OOC: This thread is primarily open for members of the Fegosian Union. Anyone else who wishes to enter can send me a TG.
Palace of the Governor
Anspach, Zaheran
19th December, 2011
04:27
The sound of a ringing telephone woke him. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming, but the sharp, insistent sound returned, yearning for his attention. The red numbers of the alarm clock told him that it was barely half past four in the morning. Even though his brain was still only slowly waking up, he realised it must be an emergency. No one would dare call him at this time unless it was serious. Was the damn town on fire? He swore and fumbled around in the darkness, crying out as his knee hit the bedside table. Finally, he found the telephone and brought it up to his ear.
”Governor Zoller. This better be import-”
The voice in the other end interrupted him.
”We don't have time. You must leave the palace now. I couldn't hold them back any longer.”
”What are you talking about? Who are they. What d-”
”Listen, idiot. The Emperor has declared martial law. They are sending in everything: the police, IntSec, special forces, even the damn Fegopol! They have issued a warrant for your arrest. For treason. They're coming for you, Joacim.”
”But how could they...You were supposed to protect me!”
”Don't you think I've tried? Do you know how many millions I've spent to keep those damn politicians calm? But you were to greedy, you damn fool. And now you may have caused all our downfall. Leave now, and you might yet have a chance for survival.”
The call was cancelled. For a second Joacim Zoller stood paralysed, receiever hanging from his limp hand, unable to process what his contact had said. Martial law? Arrest warrant? He felt utterly powerless. For five years he had ruled the city like a king. Unlike his predecessor, who had fought in vain to combat the drug syndicates, he had seen the wisdom of cooperating with them. They had been more than happy to pay him to keep the police of the street and out of their business. Some of that money he had spent to ensure that key officials in the capital kept their eyes away from Anspach. But now they seemed to have turned their backs on him.
He fought of the feelings of dread and despair. There was still time. If he could just get out of the city, he had a good chance of escape. He had hundreds of millions of reichsmarks hidden in anonymous bank accounts abroad, in countries where banks did not ask questions. Enough to give him a comfortable life anywhere he chose. Mokastana, perhaps? Comfortable climate. But no, better to avoid the Union altogether. Fegopol would surely have his arrest warrant out soon, if they did not already. There was always some tinpot dictatorship out there willing to turn a blind eye if you had enough money.
He dressed hurriedly, while screaming to the servants to have his car ready. He could already hear sirens wailing in the distance, faint for now but coming closer. The closet was filled with extravagant uniforms in white and gold, painstakingly handmade by the best tailors of Creutzburg, but he finally settled for a plain grey suit and a discreet tie, not without a sigh of regret. It was a pity they would have to be left behind, considering the fortune they had cost him, but it could not be helped.
He packed his bag with what he would need for his escape- fake papers, a spare set of clothes, about three hundred reichmarks in cash- and hurried out into the corridor. Two burly bodyguards were waiting outside the door, menacing assault rifles held in their hands. They were not brothers but could have been, with their muscular frames fitted into black suits, blonde cropped hair and massive hands resting on the triggers of their weapons. The only thing that set them apart was the fact that that one of them - Beni he vaguely recalled the man's name was- had a vicious red scar over his left eye.
”Car is ready, sir”, Beni said as Zoller handed him the bag.
”Then escort me. And hurry up, we don't have much time.”
The trio began to move through the palace's long, dwindling corridors. Usually they were filled with servants hurring about their tasks, but now they laid suspiciously empty. The servants must have heard the approaching sirens and drawn their own conclusions about what they meant. Their steps echoed hollowly through the halls of the palace. Despite their massive size, the two bodyguards moved smoothly like tigers, one scouting forward while the other covered him.
They had almost reached the staircase to the ground floor when they heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter. Zoller turned to look out, and the next second his world exploded in blinding light and unbearable sound. He fell to his knees and screamed as his senses were overwhelmed. Through half-blind eyes he saw black figures crash through the windows. He saw Beni raise his wepon, only to be cut down in a short burst of gunfire. The other bodyguard was lying writhing on the ground, with blood running down his face.
A pair of hands grabbed him roughly and threw him to the ground with enough force to force the air out of his lungs. His hands were pulled behind his back and bound with handcuffs. Two of the black-clad soldiers grabbed him by his elbows and pulled him to his feet. His legs were shaking, and would have given way beneath him had they not held him up. His vision was gradually returning, and blinking the tears away he looked around the room. There were ten of the intruders, all of them in black body armour, balaclavas and with submachine guns in their hands. Beni was lying dead in a pool of his own blood, with a look of surprise still etched on his face. The other bodyguard was kneeling on the floor, guarded by two of the soldiers. Shards of glass were embedded in his face. He must have been facing the window when it exploded.
One of the soldiers walked up to him. He had removed his balaclava, revealing a blonde man in his thirties with a thin beard and eyes that were glittering with ill-concealed malice.
”Governor Joacim Zoller, I presume? Going for a little night walk, are we?” He snickered. ”A man your age needs his sleep. Well, I've got good news for you, scum. You'll get plenty of rest once they shoot you for treason.”
The soldier smiled again as the fallen guvernor looked up at him in despair. He lifted his mic to his mouth.
”This is Alpha-Two-Two. The objective is secure. I repeat, the objective is secure. We've got him.”
Along the A26
Outside Anspach, Zaheran
12th December 2011
05:10
Captain David Zimmermann lit another cigarette with hands that were trembling with cold. He stomped his feet and rubbed his hands together in a vain effort to to warm his frozen limbs. Winters here in the south-east were warmer than they were in the north, but the temperature was still a solid fifteen degrees below zero, and a cold wind was coming in from the sea. It carried with it a gentle snowfall, big, soft snowflakes that slowly descended to form a fine layer on the ground. On a field next to the road, a group of young IntSec troopers had taken the opportunity to start a snowball fight, joined by a few FUPF officers. Cheerful yells and laughter broke the silence of the early morning. The FUPF captain smiled melancholically and flicked the cigarette butt into the snow, rubbing it out below his boot. The spontaneous display of youthful playfulness and enthusiasm stirred up memories of his own youth, and at the same time filled him with a strange sorrow. Some of those young men and women, he knew, would not survive the coming days. He wondered if they knew what Hell they were heading into. Would they still so innocently have played their childish games?
Suddenly gripped by dejection, he turned to look out over the convoy. It stretched out over several kilometres of Autobahn 26, the main route into the city from the east. Hundreds of vehicles, ranging from the APCs of the Internal Security forces via the black vans of the FUPF to the blue-and-yellow sedans of the local Staatspolizei. A similar force would be entering the city from the south, another from the north. All in all, he had been told that the total number of personnel involved in what had been dubbed 'Operation Nemesis', was a staggering forty thousand. A whole division of IntSec troops had been assigned to the operation. Six thousand FUPF officers had been called in from across the whole Fegosian Union, at what he imagined must have been a tremendous political cost to the central government. Police forces had been called in from every province of the country, despite loud protests by the local governments. Altogether, it was an awesome force, a hammer of justice to bring order to this lawless hive of sin and injustice.
But would it be enough? He turned again and looked at the city of Anspach, just a few kilometres ahead. There it lay, sullen and black, like a cancer growth eating into the pristine countryside. The outskirts of the city was a decayed slum, houses constructed from whatever haphazard materials their builders had managed to scrap together from rubbish heaps or steal from construction sites. Mixed in with them were apartments buildings from the communist era, drab concrete buildings crumbling from lack of maintenance. When he put his binoculars to his eyes he could see the inhabitants themselves: crooked grey figures, cowering from the elements as they hurried about their errands. The falling snow mixed with the mud on the streets to form a brown grey sludge that reached ankle-high. The rest of the city was not much better.
Anspach, once known as the 'Pearl of the East', the pride of the Duchy of Holstein. Now a city fallen to crime and misery, a black stain on the map. The crime and disorder scared away investors from the whole region, and scarred the nation's reputation in the international community. In fact, he had heard rumours from contacts higher up that the ulterior motive behind the operation was not simply to restore law and order. Anspach's location made it prime real estate, an untapped resource that government and industry were more than eager to exploit. Rumour said that a Mokan company had already secured a contract with the government to rebuild the city once order had been restored. Captain Zimmermann smiled sourly. Only fifteen thousand armed psychopaths standing in our way. What could possibly go wrong?
He gave the city one last disgruntled look and walked back to the van. The three vehicles of Special Assault Group 21 had been parked near the front of the column. A few officers were milling around outside the vehicles, smoking or talking in small groups. The others were huddled inside the heated vehicles; the Mokans and Alfegans in particular seemed to find the weather disagreeable. Not so strange perhaps, since they were accustomed to more tropical temperatures. The men outside looked up as he approached, with the same question in their eyes. But he shook his head. Not yet.
Music met him as he opened the door of the command vehicle. Some sort of Mokan pop, with the usual revolutionary lyrics. Head Sergeant Martínez was snoring in the back seat. The three snipers were in the back, involved in a hushed but heated discussion on some sort of technicality regarding ballistics. The radio operator, Smith, was sitting in the drivers seat, staring out over the snow-covered landscape. Zimmermann knocked him on the shoulder.
”Any news?”
The young constable shook his head.
”Nothing, captain.”
Just then the radio crackled to life, startling them both.
”Attention all units. This is Mother Bear. Phase one is a success, I repeat, phase one is a success. Proceed to the destination. Mother Bear, out.”
The captain found himself grinning, despite his earlier misgivings. The governor's palace was now in friendly hands, hopefully along with Governor Zoller himself. So far, things had gone according to plan. But then, the Alfagruppe was not known for fooling around. Now the plan would enter Phase Two, which called for the government forces to establish a base of operation around the palace. It would be a dangerous drive through hostile territory, but still, it was better than this endless wait. He shook Martínez awake.
”Get everyone ready. We're moving out in two minutes.”
The Mokan nodded and climbed out of the van. Zimmermann could hear shouted orders and cursing as the men tried to get the engines started in the cold weather. Slowly, the mighty convoy was set in motion and started rolling towards the city. For the next one and a half hours, their mission would be to reach the palace in one piece.
