Onwards Together against communism and exploitation
The Death ShipThe interior of the ship was still pitch black in places, what little light the grimy windows allowed to penetrate did nothing to illuminate the scene. Outside the growing storm rocked the boat gently, threatening worse to come. A cup of coffee, still lukewarm sat next to a bowl of soup. A quick scan with the thermal camera. It was, towards the bottom of the bowl, still warmer than room temperature. There could not have been more than a couple of hours passed since it was made.
Something clinked, bouncing into the corner of the cabin. The soldiers, already jumpy, trained guns on the doors and windows. Breathed out. Breathed in. A flashlight beam illuminated the source of the noise. A tiny, brassy case. Thick, black gloved hands lifted it up and inspected it.
“A shell casing. Looks like a .22.”
Static on the radio.
The stairs towards the engine room were dark, dimly lit by some auxiliary generator. The soldiers there gingerly opened the door and illuminated the scene. Strange paintings had been carved into the paint. Here and there, there were crumby of what looked like earth on the ground.
The fusebox that controlled and routed power to the ship had been thoroughly destroyed. Bent back by crowbar or other implement to expose its workings though there were no traces of paint from that metal tool to be found. The wiring had been ripped out and scattered through the room. No wonder the lights had stopped.
The men operating the radar occasionally picked up signs of movement but the density of the steel made these devices a lot less precise. Rats perhaps? Or something larger? The thermal sights did not confirm the presence of heat sources where the radar had detected movement. Radio communication within the ship was difficult at best. The signal was bad. The weather, the threatening storm perhaps creating interference. Reaching the helicopters was impossible.
Roztechko in the MorningThe deliveryman pulled the keys from the ignition and sighed. Even though they already ran the damn city the syndicate still insisted on this cloak and dagger bullshit to get the job done. Who exactly would have challenged them if they'd simply walked up to the department division in person, tooled up to the eyeballs and collected their due payment? No-one. That's who. Not the police, not the army and certainly not the private security contracted by Construction Enterprises.
And yet here he was. Two in the morning and the streetlights had gone out again. He'd bought a damn paper, but he had far too little faith in the battery of the battered truck to keep the dome light on and still let him start the thing up. By murky moonlight he poured a cup of coffee from his flask and sipped it, quietly.
He hadn't wanted to know what was in the truck destined for the syndicate. He hadn't asked. At the very best it was fuel oil, siphoned from police and military vehicles and kept in jerry cans. Guns would be worse. People....
He shook his head. He couldn't, he wouldn't, entertain that possibility.
When you really got down to it, here in a truck cab with no distraction, no paper to read, no one to talk to he was a coward. Six foot five and built like a brick shithouse and here he was, absolutely terrified that if he didn't toe the line and do what they asked... whatever they asked then he'd be dead.
Worse than dead. He'd been asked to cart some plastic crates over to a dumping ground. The Syndicate member who drove with him hinted at what they contained. The thing is, none of the crates were big enough to hold a whole body.
A tap on the window jolted him out of his seat. He looked out at nothing and was...
The cold metal pressed against the back of his neck. Very, very slowly he placed his hands on the dashboard, just as the woman asked him to.
“We'll be taking the truck now brother. We need those supplies.”
He saw another figure come skulking out of the darkness. And another. Four in total, not counting the one who had somehow snuck into the cab.
“Who the hell are you? You know this stuff is for the Sakala, right?”
One of them laughed. A man.
“Sakala is going to have far more to worry about than a truck full of guns mate. See those warehouses? In ten minutes, they're going to burn.”
They laughed in the face of the syndicate. It honestly shocked him. Even in the safety of your own home, you carried the fear of the syndicate with you. It watched you as you dressed, as you showered, as you ate and here....
“Yeah, you'd better clear off” one said as he stepped, shaking down from the cab.
“Don't worry, they'll figure you died in the fire. Now run!”
“Wait!” he shouted. One turned.
“Wait! Who are you?”
Towards a New OrderRain beat down hard on the compound, running through gutters and pooling where the large, concrete tank traps had been placed. It washed through the grime and grit of the brickwork, eating away further at already crumbling mortar. Even as far away as they were from the chemical dumps and permanent refuse fires of the forgotten North, the rain was taking its toll on the facades and limestone cladding of the buildings. A construction barely six decades old looked to be nearer two hundred.
The newly equipped royal forces had a grim task in front of them, though there was no doubting the authenticity of the lists handed down to them. Each testimonial, each record of evidence carried with it Balan or Valaska's personal stamp of approval. Shivering in their greatcoats they marched out to the waiting trucks.
Four to a truck, each truck could carry twenty or so in the back. The handles inside that would allow people to open the vehicle had been sheared off and great chains clanked against the door. Spot welded to the roof of the truck hung chains. From these, the suspects would be manacled.
They passed over the suburbs of the city like angels of death. The same scene to be repeated again and again in towns and villages across Royalist controlled territory. Here was a man whose house contained communist literature. There was a woman who had tried to agitate fellow workers into strike action. A teacher, a lawyer. Both suspected by colleges of harboring Bolshevik thought.
The strangest sign they had come across had been reports that secret Ninedayist cells communicated with one another by use of elephant statues placed at various vantage points in windows. Before today, the royal forces had no idea how many Ninedayists there were in the country. It seemed that almost every house in six had a statue of an elephant or two on some streets. The offenders were duly arrested and placed in the trucks.
Doors began to slam shut on streets when the trucks were spotted, children dropped their games and ran for the dubious safety of their homes. Occasionally someone would resist, though not as often as had been expected. Usually a swift application of force was enough to subdue the suspect. The soldiers rarely had to use their guns but orders were orders and those who resisted got two in the back of the neck right in front of their houses.
They didn't ask, because people in their position never do, exactly where the end destination for the suspects was. All they knew was that once the suspects were arrested, they were to deliver them to the nearest precinct. From there it was simplicity itself to hose down the back of the truck and drive out once more. They had orders, they had lists, and they had jobs to do.
Leozina AirportRasvan beamend! Sir Rasvan, now that was something. In this whole mess Gentile was the only true gentleman, a man clearly born to lead, a man with some understanding what was going on. Sir Rasvan, that was how he deserved to be called. He would take care to enforce that from now on.
"Gentile! Father!" Sir Rasvan bowed slightly to the two of them. "I admire your practical thinking. I will make contact with them. Construction Enterprises will have this airport back in working action in no time. There are more pressing issues at the moment. It is good to have you here father we will need your help" still smiling he turned towards the priest.
"We have exchanged the information on communists with Valaska and Balan we gave them everything we had about known Ninedayiststs or their families hiding in their provinces and they handed us tons of intel regarding reds in our sector. Operation New Order was a complete success. We have killed or captured
thousands of traitors!" with enthusiasm clearly growing as he spoke he continues
"The best thing is yet to come. Of course we can hardly arrest those under the age of ten. Even less can we leave these children with their communist mothers. We can't leave them unattended in a war zone either. Technical orphans we would like to see them deported to Lux Pulchrae. The Church can take care of them. Baptize them? Make them fit for adoption or simply keep them in orphanages. That would be a great humanitarian and Christian act. Those fit to be deported are interned in the Leozina stadium at the moment. Their souls will be saved from the cancer of communism." Turning back to Gentile he continued in a somewhat less cheerful voice.
"Let's head over to the Allaneas. Poor bastards hat to shit where they eat for days now. We have the confined to one building but no one dared to try and take their guns. Special forces, the whole lot of them if you ask me. We should bring a flame thrower when we go talk to them. If you'd excuse us father? We have a war to win!" looking back over his shoulders he added
"I really like the arrangement of the flags."
Royalist HeadquartersDripping wet from the soft rain outside Rodin Dolgan halfheartedly gave the Roman salute
"Death to the synagogue of zion, death to Ninedayism…" He mumbled towards d'Umbra hanging his rain soaked coat next to the door. Quickly grabbing a tea he approached Thatcher.
"We have to talk Sir." With a sideway look at d'Umbra he added "
entre nous."
Tabolov Revolutionary HeadquartersThings had changed once more. With the air support from the Albandrite People's Navy available the advantage had shifted significantly towards the revolutionaries. The chances of getting back into power were now greater than ever. It was only a matter of days when the people of Posteastan would take things back in their own hands. Things were progressing quickly now and the flu was much less of a problem now. Only a few of the men were infected. Less than a third. Almost all of them continued to do their duty. The strain was either much weaker here or the revolutionaries simply had a much better constitution than those damn separatists.
KOLVCE FREE STATEOfficial Statement of the Magistrate
To: Volunteer Legion for the Liberty of Kolvce
Subject: International Solidarity
OFFICIAL TELEGRAM FROM THE MAGISTRATE
I deeply regret to have to inform you that comrade Arcos is not available at the moment. We need your help now more than ever. Forest looks like a perfect place to us. A paradise of freedom and equality. We ask the Volunteer Legion for the Liberty of Kolvce to use the freedom of Forest to our advantage. Travel through your region and do what your governments refuse to do. Set up a network of revolutionaries in Caracasus, Uan aa Boa, Keilersmore and Rivienland. Recruit volunteers like those form CHU. The governments will never come to our aid the people's war has to be fought by the people. We need everyone who can hold a gun to defend Kolvce. The fascists are pouring in over our northern border. We thank you for your support. Comrades will pick you up in Kolvce city.
For the people of Kolvce
Martí Marcó
REVOLUTIONARY DEMOCRATIC SOCIAL UNIONOfficial Statement of the RDSU
To: Command of the Albandrite People's Army's operations in Posteastan
Subject: Air Strikes
OFFICIAL TELEGRAM FROM THE CHAIRMAN
Comrades!
That's perfect. From the intelligence gathered by our comrades form Karevka we came to the conclusion that the enemy has moved significant anti-air elements to the Leozina area of operation. Therefore I advise you to have the helicopters backed up by ground attack jets. If you have the ability to send special forces to scout the area prior to the liberation I would again advise to do so. Otherwise I will send my own men to collect as much intel about the position and make-up of enemy anti-air-units.
Vasilescu Tavitian
Chariman of the RDSU
REVOLUTIONARY DEMOCRATIC SOCIAL UNIONOfficial Statement of the RDSU
To: Peter Nizhinsky
Subject: Cooperation
OFFICIAL TELEGRAM FROM THE CHAIRMAN
My friend,
This sounds good. Very good. The sooner you deal with them the better. If you do that you are making a mistake. The royalists are all right and possible future allies. There are some fields we can cooperate on but they exclusively rely on foreign powers. Keep in mind that they have no locals supporting them. The equipment is much needed. We gladly accept.
The medical assistance is something different. This year a lot of people seem to suffer from a cold or a viral infection. It seems to be particularly aggressive and hygiene is worse than ever. Any help here will be appreciated.
Vasilescu Tavitian
Chariman of the RDSU