one went in or out of Batista's prisons. Nor did anyone last long in them. Basilio had seen enough comrades disappear to know that.
The prisons had been formed after Batista had gone rogue, and had originally simply housed dissidents. Nowadays they were almost exclusively home to careless or stupid RRC members who had been captured by the state's secret police. Ermano now could be counted among that number.
The room became white. Basilio was dimly aware of someone talking. The strange voice gradually became clearer, but his sight returned before his hearing, and he noticed that he was in a tiny cell with a bed on one side and a chair on the other. An average-looking Italian man occupied it.
"--hear me? I said, get your ass out of bed!"
Basilio did so.
"No wonder you idiots are loosing this war. If your comrades are all as dumb as you, we'll have Tullus within a month at most. Now, we have some questions to ask you. Sit on the floor."
Numbly, Basilio did so.
"Okay, listen. Here is our deal to you. If you talk to us--and be honest, we have ways of making sure you are--we let you walk." Like hell, Basilio thought. The interrogator went on. "You don't talk, we put you in an extreme amount of pain for as long as we can. And by that, we mean months of continuous pain. Your choice."
Without waiting for a response the interrogator went on. "Now: you are with the neo-Romans, correct?" When Basilio said nothing, the interrogator stood up, walked over to him, and kicked him in the rib. It broke, and he doubled over, gasping. He was aware of being yanked up, and the interrogator dangled a tiny aquila patch in front of him. "Cut the ********. We searched your house," he said, and returned to his seat. "Now, shall we continue?"
Basilio managed to gasp out a weak "Si".
"Good. Why were you in a house so close to the Vatican?"
"I have...always lived there," Basilio said weakly. It was true enough, but not good enough for the interrogator, who snapped "How long?" almost before he had finished his response.
"Since I turned 20...about seven years ago."
"Very well. Mind telling me what this says?" the interrogator asked, and dangled a sheet of paper in front of Basilio's worn face. His heart dropped. Those were the plans for the contact with the Spanish. They included troop movements, planned ops, even the location of Tullus' camp and the Senate. Thankfully, the sender had the foresight to encode it (aside from writing it in Latin), but, like any code, it could be broken.
He tried to remain calm. It didn't work. The interrogator noticed his reaction and grinned a sadistic grin. "Care telling me what this says, friend?"
"It is Roman," he said, and then paused for a breath. Damn. That rib hurt like a *****. "But I am unfamiliar with the encoding method...I can tell you...no more than your codebreakers could."
The interrogator stood. It would be a long night.
The seemingly terrified, defenseless man pinned to the ground could barely speak French. He struggled to comply with Garcia's demands, attempting to speak but being too frightened, exhausted and confused to do so. Garcia never stopped screaming at the poor man. He demanded the man told him his name and all he wanted to hear was " Thomas Graham ".
" Tell me your goddamn name! " Garcia demanded, forcing the man against the pavement.
The man could only utter out a response in his broken French, " My name is... It's Bernhard! "
" ********! " Garcia snapped, extending his arm toward Durand, " Let me see that damned picture. " he asked, pinning the man down with his other hand.
Durand, who had been instructing curious citizens to stand back, scouranged through his many pockets. Finally, he pulled out the 'wanted' picture and handed it to Garcia before going back to keeping people at a distance.
Garcia, having rudely snatched the picture out of Durand's hands out of frustration, compared the man in the picture with the man pinned to the ground. There was a striking resemblance.. except for one thing. The man in the picture bared a scar across his mouth -- the man pinned to the ground, did not.
" ****. "
Realizing his mistake, Garcia settled down, although still somewhat frustrated with the whole situation. He helped the man up to his feet and apologized, " I'm sorry. It was a mistake. Do you understand? " he said, speaking at a slow pace for the man to understand.
" Ja, ja.. " the man replied, speaking Norwegian.
It was then that Garcia understood why the man ran. The man was an illegal immigrant fearing deportation, not the fugitive they were looking for.
" You can leave now. " Garcia added, allowing the man to leave despite him being an illegal immigrant. It was the least Garcia could do. Having chased a man for several blocks, tackled him to the ground and accused him of being one Tejero's murderers.. It only seemed right to let him go.
A grin shot across the man's face. Grateful to have been allowed to leave, the man nearly gave Garcia a hug, " Takk, takk! he said. Without wasting another moment the man took off in a different direction.
Not wanting the few bystanders that had been watching from a distance to think of it the wrong way, Garcia assured it was all a mistake, "' class='bbc'>Ne vous inquiétez pas, c'était une erreur. Rien à voir ici."
Garcia turned to face Durand, a dissatisfied, saddened look on his face.
" Don't worry about it. " said Durand, trying to cheer up Garcia.
It seemed things had turned the opposite. It was now Garcia who was tired of chasing false leads to the point where he felt depressed.
" You know what? Let ME buy lunch. " Durand added, trying to keep up with Garcia, who was now heading back to the cruiser.
" No. I said I'd buy lunch. " he declined.
" I'm buying lunch. " declared Durand.
Knowing it was a pointless, ridiculous thing to argue about, and of course, not exactly minding saving himself a couple of bucks, Garcia agreed.
" Alright. Just don't make it romantic. " he joked.
(( Bleh. Not much different from what it was earlier, but slightly better. Still, I just wanted to get this out of the way so could focus on the other side of the chase. ))
(This is assuming that this is after the Tokyo conference. I tried to leave it vague but found myself having to bring it up once. I also only proof-read half of this, which is a lot better than I have been doing on some of my other posts.)
A shining beacon stood nesetled in the trees along the shores of the Lijiang River. The mighty river cutting through a dramatic mountainous landscape of sharply rising rocky hills standing fast against the dark, star-pocketed skies of Southern China. Their forms, the deepest black when set to contrast against the stars and rising moon. The forest around it just as dark. The distant late-evening lights of Quilin glowing against the sky. But within the darkness of area there was only that light. That beacon.
Set off the main road leading into Guilin sat a tucked away home. Built in the atypical Chinese style. The ceramic-tiled roof, bowing gentle out away from the home. A heavy brick base kept the wooden structure lifted off the wet, river-side soil. It was large, with several small wings expanding from the side. But not so much it would draw criticism from the Party to the owner of the house; one of their own. And with stately comrades alike in the home, it was best to not flaunt too much. Esspecially not after Mao, five years ago.
Rolling up the front came a long black car, a late atendee to the event within the house. As it rolled up to the front a man dressed in an officer's uniform stepped out. Walking stiff and mechanically he rounded to the rear-passenger side of the automobile and opened the door with a black-gloved hand. Hou stepped out, dressed more formally than usual. Adjusting his tie he nodded his farewell to the driver and strolled up to the home.
"Comrade Hou!" one of two guards at the door called, "How pleasent of you to drop by. Zhang Auyi is waiting inside."
"Thank you brothers," he said smiling at him. Making polite conversation before he could pass he added: "How have your nights been?"
"Good." they said in almost perfect unison, letting their highest commander walk by without further comment.
The interior was certainly well tended and prepared. The floor glowed and shone in the lights and the various ink-paintings on the wall showed perfect care. Men - officers and statesmen alike - milled about socialising with glasses of wine and cigarretes in their hands. Smiles and laughs abounded as jokes, humorous stories, and metaphors for current events were traded. From somewhere in the house the rich smells of roasted duck drifted along with a wave of other succulant aromas.
"Comrade Hou!" someone called. It was inevitable that someone would recognize him. He turned to meet the greeter and smiled wide as the resident of the house walked to him, a smile brimming with the hieght of joy that broke his wide face.
"Zhang Auyi," Hou crooned, bowing to the joyfull person coming to see him. His smile making his already wide lower-face wider, "Happy birthday."
Comrade Auyi laughed, a great booming voice, "Thank you comrade," he beamed, "I've heard that alot tonight and I imagine I'll continue to. But each time it's just as nice to hear as the last."
"I bet it is." Hou smiled, "So tell me, what year is it for your now, forty-eight?"
"It is. Feels like yesterday I was twenty. Time flies."
"I have plenty of experience with this. No need to tell me."
Zhang chuckled, "I'm sure you have. Well if you need to eat then I have appetizers out in the main dining room. Help yourself, I had it all made by a local chef earlier this evening. He's doing the dinner too, so if you like what he has out now you'll enjoy dinner."
"Thank you comrade," Hou commented in faked relief. In truth he had just eaten on the train here, "But if you don't mind I may have to leave after we eat. I fear something may come up and I'll be forced to make myself free."
"I understand, it's nice you to stop by though, thank you."
"You're welcome." Hou said, giving his political partner a bow and walking off.
With the two parted - if only until later in the evening - Zhang Auyi carried on to mingle with the rest of the guests at his party. Greeting passing hellos with a wide and polite smile.
He passed through into the library and into the thick of a congregation. "Comrade Auyi!" someone cheered. Spinning on his heels Zhang turned to the man who had called him out. Standing alongside a shelf full of photographs was an elderly gentelmen with distinct Mongolian features sipping on a glass of wolfberry wine, "I didn't know you collected photographs."
Auyi smiled and shook his head, "No, I don't collect photos, I take them myself, congressman Batukhan."
The elderly Mongolian raised a bushy eyebrow in curiosity, "You do Photography?"
"Yes I find it a rather explorative art." Auyi said with cheer, strolling over to alongside the collection, "It's speed, at least in the moment allows the artist to seek out more subjects to photograph. I develop them too, I have a dark-room in the basement."
Tapping on the wood-frame of a mountainus landscape he added with pridefull cheer: "I mostly just do landscapes. Goes well with hiking, and I can do it easily while going out to personally see the agricultural communes throughout the nation. Doesn't really require any future warning to anyone and I can break for an hour to go on a brief walk."
"Fascinating, comrade," the Mongolian politician said, "You done anything in my home-land yet?"
"I would love to," Zhang said, smiling politely, "but I'm afraid the few times I've been to Mongolia I've been kept inside."
"Sad, I think you'd like to see central Mongolia. I find it magnificant. Riding with some of the tribes in that region I can't help but be astounded by our expanses! Somedays, you can see for miles. Nothing but grassy meadows and the odd rolling hill."
"I'll keep note to try and venture around there when I get the chance to see your home."
"Indeed, thank you." Bathukhan cheered, "And perhaps you can owe me and my family a journey through the mountains here. My son would be enthralled to see such formations and exicting things as this."
"I will, and then you'll owe me a journey through central Mongolia. It'll be a favor."
"Aye, and bring your wife."
"I'll bring it up!" Zhang said, "She loves horses very much, so I'm sure it would be a dream to her."
Bathukhan rose his glass to him and let the minister stroll off. The Mongolian turned back to the photos and continued marveling at each of the black and white landscapes. As the two parted the moment the sound of someone saying, "Who stole my eggroll?" rolled through the general party atmospher, just barely audible.
Barely a few steps away Zhang's attention was summoned to yet another congregation of individuals. "Brother!" a man in military uniform shouted, calling the attention of Zhang. His arm rested across the hilt of his jian as he twirled an unlit cigarette in the other hand, "Beutifull evening. Say, you got a lighter on you?"
"Certainly." Zhang smiled, shuffling in his pockets and pulling out a small silvery lighter, "You need a light?"
"Yes, I seem to be a bumbling fool and forgot mine in my normal fatiques."
"It's no problem," Zhang said, flipping the top open he produced a tongue of flame at the twitch of his thumb. He held it out for the man to puff on, letting him get the flame and get his smoke to a good burn.
"Say, just wondering." the officer's friend said (another military gentelmen), turning to Zhang, "Have you ever been around Russia?"
"No," he said, flipping the lighter closed as the smoking officer got his cigarette to light, "Why's that."
"Just wondering." he said, "The two of us here have gotten word that we could be deployed somewhere up around the Eastern shores soon and we were wondering what the country is like."
"Ah, well if you want to know that, Baojia Hen I hear has had some time up there. Veteran military guy, helped Nikolov Nitski get a get grip when he was rising to power. He's a big guy, has a burn scar over his left ear. Ask him."
Before he could turn away he stopped and turned to the group, "When you do try not to point the scar out. He doesn't like it very much. But I bid you good fortunes when you're deployed there."
"Thank you!" the officers both said. The one with the cigarette went silent while his friend finished off: "We'll be sure to speak with him when we have the chance. Happy birthday."
"Thank you."
Zhang Auyi walked through the rest of his house, tradding continued light chit-chat with his guests. Passing into the dining room the smell of duck and hot tea became stronger. An open door to the kitchen provided fleeting glimpses of the men that zipped about inside trying to keep replacements for the appetizers and snack dishes already laid out flowing while making the last-hour finishing touches to the the main dishes. A couple guards - dressed in their formal military wear, with the addition of revolver pistols in holsters ontheir belts - milled about inside keeping watch of the cooks and making sure none of them attempted to poison the rather important people here. Often times they sampled the foods themselves (no doubt succumbing to the awesome power of smell).
Passing by the table he saw Hou chatting with Wen Xiogang, the secretary of the National Congress and Politburo. Predictably, the chairman held a glass of Lychee in his hands where Wen had a small cup of tea. Wen wasn't known for drinking much very often, where as Zhang had come to picture Hou with a glass of Lychee at least in his hands at almost every chance he had. If not that, water.
Zhang's smiled broadned as he passed his view over his wife, Bao Yu Auyi. She was a skinny flower with silky black hair, she conducted herself with a kind of royal elequence as she conversed with some of the other wives that had come to visit. Picking up a small eggroll from the table Zhang walked over to her.
"Oh, there's the birthday boy!" she smiled as her husband walked over, "How's the night?"
"Good," he grinned, "What are you ladies talking about?"
"Nothing you'd like to hear." she teased.
"Oh she lies," one of the other wives cackled, "No, we're talking about these beutifull fans she has hanging about the house."
Turning to the wall Zhang notted a cerulean blue fan with a large white heron painted on it. He chuckled, "She loves her fans,"
"Oh yes," Bao Yu smiled proudly, "I go into town and buy them from some of the artists there, if you look hard enough, you can find some simply gorgeous ones."
"Very," another wife added, "You know, you'll have to give me some names. I'd like to get some myself."
Before he could hear anymore Zhang kissed his wife on the head, "I'll catch up with you later tonight." he said sliding away. The giggling from the small gaggle of women could only make him hope that something wasn't taken too deep. But a trouble-maker's smile creased his face as he departed.
Looking back over the dining room he noticed Hou had parted company with Wen Xiogang. Comrade Xiogang and invariably followed another fellow Politburo member to another part of the house. Whereas looking through the glass door leading out onto the back patio Zhang had found where the honorable Chairman had departed to. He stood alone in the light of a few lamps sipping on his glass of wine, staring out into the mountains.
Zhang excussed himself and joined his employer on the porch. The sounds of the party momentarily defeating the silence of the night, attracting the attention of Hou as Zhang shut the door. Auyi walked casually over to the railing, eggroll on plate still on hand. "Nice night." he said smiling.
"Very." Hou said, looking into the mountains, "It's nice. You're lucky to live out here."
"What can I say," he said, "I was born here."
"It's a good place to be born." Hou commented.
"What about you? What about Tianjin?"
Hou looked over at him. "You've read up." he said, almost surprised.
"I've kept myself read up." Zhang said, "At least what's avaible."
"Tianjin's nice." Hou sighed, almost nostalgically, "Always had a view of the sea where I was raised. Technically outside of the city. I liked it."
"I would have loved to live out by the sea." Zhang said, "Unobstructed sky, clean smell."
Hou scoffed out a light laugh, "And then the industrial smell of the port greats you and you know something's off." he commented, "Like a lot of things at those times."
"It was rough then. I remember fearing the Japanese as a teenager. Now, I guess it's looking good between us."
"I won't spare much on it." Hou said, "But it's looking very good indeed. Strange how time may change one man's thoughts."
"And we've healed up nicely I think." Zhang said.
Hou nodded, "I remember marching through these mountains. It's difficult terrain, a pain to take. Lou Shai Dek was understably nervous should anyone try to ambush us. But, at that time how else were we to get the southern communes up to liberate Nanchang. Not to mention the country here was one of those odd 'grey' zones."
Zhang nodded understanding this all to well from a different perspective. "My classes then were always delayed under threat of the Japanese or Republicans." he said, "Somedays I wasn't sure if I'd wake up with my apartment on fire or not."
"University of Guangxi, Nanning China. Class of 1959." Hou said, almost as if reading from a personal briefing, "Yes I remember. Going for, agricultural administration was it? Odd considering what you were going for would have otherwise lead to private enterprise and not public. Lucky too you were under NPN protection, a lot of universities around that time took a huge hit if they weren't watched over."
Zhang Auyi laughed, "Yes, yes. And you've done your own research." he said smiling modestly.
"At least what's avaible." Hou quoted, illiciting another laugh from Zhang, "Dare I go on to prove my point."
"No, you don't have to, it's quiet enough." Zhang said, "So, why aren't you inside?"
"Honest thought?"
"Honest thought."
"When you see enough people, it's sometimes suffocating to be put into a house full of them." Hou sighed, reluctant on if he should share this information, "And for these past few days I've been dealing with a lot of people. I like a break now and then. And being doubly trapped inside Beijing, I can't pass on the chance to breath in some country air."
"You know." Zhang said, "Have you ever thought about taking a vacation."
Hou started laughing, "****, you must be talking with Comrade Mang," he said, putting his laughter to rest and taking another sip of his Lychee, "He always says I should. Go home for a week and stop trapping myself in that office. Truth be told, I don't think the nation'll let me leave it now-a-days."
"Why can't you?" Zhang said, "I mean, Comrade Mang is a capable person. Isn't he?"
"To a degree he is, and when left to his own devices and familiarities." he said, "But I fear that the moment a military or a purging request graces his desk waiting for some kind of signature he'll invariably stuff it in the darkest drawer possible and hang up the system. Further more I think he doesn't like the National Congress enough.
"Don't get me wrong on him, I like him. He's a good statesman and knows how to over seeing the national infrastructure and media in a broad sense. But he can't do everything. And he has a mixed feeling of interaction with the outside, it's difficult to predict him in that sense. I don't know if he'll shut down everything or open up everything. So for as long as a vacation will inevitably last, I don't like him to be anything more than a second-in-command for long. Esspecially when I was in Japan just this past month."
Zhang nodded.
"I sense there are some... intereing people in this regieme." Hou said, "I fear what'll happen if the wrong ones took power. Throw China to the wolves, or let her go public too soon. I want to handel this carefully. We're in strange times."
The two politicians stood silently, gazing out into the darkness. "And another thing," Zhang broke in, now becoming slightly uncomfortable. His mind batteling over whether it wants to feed its curiousity, or keep safe and avoid being purged, "As I've rea-, no. Uhm. How come I've never seen your wife?"
"I don't want to talk about it." Hou grunted, leaving the topic at that. It was appearant he wouldn't dicuss it any further. Nodding, Zhang finally took a bite off his eggroll.
An hour later into the evening and dinner was served. The normal dining room itself was unfortunately too small to fit everyone in the party, certain officers, regional officals, and other persons Zhang Auyi had come to know. But many of the guests had voluntereed to surrender the main table for the high-ranking personell. Disperssing themselves to armchairs, couches, or anywhere else they may sit the lower-ranked officals disperessed throughout the open rooms of the house to eat their dinner. In the main dining room national congressman to Chairman alike took a seat at the table. Bao Yu Auyi, Wen Xiogang, Wen Daohang (who was visibly becoming worn and would be soon holding to his promise to depart for home early, the event was obviously taxing him), Hou Sai Tang, and even the late-arrived generals Han Jang and Lou Shai Dek.
The food was set up on tables in the living room and main dining room for the guests to pick at their choice. With the completion and distribution of dinner the house became ever more filled with the aromatic flavors of pork and duck. Bowls of rice and mixed vegitables were spread on the table, some bowls mixed with pidan and bits of pork. Dumplings, and pastries. More bottles of Lychee and Wolfberry wines were produced from the basement and more tea put on to brew. A venerable birthday feast.
"My compliments to the chef!" Bathukhan said from the far side of the table, "This is an excellent dinner."
"I'm a particular fan of the pork." Wen Daohang croaked, "It's well cooked."
"Thank you all dear comrades," the chef said, hiding in the doorway to the kitchen, "We worked hard to keep the sirs happy and our hearts are bleeding happiness that you are enjoying your meal."
"Well, I invite you gentelmen too to fill your own plates and eat," Zhang Auyi said, "It'll be horrendous if you miss out on your own work. Go, go."
"So Zhang," Wen Xiogang said, "I heard you invited Quoram to pay a visit. Yet I never saw him in the house. Could he not come?"
"Yes, he couln't come," Zhang said, "sad, I was looking forward to him being here. But he wrote back saying he had other appointments to attend to.
On that note also... I invited the Ethiopian, Yaqob, to join us. But he wrote back declining because he's busy with home-based business. He did send his regards though, like Quaram."
"Security on him might be a little worried to," Xiogang laughed, "Afraid that he might spread 'seditious Persian thought' to some of the more falliable people in this house."
There was a round of laughter from the table. "Talking about yourself Wen?" one of the Politburo members at the table joked. There was another round of laughter at that.
"If you say so." Wen returned, "But no, I shouldn't riff on him too hard if that's the impression I gave. I met the Persian on a few occasions and he's a bright kid. It's the guys that Sing has on him that sometimes worry me. They're not dangerous per-say, but they're very orthodox in their position. They want to know exactly who's going to speak with him and about what, and afterwards what the conversation was about. I think it might be worse than what he has on Yaqob Yohannes."
"Yes, but they do do what they're told to do." Lou Shai Dek said, "I can say their inteligence farming abilities are well worth it and their encrypting techniques well worth having them about. Even if I must say, the whole department is a little odd."
"I think most of us know exactly how odd," Hou smirked, "I force Sing to report to me on everything they do and who does it so I can purge them properly."
"Purged by the mighty pen." somone at the table said, "Still, nothing will ever be as violent as when Mao went down."
"Oh no, not for a while I think." Hou said, "At least, hopefully not until the rest of his crew his brought down."
"Zhang," another man at the table said, leaning back from his plate for a moment, "May I ask you something."
"Yes comrade Huang Hi."
"Some of my communal constituants have wrote to me," National congressman Huang He said, "pertaining to a possibility of there being the potential of there being rough harvests ahead. Although we're making quota some farmers are reporting a drop in their production over the last few years. Now we cleaned up enough of the salt in the region to rule out it being an issue with salt in the soil. I sent some notes on it to you several months ago. I'm wondering if you got around to reading it?"
"Yes," Zhang said, "I read it over and forwarded it to some of the professors I knew from back in college. I've requested that they go in to conduct soil research and search for the reported issue as well as search for a solution. They sent me their preliminary hypothesis and they think it could be a lack of soil nutrients from generations of heavy use. But we'll no for sure.
"Know though that if there's anything wrong I'll work to get things back on track. So don't you worry."
"Thank you." Huan He said.
From the middle of the table there came a bit of laughter, "You really trust those egg heads?" a deep voice cut in.
"You have a problem with the minister's efforts comrade Gei?" Wen Ziogang asked, clearly puzzeled if not slightly offended.
"A bit." Gei said, "But can you think that they would surely find anything. Those college intellectuals know nothing. Their heads filled with ********. There a new cancer on China, as much as the Republicans were."
Hou, Zhang, and Wen clearly took some offence. "I think you've had too much to drink." Wen growled, "So comrade you better stop before you make a fool of yourselves. In case your muddled mind has failed to notice, quiet a bit of important people here are of those 'intellectuals' you insult."
Gei scoffed, "Little more than a restructuring of old things."
Zhang's mind was raced with unease. Feigning confidence he said: "Let's change the subject, shall we? What about North America?"
"As I said five years ago," Wen Xiogang said eagerly, "still an orgy of madness. Even if the current US government makes it a bit more of a thing to invest in and watch."
"We're supposed to be going in there, aren't we?" Bathukhan commented, he too eager to move on, "At least that's what word in the Party is?"
"We're still." watching Lou Shai Dek added, "To see where this war progresses. Or to obtain an opprotunity."
Commander Lou passed a look to Hou. "Opprotunity or escalation," he confirmed, "opprotunity or escalation."
"Well I think with the withdrawl of Spain from the region things might be more balanced." Wen Xiogang added in, "Wouldn't you say Comrade Lou?"
"That would seem to be, but we need to remember that most of the damage thus far has been conducted by the Canadians. Or at least they have the potential to raise Hell, like they did last time. Although, the Spanish were certainly a threat. But their departure won't change our plans or make anything softer. But it's nice that New England has arranged for us the disappearance of that threat."
"And we can't forget their own home-land troubles." Zhang said. His wife - silent through all this having nothing to truely input into the conversation - nodding by his side. "And you can't seriously think of Trajero that highly?"
"It's called gaining face." Hou said, "I wouldn't call him purely nobel or make him out to be a knight. But so long as I address the people about it, and the Spaniards haven't done anything publically atrocious it looks good on us to refer to him as a nobel player. As for preserving the board for them, we need to utilize this time to move to secure a better position. While our only threats are the scraps that is Brazil and those 'Republicans' in Russia."
"With our progress we will gain great footholds." Han Jang commented, "When Spain is finally capable of being on the field again, we'll be more than a match."
"I sense you have something up your sleeve." Bathukhan chirped, "Is it relevant to Deep Gobi?"
"I'm not obliged to say." Han Jang smiled, "So no comment."
"You're a horrible lair, you'd never make it in the Congress." Wen Xiogang joked.
"I'd never make it if I went on air." Han Jang said, "My good looks wouldn't be distracting enough!"
"Good looks? You look like you were kicked by a mule!"
The table, once again, laughed.
My DeviantArt, so sexy
//... after a day of ballot counting, the Derecha Unida candidate Alfonso Sotelo has won a landslide victory in the emergency elections, winning nearly 83% of the popular vote. At a ceremony in the palatial plaza this afternoon, the Cordovan senator became Prime Minister Alfonso Sotelo of the Second Spanish Republic. In an address to a nation shocked by the killings of Miguel Tejero and more than 1,700 others in the firefight that destroyed the Palatial Complex, the new prime minister announced his desire to bring justice to those responsible.//
A younger woman, who had been reading the editorial section of the Heraldo de Zaragoza, looked up from the newspaper laying flat on the coffee table she sat behind and immediately became transfixed on the evening news on the television in front of her. The live feed of a news correspondent standing in front of a dispersing crowd in front of the ruins of the Palatial Complex, where the remains of a large crowd could be seen slowly dispersing from the area in the background, cut to Alfonso Sotelo speaking before a crowd on the plaza earlier that day.
//... and for the heinous violence that killed our beloved Miguel Tejero and took so many of our friends and loved ones from us, companions, we shall soon have absolute justice!! I have been informed that the Justice Department, despite the chaos of the past week, has been working tirelessly here in Spain and abroad to track down Tejero's murderers! Law enforcement agencies throughout the world are graciously cooperating with Spanish authorities as I speak to find the communist sympathizers that have brought such grief to us... and here in Spain, any supporters or cells of communism shall be rooted out and brought to justice!"//
"See what I mean? You think I'm so paranoid now?" A suitcase-bearing man said, descending from the stairs into the living room where the woman was seated.
"Ay, cariño, you don't think they're going to think you're one of those people that shot Tejero, do you? You've never even had so much as a traffic ticket. Just because you were in the socialist party back when you were in college doesn't mean you're some kind of serial killer. You're just overreacting."
"If only you knew Sotelo... This ******* is the slimiest son-of-a-***** to ever enter Spanish poli-"
"You know I don't like it when you talk like that, cariño."
"Excuse me," The man said with a sigh. "But I'm not exaggerating. Sotelo has made a career out of doing nothing but being the most radical and vocal opponent of communism in Spain. He was already popular in the regular election, but this whole thing with Tejero getting killed has put this election in his lap. Now that's he's in power, he's going to keep on doing what got him to be prime minister in the first place: taking even more radical steps against communism and marginalizing and isolating anyone that disagrees. I'm fairly famous as a liberal journalist as it is, and with this getting published, I'm basically calling out Alfonso Sotelo on his bullsh-... nonsense." The man pointed at the editorials written in the Heraldo de Zaragoza titled Sotelo's Victory, and a Second Spanish Inquisition, are Inevitable.
"I don't think it's anything to worry abou-"
There was a knock at the door. The man, suddenly alert, tiptoed to the front window of the house and peered out. There he saw a black van parked in the street and two suited figures standing in front of the house.
"Señor Alvarado, can you please come to the door?"
"Mierda!" The man whispered. He walked back to his suitcases and his wife as quickly as he could without making any sound.
"Who's at the door? What's going on?" Mrs. Alvarado whispered.
"They've come for me!" He whispered. "I need to you to answer the door and distract them for as long as possible, I'm going to climb out the back window and get out of here."
"Open the door, Señor Alvarado!" An annoyed man standing outside called out. The knocks were quickly becoming more forceful.
"Where will you go?!" The wife whispered.
"Andorra... then France. When it's safe, I'll call you and arrange for you to leave the country. You'll be fine, I swear. Just tell them I'm out of town." He gave her a quick peck on the lips and then took his suitcases, ran to the living room window and threw the window open.
"Now go!" He whispered.
Marseille, France
"Where have you seen this person?" A suited Spaniard demanded in French, holding up a mugshot-esque photograph of some man with a scar on his lip. "We know he was here... we know you saw him here." He said agitatedly.
"Je ne said pas... I DONT ****ING KNOW!" A dockworker, handcuffed to a gas pipe in the corner of an empty warehouse, practically screamed.
"Stop yelling, frog." Another suited Spaniard snarled. "We don't have to follow the laws here. We're not afraid to just ****ing shoot you. Hell, it'd just be easier for us to put a bullet in your head if you're just going to keep yelling for help... don't make things easier for us."
"Shut the **** up - that's not helping." The other Spaniard, older and calmer, demanded. "Now listen," he said with almost friendly warmth as he turned to the captive Frenchman. "I'm just as tired of being here as you are, because every minute we waste here is another minute this man has to evade us. We know this guy was here at the docks for at least two days. Considering you work here, there's no way you couldn't have seen him. Now, I want you to think back and see if there was anyone that looked remotely like this guy."
"I already said a thousand ****ing times that I do-"
"You're not thinking. Think back to the past few days, try and actually recall someone that looks like that."
The Frenchman paused, thinking to himself for thirty seconds. The younger interrogator was getting restless and irate with the Frenchman, but the older one gestured for him to calm down.
"Honestly, I remember this one guy." The captive said, with his eyes closed. "He was bald though, not like the guy in the picture, though obviously he could have just shaved his hair. He had kind of a slender nose like that asshole in the picture."
"See, there we go." The older interrogator said with a smile. "What else?"
"He was with four other guys. I think they were buying an empty shipping container and wanted to have it put on a freighter, which I thought was weird and that's why I remember him."
"Did you hear that? Four other people were with him? Holy ****, they just might be the ones were after." The younger interrogator said excitedly. His elder ignored him.
"Please tell me you know the name of the freighter that container was being shipped on."
"Yeah." The Frenchman replied, squirming in his handcuffs. "The Spirit of Zanzibar. Some Ethiopian freighter. It was either going to Ajaccio or Benghazi, I can't remember. You're probably going to just beat up someone in the offices and have them hand over her manifests once you're done with me anyway."
"Snarky ****ing frog." The younger interrogator snarled.
"But that ship is eventually going to make its way to Perth. After that I have no ****ing idea... now let me go, goddamnit!"
The older interrogator obliged, unlocking the handcuffs and allowing them to fall to the concrete floor with a clatter. With the dockworker free to go, the two Spaniards made their way to the door on the other side of the warehouse.
"We know where you and your family live, frog. You say a ****ing word and it'll be the last word you ever say."
"Shut the **** up." The older interrogator snapped. He turned back to the Frenchman, still sitting limply in the corner of the warehouse. "But he's right. Keep your mouth shut."
((I bet we've already collectively written several novels worth of posts by now))
"Um... yeah. Here." Said the corporal, handing him an umbrella that was on his back. He, being from Seattle, shrugged off the rain like it was nothing. As they entered the tent, the American took out a piece of paper with a lot of writing on it.
"Alright, let me start." He coughed, "The United Socialist States requests an unconditional surrender of the North Western Coalition, and will begin an occupation the nation until the rebel problem is dealt with with. Upon which, the occupation will end. Failure to accept these therms will result in an invasion by the combined armies of the Asian Socialist Block and the United Socialist States Armed Forces. Followed by a forced occupation that will last much longer. All chemical weapons held by the NWC will be destroyed and all plans for them eradicated. The creators of the weapons will be sent to trial in a court of law for the death of three million people in... the Seattle area."
Tokyo
"I'll be able to get you masks and the designs for them within a month, at least." Fernandez replied. "Now then, when I return to my nation, I'll negotiate with the NWC for a surrender, so we can have less bloodshed. I'll also see if perhaps, an occupation will allow my forces to deal with the rebels since the NWC has failed to do so."
The Northern Front
The Canadians seemed to begin to loose the will to fight, and the Red Army began to take the advantage. They began to push forward into Canadian territory. It was the first time the Americans have pushed into Canada since The War of 1812, only this time... there would be no white house burning. Only Toronto and the rest of the Canadian cities. Nearly 50,000 Red Army soldiers pushed in, reinforced by 200 M1 Abrams, 250 M551 Sheridan Light tanks, and 400 M113 APCs. Grouped of the Air force, it seemed like the entire American army was pushing down on them. In some eyes, it was.
Hirohito nodded, agreeing with what Fernandez had said. "I believe that is the best course of action. We shall still be sending the armed trade ships, however. If the NWC wishes to resist, they shall assist you in taking them down. However, if they agree to a ceasefire, my men shall assist in taking down the rebels, as well as delivering the supplies, which the NWC could use in this time of need."
Hirohito then turned his attention to the representatives from the various parts of his empire. "I believe you all are fine with this. Am I correct?"
One by one, each of the representatives nodded. Hirohito, of course, didn't need their permission, but it was a formality. After each of them agreed, Hirohito turned his attention to Hou, waiting to hear his response.
Tokyo, Office of Foreign Affairs
Again, foreign mail came in. This time, a letter addressed from Chile, and President Adriano Claro. Again, the man there snatched up the letter, and made his way to the meeting hall, this time in a much calmer manner. When he arrived holding the letter, the guards recognized him, and ushered him in. One of the guards took the letter, and cracked the door open, motioning for Nori.
Nodding and excusing himself, Nori left the room. After closing the door behind him, Nori took the letter form the guard, thanking both him and the man. Cutting open the back, Nori pulled the letter out, and began to read.
"A letter from President Claro of the United Confederacy of Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay and Paraguay to the government of Japan and Royal Emperor Hirohito:
Greetings. Our countries have never formally established ties, but I have heard much of your nation and its great culture. This letter comes as an offer. Your civilization has long been suspended just off the coast of one of the greatest communist powers in the world. However, this need not force you to become like them. Your nation revolves around ideals of honor, justice and independence. We ask you to retain your values and instead of submitting to the Chinese power, align yourself with those countries that will not force you to follow your ways. We ask you, Japan, to speak to other nations like Australia or ourselves, and consider other options before you take the plunge."
After reading it over again, a shocked expression spread across his face. He personally was against Japan joining the ASB, so this was a ray of hope for him. Quickly jotting down a note on his legal pad, he thanked everyone one last time, and entered the room again. Walking next to Hirohito, he turned the legal pad towards him, showing him the note. Taking a quick glance at it, Hirohito read the note, and silently nodded, still focusing on the meeting, but making a mental note not to ask about joining the ASB just yet.
[Though I still don't quite get how they knew Hirohito was considering joining the ASB... ;P]
~DED
"I'll see to it some of our men are devoted to this mission." Hou said, "Not much. I'll see to it then ten-thousand of our soldiers are deployed for this mission.
"But if anything transpires that doesn't set well with us then I'll call in to withdraw our numbers from the campaign. A fair rule of warning."
(Considering that the decision or the contemplation was never made public I would consider the situation treading over into meta-gaming zones. Or whatever the term is for someone knowing something's going on when they can't see it, such as someone figuring out the upper echelons of Japanese government are considering joining the ASB.)
My DeviantArt, so sexy
(If I'm understanding this right.)
(Ah. In that case, just take the "instead of joining the ASB part" out.)
((But ya, I think the letter is a bit of metagaming))
((My thinking was along these lines. Just agree to disagree, let what is done be done.))
[Eh. I'm fine with just thinking it was assumed in the letter... Though I still don't know if I should throw joining the ASB out the window...]
~DED