SAXTONBURGNOVA CAPILE
"Herr General!" the major was panting, "Urgent radio transmission for you!"
General Erich Ulex was slumped against a crumbling marble pillar of the
Reichsrat. His right arm was wrapped in a bloody bandage, and even as he moved to answer the major a fresh flurry of gunfire made him wince. The bullets bounced off the pillar, sending chips of marble glancing against Erich's shoulder.
The major tossed him a radio set, and after fumbling with it for a minute, he brought the receiver to his ear.
"...General Erich Ulex, from...
Hauptmann Willi Dernen. The German 7th Carrier Group... air superiority operations... next hour," Ulex discerned through the crackling static and din of battle. He got the gist of the message, and flung away the radio.
"Friendly air support is on its way!" he called to his allies.
But can we hold them off until they get here?, Ulex thought. He glanced out from behind the column, and grimaced as he observed the battle.
The makeshift barricade was nearly overrun, with a ragged, torn line of Royalists holding back an onslaught of enemies. The black tide poured over the battered ramparts minute after minute, and each time the effort to repulse them became harder.
"What are reports from the other sectors?" Ulex shouted over the sound of gunfire.
"We control less than fifteen percent of the city," the major yelled back. "General Faulkner's men have broken, and his last report was from almost an hour ago."
Erich swore violently, and clenched at his wound in frustration, as if by punishing himself he could gain penance for Capile's sins. A runner, ducking low to the ground to avoid the creeping machine gun fire of the enemy, approached the general.
"Sir, we're running low on ammunition, and the anti-tank guns are out!" he cried.
Ulex gulped. "We have no choice! We have to hold them here. German air support is coming!"
The young man took heart, and Erich was so relieved he made plans to commend him, should either of them survive this wretched place.
"Hear that men?" the soldier yelled, sprinting back to the barricade. "German air support is coming!" A hurrah blossomed out of the monarchist troops, fostered by the desperate hope that only men who already know they are dead can muster, and it carried the Capilean lines forward. They repulsed the Fascist onslaught for another minute, and redoubled their effort at holding the line.
Erich hoped it would be enough.
KONGSBURGNOVA CAPILE
One could barely hear themselves think in a beer hall, Sonja Petersen thought, but perhaps that was rather the point. In the days of the monarchy the chaos of the tavern, the bottomless mugs of beer, the senseless, lewd conversation- it had been the only respite that Kongsburg's proletariat was granted. Now the Duke's tendrils had been pruned, at least from Kongsburg; but the beer halls remained, more out of habit than necessity, the locus of all after-hours activity in the metropolis.
Sonja had been frequenting the rowdy bars since she was sixteen; it was here, in these dingy backrooms, that she had first heard of Communism. At first, it had been whispered, passed down like forbidden knowledge, awarded only to the worthy; but now it was shouted out loud for all to hear. From those first secretive meetings, Sonja had been enraptured by the ideology; it was so foreign to everything she had been made to believe. Women could be more than just housewives, they taught. They could be workers, soldiers, leaders! And now here she was, twenty-three, and as fervent a believer in the doctrine as there was.
The revelry quietened somewhat- it could never be completely silenced- as a weedy man entered the low wooden stage that dominated the crowded room. Clearing his throat, he addressed the crowd.
"Ladies and gen- ah, comrades!" he corrected himself, attempting an inspirational tone. "We are honored to have with us tonight,
Parteikommissar Horst Carossa!" The assembly belted out a few cheers as another man took the thin one's place. Sonja hadn't heard the name Carossa before, but she was struck immediately by his appearance.
Carossa, despite his allegiance, could very well have been the poster boy of the
Vaterländische Front. He was well-built and tall, with blond hair, deep blue eyes, and pale skin. But there was one thing that set him apart from the Fascist fanatics, which Sonja could immediately notice. There was a wildness in his face that disavowed conformity and order. His body was poised to tear down the establishment, not to hold it up. His face was vaguely handsome, but the fire blazing behind his eyes made it more intimidating than attractive.
Sonja immediately began pushing her way forward, to hear what this Comrade Carossa had to say.
"Comrades," he boomed, his voice reaching the back corners of the hall without effort, "I have just come from Raus. The revolution there goes well!" A chorus of cheers rang out. "But I must say, your devotion to the revolution here is even more commendable. I can see that you have purified your city of the vestiges of monarchy, and that is all well and good. But there is more work yet to be done." The room reached a level of silence Sonja had previously thought impossible. She had reached the front of the room, and could now see Carossa plainly. He wore not the rugged uniform other Commissars had adopted, but the simple coverall most of the workers wore. A shiny collar pin bearing the hammer and sickle was the only sign of his seniority.
"The war has only just begun, and we must mobilize! It is imperative that we establish a land route to Raus. That is why General-Secretary Blücher himself has authorized me to begin recruiting for the People's Army. Our commune is in need of men and women- comrades!- who are willing to lay down their lives for our noble cause." Carossa raised his voice even higher: "I ask, who among you is willing to fight against oppression?"
"I am!" Sonja shouted, most of the hall's occupants joining her.
"Who is willing to destroy the blood-sucking leach of monarchy, the rabid dog of Fascism?"
"I am!" Sonja answered.
"It is time to decide, comrades: Will you sit out the war, working in the factory- which is all well and good, mind you. Or will you become a hero of the revolution? Will you fight against the hordes of enemies that gather on our borders? Will you liberate the proletariat that is still being crushed underneath the capitalistic bootheel in Colditz and Rochefurt?"
Carossa, eyes flaming, moved to his climax. "I ask you comrades, for the time has come to decide. Will you fight? Or will you allow the forces of evil to triumph?"
Sonja was nearing the front of the line. She had been waiting for nearly an hour now to enlist in the People's Army. She had made her decision even before Carossa had finished speaking. The man in front of her suddenly left the table, and Sonja stepped forward. Behind the knicked table was Horst Carossa. He smiled up at Sonja. Now that she was so close to him, the rugged handsomeness of his face was more apparent, and she flushed.
"Name?" he requested.
"Sonja Petersen." They ran through a number of additional, rudimentary questions, and before long she was a Private in the People's Army.
"Report to the Neustaße Barracks tomorrow morning at seven o'clock sharp for further orders," Carossa finished, handing her a handful of paperwork. "Long live the Revolution!"
"Long live the Revolution!" Sonja repeated. Hurrying away, she flipped absentmindedly through the forms and stopped when she saw a small scrap of paper. Written quite plainly on it were the words
Tomorrow night, 9:00. 312 Fabrikstraße. Sonja stopped dead in her tracks, and wondered vaguely what such a message could mean. It could have any number of meanings. Perhaps it was an order to attend some Party function. Or perhaps it was an invitation to something more sinister-
Before Sonja could consider the paper any longer, a heavyset man bumped into her from behind, nearly sending the paperwork- and the note- flying. Muttering apologies to the gruff comrade, Sonja returned to her living quarters and spent the rest of the night contemplating whether or not she should meet Carossa.
"General-Secretary!"
Terry Blücher turned to see a young adjutant scurrying toward him with an envelope in hand. The General-Secretary had been shuffling across the hall of the government building, from his office to the war room. Normally, such interruptions to important affairs of state were forbidden, but the young man clearly bore important news.
"What is it, Comrade?"
"I have here a missive from the United Socialist States of Rehs."
"Ah, so we have finally received some foreign recognition, eh?" Blücher congratulated, wide ruddy face splitting in a grin. The adjutant nodded hopefully, handed him the paper, and went to attend to some other errand with a loose salute. Terry was too busy tearing open the envelope to return the gesture. He squinted at the missive and read it hungrily.
"I thought right," Terry told himself, pocketing the letter along with his mirth. He strode to the door of the war room, and made a mental note to write a reply to Rehs. Opening the heavy metal door, Blücher groaned inwardly as he heard the bickering of the officers within.
The socialist generals, still looking uncomfortable in their stiff scratchy uniforms, looked up at Blücher, but didn't stop arguing.
"I am the ranking officer here," an exasperated, red-faced man intoned, "and I maintain that our principal effort should be to establish a land route to Raus. It is the second-largest city we have control of, and we cannot allow it to become isolated and-"
"Nonsense!" another, bald man broke in. "A joint offensive toward and from Pritzen would not only link up two of our strongholds, but would overrun the Royalist capital in the same stroke!"
A third, bushy-eyebrowed man intervened. "The Royalist forces are far too entrenched strong to overcome. We must break out into the coast so that our foreign sympathizers can provide us with enough aid to-"
"Enough!" Blücher yelled. "Comrade General Schäffer, comrade General Hoffmann, I respect your opinions, but I have already made my decision, and I concur with our comrade Marshal Novack. Our chief concern is establishing a larger socialist state by linking up with our forces in Raus. I have already dispersed Commissars throughout the city to begin recruiting volunteer battalions. With these fresh recruits, we should be ready to launch our assault toward Raus within a week or two." He nodded to the still-red Novack.
"And there's more good news, comrades," Blücher continued as tensions settled. "I have just received a communication from the United Socialist States of Rehs. They are willing to provide us with supplies, as well as a small expeditionary force." At this, the first actual signs of approval emerged from the officers. "Wonderful news, eh comrades? Now, get to work drafting our operations. I want to be delivering a speech in Raus within the next three months."
To: Chairman Donald Hákon
From: General-Secretary Terry Blücher
Hail, comrade!
It is wonderful to hear from a fellow comrade, and one who has successfully seen the implementation of Socialism on a national scale. That the BSU's goal, and we are well on our way to achieving it. Your support will put us one step closer to it, and so we approve it without hesitation.
Here is to the establishment of a fraternal and everlasting bond between our revolutions.
Long live the Revolution!
Terry Blücher
General Secretary
COLDITZNOVA CAPILE
Rudolf Maier watched in awe as his hero mounted the platform. Clad in the solid black uniform of the
Stoßwehr, silver insignia gleaming, Walther Nemetz was exactly as the posters painted him. He stood impressively tall, the same height as the towering black-coated sentries who ringed the platform. Nemetz approached the lectern that was position in the center of the platform, and looked out over his audience.
Colditz's summery square was packed. The men and women beside Rudolf were crushing him forwards, but he barely noticed. He was watching with bated breath as the black-clad figure, the sun rising above him, prepared to speak.
"My people," his voice rang out, strong and clear, throughout the city, "I have come to you to speak about one thing in particular. There are many issues I could have addressed, but this one, in particular, demands my attention." The crowd was held in rapt attention.
"Capileans, has it occurred to you that we are standing on the knife's edge of history? That there are two totally opposite realities facing us?" The same thought had occurred to Rudolf, had inspired him to leave behind his old life and forge one anew. Nemetz's voice was rising, taking on vigor and fervor. "One one side, is our utopia. It is a world where our nation, our people, our race triumphs. It is a world where hunger, pain, and oppression are eliminated forevor. Where degeneracy is eliminated, and we no longer fear for the safety of our children. Where we can be proud to be Capilean. Where we are the masters of our own destiny!"
A premature bout of cheering rippled through the crowd. Walther Nemetz raised a gloved hand and it died down immediately. "But there is a second world," he continued. "This is a world where our promising future is extinguished. Where the forces of Marxism prevail." Nemetz began building now, his words flowing with zealous passion. "Where degeneracy runs rampant. Where you cannot attend a cinema, an arthouse, not even an opera, without the enemy's agenda of pedophilia and perversion being shoved down your throat! This is a world where the bloated corporate conglomerates swindle the bread from the mouths of our children, where our government is overrun with corruption and stupidity. It is a world where we, the Capilean people, are enslaved to an international cabal, which is aligned with the singular goal of destroying us!"
Nemetz paused, gathering his hatred for that which hated him. "My people, I tell you, the world that I have just described, is the one we are living in right now!" he erupted. Outraged clamors of support welled forth from the crowd. Rudolf bellowed with them, imagining the faceless Marxist swine that he had learned so well to detest.
"Capileans! This is a new age. You can choose to stay asleep in this reality, and allow the enemy to win. Or, you can join me, and claim your birthright! You can join me, and seize your destiny! You can join me, and create our utopia! Come, Capileans! Let us ride down the red scum which have enslaved us for so long! Capile has for too long been asleep. Awake!" Nemetz commanded with volcanic fury, snapping his arm out in the Roman salute.
"Awake! Awake! Awake!" the crowd frothed, Rudolf chanting along and extending his arm in salute. Nemetz surveyed his followers while the drumline before him began to beat out the brisk tattoo of "
Kapilea, Erwache."
Rudolf's heart was full. He turned, pressed through the tight knots of people, and headed for the recruitment office.
Walther Nemetz returned to his office in late afternoon, utterly exhausted. Speeches didn't drain him nearly as much as the hours of greeting and crowd-pleasing that followed. Collapsing into the hard-backed chair behind his desk, he removed his peaked cap and ran a hand through his blond hair. He still wore the uniform of
Stoßwehr Reichsmarschall; the
Stoßwehr was no longer a part of the Grand Duchy. It was his now.
The telephone on his desk rang needily. Walther sighed softly and picked it up. His secretary, a dutiful lad named Hellmacht, was on the other end.
"Congratulations on your speech, sir," Hellmacht praised in his sycophantic way. "I listened to the whole thing on the radio."
"Glad you enjoyed it," Nemetz said icily. "Now, I trust you had something important for me?"
"Ah, yes," Hellmacht answered. "You received a communication from the Autarch of Vanquaria." Nemetz was silent for a long moment. "I left it in your desk, in the second drawer."
Nemetz dropped the phone, flung open the drawer, and removed an envelope from a stack of dossiers and old family photos. He tore open the paper and read the missive rapidly.
"Good news, I trust?" Hellmacht's voice echoed from the speaker.
"Excellent news, Jürgen," Walther answered. "Compose a message in response to the Autarch," he dictated, turning to throw away the torn envelope. His eyes rested on a photo of his wife in the still-open drawer. "And find a day next week for me to take leave and visit Katherine."
To: Autarch Scott Esic Tyeora of Vanquaria
From: Parteileiter Walther Nemetz
Hail!
It is an honor to be recognized by such a great and righteous country as yours. Your intentions are good and your cause noble, and I am assured by your nation's proud and venerable history that you will only do my people good.
Thus, I grant you access to Nova Capile. United, we will defeat the Marxist insects that stand before us.
Signed,
Walther Nemetz
Parteileiter
ROCHEFURTNOVA CAPILE
Wilhelm Knott sat behind a large mahogany desk, one meaty paw clenched around a glass of scotch and the other an envelope. His glassy blue eyes were staring out of the massive window of his office, fixated on the descending sun. Gradually, he shifted his attention back to the pressing affairs at hand.
As
Reichskanzler, the brunt of the civil war's workload had fallen squarely on his shoulders. It didn't help that Klaus, who was supposed to be unifying the people, was sulking in his palace while his nation crumbled around him. The man took a swig of his drink. His grizzled face was square and grave, framed by thinning white hair and a bushy waxed mustache. His frame was impressive, even if diminished by seventy or more years of life. He could easily have been a champion prizefighter in his younger days. Unfortunately, one could not punch the national debt into submission. Even Walther Nemetz, that petulant dandy, was well beyond his reach nowadays. Knott vividly wished he could rewind time by a few years and beat Nemetz to a bloody pulp before he had a chance to ignite this civil war.
Turning back to the letter, he spread it on his desk. It was a generally positive message from Castelia, pledging a huge host of troops to the Royalist cause. He authored a brief response, and then turned his attention to matters of even great import. He left much of the strategy to his military men, despite his background in the army, but their musings still required his approval as
Reichskanzler before they could be issued.
Thus, the Chancellor penned a second letter, this to
Feldmarschall Kurt Doppler, the commander of Capilean forces from Reiburg to Wolfcour. He finished, downed the rest of his glass, and felt a pang in his extremities. His bladder wasn't what it used to be. Leaving the office of his private home, he dropped the letters into the urgent communications pipe on his way to the bathroom.
To: President Gregor Constance
From: Reichskanzler Wilhelm Knott
Greetings, respected ally.
It is a relief that some foreign governments still have the courage to come to the aid of beleaguered but rightful nations.
I will be frank; your help is welcome, and needed. If we are to prevent another good nation from falling to radicals, than full measures must be taken.
I look forward to cooperating with you in the future.
Sincerely,
Wilhelm Knott
Reichskanzler
To: Feldmarschall Kurt Doppler
From: Reichskanzler Wilhelm Knott
Feldmarschall,
In accordance with whatever directives you have received from the General Staff, I have new orders for you. The Siege of Saxtonburg is not yet over, and I want all possible measures taken to prolong it, and, if possible, liberate the capital. Likewise, the strongholds of Mühlburg and Nordlingen must be supplied. The suffering of the citizens and garrisons there must be alleviated as much as humanly possible.
If realistic, begin coordinating a new offensive to retake the initiative and break through to Saxtonburg.
Sincerely,
Wilhelm Knott
Reichskanzler