Ashkelon
Establishing Nation
GIECZ INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
GIECZ, UPPER SWIECZIEMAN FEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
There was a perfectly good reason why Nadzorca Benedykt Stukow was standing out on the tarmac at night, his only protection from the snowfall his old Steel Army officer's great coat. Danmark, an old friend close and ally against the communist scourge of Miroslavl, had sent their very own illustrious Hr. Westerveld to help facilitate the renewal of that age old pact that seriously needed an update. As the Germans to the west continued to sleep, and the communists continued to rise in the east and south, it was clear that a new focus of enmity be directed. And with the quickly changing pace of the world today, it was equally clear that the issue of who the guns and rockets should be pointed at was hardly the only question to be asked.
Benedykt flexed his fingers as the Danish plane descended, a little something he did to mentally prepare himself for whatever things he had to accomplish. It had been a few months since he had taken the reins of the Federal Republic, and things were working out... relatively well, all things considered. He admitted in private, of course, that the only reason this was the case for him, was because he had a certain.... helper... working in the shadows. Benedykt wondered if he would someday graduate from his position of being led around by his 'assistant', but now was clearly not such a time. He recalled the various reviews he had been given, of all the relevant issues that had to be tackled, as well as reading a copy of the original crinkled old document that had been signed somewhere in the vicinity of a hundred or so years ago.
He was confident. At least for now. His entourage and escort stood to attention, making sure that the critical moment would not pass. "Ladies and gentlemen," he started, "It's time to make our first impression in a while. Make it count, and make it last."
GIECZ, UPPER SWIECZIEMAN FEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
There was a perfectly good reason why Nadzorca Benedykt Stukow was standing out on the tarmac at night, his only protection from the snowfall his old Steel Army officer's great coat. Danmark, an old friend close and ally against the communist scourge of Miroslavl, had sent their very own illustrious Hr. Westerveld to help facilitate the renewal of that age old pact that seriously needed an update. As the Germans to the west continued to sleep, and the communists continued to rise in the east and south, it was clear that a new focus of enmity be directed. And with the quickly changing pace of the world today, it was equally clear that the issue of who the guns and rockets should be pointed at was hardly the only question to be asked.
Benedykt flexed his fingers as the Danish plane descended, a little something he did to mentally prepare himself for whatever things he had to accomplish. It had been a few months since he had taken the reins of the Federal Republic, and things were working out... relatively well, all things considered. He admitted in private, of course, that the only reason this was the case for him, was because he had a certain.... helper... working in the shadows. Benedykt wondered if he would someday graduate from his position of being led around by his 'assistant', but now was clearly not such a time. He recalled the various reviews he had been given, of all the relevant issues that had to be tackled, as well as reading a copy of the original crinkled old document that had been signed somewhere in the vicinity of a hundred or so years ago.
He was confident. At least for now. His entourage and escort stood to attention, making sure that the critical moment would not pass. "Ladies and gentlemen," he started, "It's time to make our first impression in a while. Make it count, and make it last."