Generations ver. 1952

[Josepania]

BRANCH OFFICE OF THE GENERAL SECRETARY OF THE NIEBSWI PARTY, OSWIECIM PALACE
OSWIECIM, LOWER SWIECZIEMAN CONFEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9/3/1952, 3:43 PM

The silence in the room was continuously broken by the rapid-fire clacking of the typewriter, its keys being struck almost seemingly at random, yet were quite deliberate and focused in their rhythm, as the General Secretary typed out his most recent report on the general state of Lower Swiecziema. Steel grey eyes peered through wire-framed spectacles as the typing paused and the General Secretary observed his handiwork with cool neutrality, feeling neither pleasure nor dissatisfaction as he did so. He regarded this task as menial, but necessary, for it was another step towards his true goal. That goal was for Józef Grudzinski, last surviving son of the Steel Hero and Premier Dawid Grudzinski, to become the next Premier of Lower Swiecziema.

He certainly looked the part, when compared to the propaganda posters constantly distributed around Lower Swiecziema. While quite lean in physique, when dressed up in his almost iconic greatcoat he looked far more imposing, helped by his public expression, a mask of grim determination to weather whatever is thrown at him. Emphasized by his short haircut and those steel eyes when not hidden behind his glasses, which he only took out in private or when reading something. And best of all, at least from an aesthetical standpoint, he looked young, fit, and healthy, an example all Swieczieman men should follow.

But that same strength was also his greatest weakness, the one thing that made his ambitions supremely difficult to accomplish: he was young, far too young. At only twenty-five years of age, despite slowly approaching a slightly older twenty-six, the thought of him leading the Lower Swieczieman Confederative Mezhist Republic was preposterous, especially to those already in power. The Veterans, the Steel Heroes, all had been older than he, though not much older, when they overthrew the Imperium and established the Mezhist Union. Now they were quite old, and had grown quite stubborn in the process, narrow-minded, unwilling to believe that their time was over, and they needed to step aside.

The Sanacja* movement needed to continue, they had said and would continue to say. The corruption of the Imperium had run deep, and only they understood how to purge Swiecziema of that corruption, for after all, they were alive during the final years of the Imperium, and remembered how bad it was. Józef had not even been born yet, so he didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, how much more work needed to be done.

But the young man disagreed. He didn’t need to understand the past, he just needed to understand the present, and what he could understand was that the Mezhist Union had stagnated, halted its spread of influence, too busy it was on its own internal troubles to much care for the outside world. It committed itself only to the containment of the Soviet Republic of Miroslavl, the Hated Enemy, and completely ignored Mezhism’s Mortal Foe, the Worker’s Republic of Carentania. There was, it was true, a time for Sanacja, but that time was spent, and spent well. Now was a time of action, decisive and aggressive, geared towards the elimination of communism as a threat to the Mezhist Union and the establishment of its unequaled dominance of Sarmatia.

Józef believed all that, and believed he was destined by fate, by God even, to bring about that Golden Age for Swiecziema, to rival and surpass the Golden Age centuries before. But he also knew that, alone, he could do nothing but scream and protest, and be ignored. So, a year ago, he decided instead to stay silent and wait for the opportune moment. It had come two months into that tactic, when his father, Premier Grudzinski, suffered a major heart attack and, although he recovered soon after, was visibly weakened by the affliction. Despite the constant, almost violent disagreements between father and son, the former had appointed the latter to the post of General Secretary of the Niebswi Party, an appointment that had prompted widespread protest among the Premier’s colleagues. But the Premier, for reasons known only to himself, insisted, and Józef soon after took over the duties of the General Secretary.

Said duties were purely administrative, and profoundly boring. Perhaps it was Dawid’s way of acknowledging his son’s ambitions and appeasing them, at the same time sticking him in a position that would allow him to get more experience so that, when Józef was older, he would be truly ready. Józef had no intention of waiting that long, but he had also swallowed his pride and recognized the true benefits of his new position. Not only were they following Dawid’s intentions, they also allowed Józef to acquire contacts. These contacts could be found in the military, the diplomatic corps, the corporations, and the special forces to name the most important. These contacts formed their own contacts, and for ten months Józef’s cabal grew, slowly and surely, without the Niebswi Party noticing what was right under their noses.

Those ten months had also been spent gathering intelligence, recruiting new followers to a cause already being called Solidarność**, its headquarters in the isolated island city of Pilzno, and planning for a coup that would sweep aside the Old Guard and bring in a new generation of Mezhists. Mezhists who were not afraid to interact with the outside world, and work diligently to take down its enemies, be they close to home like Miroslavl, or on a different continent like Carentania.

It had been ten months… and now things were ready. Preparations weren’t perfect, but the timing wasn’t expected to be this good for a long, long time, so things had to be improvised, and those involved needed to move quickly, in order to take advantage of the gift that had been placed in their laps. Besides, a base plan had already been crafted, tweaked, perfected so it could be enacted in any scenario, including a scenario such as this. It would take one week, and if all went to plan, in seven days Józef would become Premier.

At that thought, he smiled as he leaned away from the typewriter and un-holstered the Walesa PP he carried with him at all times to examine it. The gun was partially for protection, for after all he was an important figure in the Mezhist Union, but partially also as a symbol of that importance. It had been given to him when he turned twenty-two by his father, and despite his strained relationship with the old man, it was a prized possession. Every day from his acquisition of the pistol he practiced with it, be it shooting, cleaning, or disassembling the weapon. He had vowed to become an expert with it, and ten months of nonstop training had certainly produced results. He was an excellent shot, and the pistol was still in prime conditions, even with a few minor modifications Józef had personally added to enhance its performance. He had even used the weapon once, months back, when a communist terrorist from Volga had attempted to take his life. Fortunately, the idiot was not only a terrible shot, but armed with a Miroslavan piece of junk. The General Secretary had taken the assassin down quickly, which not only gave him confidence, but also made his public popularity skyrocket. That had been a good day…

With all that in mind, Józef reluctantly re-holstered his pistol, took out his report from the typewriter and, satisfied with the results, placed the paper in a tray labeled ‘Outgoing’. He then, far more enthusiastically, reached for the phone to make four calls to his top lieutenants in the Solidarność movement spread out over all of Lower Swiecziema, four calls that would change Swiecziema and the Mezhist Union for the better…

OOC:
*Sanation
**Solidarity

 

[Josepania]

OFFICE OF MAJOR ANASTAZYA KOWALSKA, ARMY BASE KOSCIUSZKOW
KOSCIUSZKOW, LOWER SWIECZIEMAN CONFEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9/4/1952, 2:21 PM

Despite the prestige that generally went into the military of the Mezhist Union, especially that of the reliable and honorable army, it was a fact of life that in much of Lower Swiecziema, you would find yourself in the middle of nowhere, prestigious or unknown you may be. So it was that the army base close to the major city of Kosciuszkow, itself named after a famous Swieczieman general centuries ago, was far enough north to experience Lower Swiecziema's infamous cold and a bleak environment, especially when winter rolled around. The city itself was notable almost solely for its fishing industry, even surpassing that of Oswiecim or Stradow. For most army men and women, however, Kosciuszkow was known for the army base's training program, where all recruits and conscripts went to be shaped and molded into the meanest, intimidating, and cold-hearted sons of bitches in the Mezhist Union and, some would say, in the world.

The temperatures, after all, were only comfortable a few months out of the year. The rest of the time it varied from 'distinctly uncomfortable' to 'God's personal freezer'. The drill instructors also had a nasty habit of keeping the recruits and conscripts inside most of the time when it was livable outside, and sending them outside for exercises when logic clearly dictated for all to stay indoors. It was never fun, constant torture, and occasionally resulted in severe injuries or deaths, which prompted the state to provide some compensation to the relatives of the unlucky bastards. By most other standards, especially those of the west, it was borderline criminal.

But the flip-side was undeniable. Those who survived the training tended to be outstanding soldiers, at the minimum physically, preferably mentally too, for one learned to use their wits as well as their bodies to keep warm and stay alive. Even when the training was over and even when some chose to return to civilian life rather than pursue a military career, their experiences at Kosciuszkow Army Base would never be forgotten, and in times of conflict, they could be counted on by the state to do their duty by being more than simple cannon fodder. They could instead be cannon fodder who'd give the enemy what-for in the process.

Major Anastazya Kowalska was a successful result of that training, an example that not only could any man become a reliable solider when going through 'God's Freezer', but also any woman. She was the daughter of a prominent military family, who could trace its military history back centuries, and with that pride in mind, along with the knowledge that the Mezhist Union had relaxed its restrictions on gender based solely on exceptions of potential strength, she had joined up to be an officer eight years ago, at the age of eighteen. She had endured constant discrimination by her fellow students and some of her instructors, at any time she could've quit and went into a more support-oriented role of the military like the Logistics Corps, where most fighting women of the Mezhist Union went (and even then, not many). But Anastazya fought back, sometimes literally with the meathead students who thought she was a pushover, the broken bones she left them quickly changing their minds. She proved her instructors wrong time and time again by giving outstanding performances as an officer when it came to sheer toughness, a cunning tactical mind, and an almost supernatural determination geared towards never backing down from a challenge.

The Major herself was a fine specimen of Swieczieman vigor and youth. Striking in appearance, she was clearly hardened from whatever softer, public features she had when she first joined the army, both by the weather and her fellow Swiecziemans. With regulation-length black hair, a toned physique with only a hint of feminine curves, and dark, brown eyes that burned with the fire in her that propelled her to heights everyone said she couldn't reach, she matched the propaganda posters almost perfectly in appearance, as well as attitude. She was an enthusiastic, almost fanatical supporter of Niebswism and the Union, had a no-nonsense, blunt approach to life, and was never one to back down from a fight, damn the odds.

That steel-crafted character of hers, along with a body fit for a soldier, allowed her to excel over her fellow students, despite all that was thrown at her, and she had reached the rank of Major only seven months ago, almost exactly five years after she joined as a simple cadet with everything riding against her. She was, to be frank, proud of her achievement, not in the least because she was only twenty-six years of age, but also because she was a woman. Those two aspects, however, were curses that could not be lifted no matter how hard she tried. When she had told a friendly instructor she wanted to continue her rise in power, that instructor informed her she would not reach the age of Pułkownik* until the age of thirty, at the minimum, no matter her record. This was simply because it took a lot of political capital to allow her to get this far at such a young age, as a woman no less. To go further was close to unthinkable, as the old habits with the Veterans in power died hard. Indeed, the only reason she managed to make it above Kapitan** was because there was enough bullshitted bureaucratic paperwork to make it seem like she was in the Logistics Corp, making it easier for the powers that be to grant her the rank she deserved.

This news angered Major Kowalska, but no matter how much she argued, reasoned, even begged at one point, she was told it would not happen, not for a very long time, and in the meantime, she would be stuck at Army Base Kosciuszkow for reasons known only to the higher ups. It was, in short, a dead end for the next couple of years. She would never have accepted such a humiliating post, all things considered, if not for the intervention of Józef Grudzinski. She and Józef had been childhood friends for many years, and it was rumored by some that they were lovers too, though no one was ever able to get concrete proof to such claims. Whatever the reason why though, Józef, after a few hours of private conversation with Anastazya, managed to convince her to take the posting and stay quiet about it.

No one knew how he did it, only he and Anastazya and to the latter, the reason why finally came ringing at her telephone just yesterday. She had become one of Józef's top lieutenants in the Solidarność movement he had put together over the past year, and he had promised her that day that she would get revenge on those who dared to try and keep her down, but that she had to be patient, and work with Józef until the time was right. That time was now, he had said over the phone yesterday. Immediately after the phone call, she began getting in touch with all her contacts in the military, primarily the army. Despite the fact that she was an anomaly, she was much admired, and so it was easy for her to find sympathetic ears to not just her cause, but Józef's. They all had their own, differing reasons to join up, but the 'whys' mattered not. What mattered was that, merely a day in, they were responding in force, and getting in touch with their own contacts explaining the situation and the plan. When the time came, at this rate nearly the entire army and indeed a good portion of the rest of the armed forces would be firmly behind Józef and his followers, all thanks to Anastazya.

That thought brought a cold smile to her lips, her mind taken away from its daydreaming to examine the disassembled pistol in front of her. To a regular observer, it was a Walesa PA38, standard-issue to soldiers in the Army. They would technically be correct, but would be missing a key component: it was Anastazya's pistol. She had cared for it since she was first given it like a mother would care for a child. For the pistol was more to her than a simple firearm, it was a symbol of her ability to rise above others and prove her strength to the world, damn the opposition. In times of pain, of sadness, and of anger, when she could not rely on Józef, she relied on this pistol, and it had given her renewed strength to face the world and show it she would not back down, that she would keep moving forward. It was more than her pistol, it was, next to Józef, her reason for being Anastazya, the Swieczieman girl who would defy all expectations and bring a new age to her land, her people, indeed herself.

The smile at that thought, and others involving Józef, was slightly warmer as she carefully cleaned out the barrel, and soon after beginning the process of putting the pistol back together. She would make a few more phone calls after that, to keep the process of bringing much needed change to Swiecziema, and getting not just justice, but sweet, sweet revenge for Anastazya. For a product of 'God's Freezer', revenge was best served cold indeed...

OOC: *Colonel / **Captain

 

[Josepania]

SHOOTING LANE 7, STRADÓW NAVAL BASE INDOOR FIRING RANGE
STRADÓW, LOWER SWIECZIEMAN CONFEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9/5/1952, 10:32 AM

Eyes narrowed as they focused on the remnants of a target yards away, the index finger gently squeezing the trigger of the Jankowski PSa 3, expelling the last round in the standard naval pistol's chamber, which ended up in the gaping hole that was once the bullseye of that same target the shooter was looking at. Save for one exception, most of the impacts appeared to be very close to if not in the direct center of the target, a testament to the shooter's skill in accuracy. That skill was noted with a neutral, but satisfied nod by Boleslaw Gorski as he lowered his pistol, flipping the safety back on as he did so.

Boleslaw was a tall, gangly man, his limbs seemingly stretched as though he were made of rubber rather than flesh and bone. The stretched appearance extended beyond the arms and legs, including his thin torso and a long, hawkish face that gave off the aura of a war veteran in his forties, when in fact it belonged to a youth of twenty-seven. That youth nonetheless managed to show an energy expected of his age in all his movements, which were calm, deliberate, and efficiently executed. His calmness was present in his demeanor and speech, accompanied by a quiet, enchanting charm that made Boleslaw an outstanding negotiator and, subsequently, diplomat.

More accurately, a diplomat's aide. By meritocratic standards, Boleslaw should have been a full fledged diplomat at the minimum. He knew it, his subordinates knew it, and most irritatingly, his superiors knew it. But his youth, far from being an ally, was a traitor in this aspect. He did not have the experience, apparently, necessary to qualify for such a prestigious position, not even that of an envoy to his country's big brother, Upper Swiecziema. So, they told him, they had to keep him as an aide for now, but not for long! Oh no, soon they would convince the powers-that-be that such potential should not go to waste!

Those promises rang hollow now, after two years of no results whatsoever, a fact Boleslaw regarded, externally, with calm acceptance, but internally a cold fire blazed within him, this injustice and refusal to acknowledge his skills a leash he strained to free himself from. It was no surprise, then, that he was a close ally of fellow rebellious youth Józef Grudzinski, currently General Secretary of the Niebswi Party, but destined to be Premier of Lower Swiecziema. In fact, Boleslaw was one of Józef's top lieutenants, and for the past year he had worked closely with Józef and his other lieutenants in setting up a solid network for their movement, a movement many were calling Solidarność. Boleslaw's job was, partially, to assist Józef's other lieutenant Anastazya Kowalska in getting the navy on his side. The fact that Boleslaw had been part of the navy and had kept up connections there was great assistance, and by now a majority of the sea dogs were ready to proclaim Józef their Kapitan, as it were.

But Boleslaw's primary duty was related to his primary skill: diplomacy. He not only got enough sympathetic ears in the Diplomatic Corps to promise to spin this upcoming coup as best as they could, but even got Upper Swiecziema, or at least, the parts that mattered, to support Józef. It was a surprisingly easy task, even considering Boleslaw's best expectations. It hadn't been long before his initial probings had encountered Józef's strongest 'foreign' ally, an ally who, better yet, was brilliantly placed. She was officially a nobody in the bureaucratic world, barely worth a second glance. But she also held a power shared by few, rivaling that of the ailing Upper Swieczieman Premier himself. It didn't take long for Boleslaw and the contact to set up a network that fed Upper Swieczieman intelligence to Boleslaw in Stradów, who then passed it on to Józef and his other lieutenants, leading the group to new recruits, primary and secondary targets who would be neutralized in the coup, and further allies in Upper Swiecziema who would, at minimum, turn a blind eye to what was bubbling and toiling beneath the surface of Lower Swiecziema, with the Sanacja movement none the wiser.

Now, a mere three days ago, Boleslaw had gotten a call from Józef, giving the diplomat the go-ahead to begin the final preparations, as what they had been preparing for over a year ago, was going to take place in only a few days. By the tenth, Józef would be Premier, and Boleslaw would have a job suitable to his skills... or, they would be in prison if they were lucky, six feet under if they weren't. But Boleslaw wasn't worried about that. The plan was quite impressive, nearly foolproof. "And besides," he thought to himself as he holstered his Mauser HSc, a gun he had carried since he first joined the navy six years ago, "All else fails, I'll just talk my way out of it."

That's what Boleslaw was good at, after all...

 

[Josepania]

OFFICE OF THE CEO OF OILSARMATIA, ARCODOWZS BRANCH OF OILSARMATIA
ARCODOWZS, LOWER SWIECZIEMAN CONFEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9/6/1952, 8:12 AM

Releasing a drawn-out yawn, the heavy-set man stretched out, feeling and hearing his spine realign one bone at a time, eventually giving a satisfied groan as he sank back into the comfy executive chair. His mission to achieve comfort a success, he observed the view out the window once more, enjoying the slowly rising sun from the east as it extended its light across not just Arcodowzs, that bustling major city in Swiecziema's south, but through the gorgeous countryside as well, covered with farmland that produced much of the Mezhist Union's food supply. This, the man pondered with a chuckle, was especially important, as that food supply allowed him to remain comfortable even in the most uncomfortable of times. That comfort was also practical, giving him enough blubber to take part in his usual swims in near frigid waters, a practice many of his fellow Swiecziemans felt was insane.

An insane fat man Wladyslaw Zielinski may have been, but he was a clever one, going by his record. He was a man of numbers as well as food, and had proven himself to be an unorthodox economist compared to his colleagues and professors. This was because, unlike them, he did not let dogma get in the way of a good economic policy. If the situation called for capitalism, he was more than happy to use capitalism. If it called for socialism, he wouldn't hesitate to use socialism. Hell, if he had to borrow heavily from communism to get out of a jam, Wladyslaw would bite the bullet and do so. The trick was making it all work together without any hiccups, and Wladyslaw, more often than not, managed to succeed in that. He called his methods the "School of Practicality". His more dogmatic colleagues called it the work of a crackpot, an amateur, even heretical at times, especially the usage of communism.

It didn't help that Wladyslaw was very, very young. He was the youngest of Jozef Grudzinski's lieutenants in fact, at a mere twenty-four years of age. These two factors had often landed Wladyslaw in very hot water, putting his career, even occasionally his life on the line. Nonetheless, Wladyslaw managed to have enough connections, including that of the General Secretary, to make sure his substantial amount of skin stayed intact. The politically minded advice helped too, for although Jozef was constantly irritated by Wladyslaw's comparative immaturity, the man saw talent, and knew that Wladyslaw was useful to his goals. The feeling was mutual, for Jozef had provided Wladyslaw with direction in his life, and better yet, opportunity, for Jozef had ambitions that impressed Wladyslaw, and even prompted some of his own personal ambitions to resurface.

Needless to say, Wladyslaw became an enthusiastic, if constantly teasing, supporter of Jozef's cause, and with little complaint toned himself down so that, for the past year, he could reestablish contacts, not just in his old branch of service, the air force, but also in the corporate realm, his true home. It had been rocky at first, because by that time Wladyslaw had established something of a reputation CEOs were not entirely fond of. But then, they hadn't talked to Wladyslaw personally, so there were still chances. Better yet, economic times weren't as good as they could have been, owing to the global recession plaguing the world as well as Lower Swiecziema, and the tepid, almost half-hearted response the Sanacja movement had to that recession. Wladyslaw's own charm, combined with a little help from the scarecrow Boleslaw and that spook that creeped out all of Jozef's other lieutenants, potential troublemakers were either seduced, or neutralized.

Such as now with OilSarmatia, (fortunately with seduction rather than neutralization) though to be fair, he was entering with a significant advantage. OilSarmatia hadn't been turning much of a profit over the past few years, and the Niebswi Party had stubbornly stuck with the same policies enacted so many years ago, in keeping exportation of Swieczieman oil to a minimum, if it existed at all. War stockpiling was all well and good, and the oil reserves of the Mezhist Union designed to grind the Hated Enemy, Miroslavl into the steppe were undeniably impressive. But actual war still seemed far off, and the cost of public importation from Talemantros was piling up, right alongside the much smaller pile of oil imports from Media, which was kept under wraps to keep the dogma of being opposed to communism whenever and wherever possible alive.

Naturally, as a true economic genius, Wladyslaw pounced on such hypocrisy, pointing out how ridiculous it was to not export a product you produced in mass quantities. Now, obviously, a majority would still be set aside for military stockpiles, because there was a potential war with Miroslavl in the wings after all, but increased export was something Jozef was willing to consider, far more than the Sanacja movement currently was. Furthermore, Jozef was willing to use international political capital the Mezhist Union possessed but was not used by the more isolationist Sanacja movement to achieve far better import prices from both Talemantros and Media. Because unlike the Sanacja movement, both Wladyslaw and Jozef were willing to think outside the box in order to help Lower Swiecziema's corporations acquire more money that could be used to stimulate the sagging economy, providing a better life for all and, thus, a stronger Mezhist Union. That was what it was all about, after all.

Long story short, the CEO of OilSarmatia was suitably impressed, and after days of negotiation, Wladyslaw was supremely successful, and he reported as such to Józef's office in Pilzno. Doubtless that would be very welcome news for the General Secretary to go along with Wladyslaw's other successes in the corporate field. Almost all of the major economic coalitions were behind him now, and the few holdouts would be dealt with in today and tomorrow. In the meantime, Wladyslaw needed to get a coffee, for he was to meet with the head of the Malek Aeronautics Coalition today and make the same case as he did with OilSarmatia and all other coalitions before it: Sanacja wasn't working anymore. It was time for a new, more active government to stimulate the economy and money flow, like that of the Solidarność movement.

It'd be easier this time, Wladyslaw thought, as he became aware of the small presence at his hip, his Jankowski Ko96, a relic from his air force days, back when he was thinner and a hotshot pilot. The girth had expanded and the skills had rusted, but Wladyslaw still kept that pilot's charm and swagger, which had helped him in all his negotiations. It would provide more help here, as he could run out his service history to get some more sympathy from the CEO, who was also apparently an air force veteran. It might not have been necessary, as the intel provided said the CEO was already sympathetic, but protocol demanded Wladyslaw take part to make sure the deals went through. That's apparently how things worked in the corporate world. Wladyslaw didn't mind, he was getting used to this corporate environment...

 

[Josepania]

SUB-LEVEL SEVEN, MICIODOW BRANCH OF THE SWIECZIEMAN SECRET SERVICE
MICIODOW, LOWER SWIECZIEMAN CONFEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9/7/12, 9:56 A.M.

With a heavy sigh, the man rubbed his eye, a futile attempt to ward off the headache that was forming around those same windows to the world. There was a simple reason for the pain; the glowing monitor in front of the Swieczieman, which was currently displaying a list of some kind he barely cared about, but was forced to nonetheless because it was his job. It did not help that the lighting in the room was poor at best, and wrapped him in shadows, obscuring his features and surroundings. It was theorized by him and his co-workers that it was not only to bolster the self-identification of mysterious men and women in shadows, working tirelessly to keep Lower Swiecziema safe and her enemies not, but also to hide their bosses, so they could sneak up without warning and make sure their agents were not goofing off.

Personally, Kazimierz Nowak thought it was a useless theatrical trick and, thus, a waste of time.

Besides, he didn't need his eyes to make sure he was not being watched by one of his bosses. He could hear their footsteps on the hardwood floor, and sense their presence if they were close enough, making the lighting situation even more useless, as that was what they initially trained Kazimierz for: to be a field agent. The best of the best, the Swieczieman Secret Service. Kazimierz had been selected from a group of recruits about ten years ago now, and put through a training that made hell seem like a vacation in the Green Sea. He had excelled in the physical exercises, impressed the analysts in the psychological exams, and all around proved himself to be an agent of great potential. Trainers called him brilliant, the standard all agents be they field or analyst should strive for. By the time he was twenty-four, Kazimierz was, in short, on top of the world.

He then committed a fatal mistake of letting it get to his head.

Kazimierz had felt invincible, unstoppable, a god of intelligence, and he jumped at a chance four years ago to prove his perceived divine skills on the field. He had been tasked with leading a strike team of agents into the Democratic Republic of Volga, in an attempt to eliminate the leaders of the Miroslavan spook cell there. Were he successful in the mission, Kazimierz expected to be propelled to the top in less than a decade, no, less than half a decade, become head of the Swieczieman Secret Service before he turned thirty, an unprecedented age to suit a brilliant agent.

His request was accepted, and his team was inserted into Volga.

He was the only one to make it back to Lower Swiecziema partially intact, leaving behind an eye and his twelve comrades, with news of failure.

It was an intelligence disaster. Twelve brilliant men and women lost to Swiecziema, and their rising star disgraced on his first mission like a rookie. Worse, according to Kazimierz' report, three agents were still probably alive, which presented an unbelievable risk to Swieczieman intelligence, and potentially cost the success of future offensives that could not be altered. Those agents had been neutralized later, but the damage done to Swieczieman intelligence capabilities was still unknown, and thus a major blow. Kazimierz barely escaped with his life in the subsequent tribunal, as charges of treason were read and barely slapped down. The only reason he kept his job was because the Premier himself believed Kazimierz to still possess great potential. So, the star agent was given a desk job as an analyst, with uncertainty surrounding his future.

It had been a humiliating, humbling experience, and Kazimierz never forgot it.

For four years, he analyzed the mission, saw his numerous mistakes, and figured out how to correct them. He began mentally disciplining himself, to control that pride of his, and even now he still struggled at times, but he was far superior to his hotheaded, rookie self four years ago. And he never forgot those in power who tried him, who had almost put him to death. It didn't matter how justified they were in their seeking of punishment for his failures. To call Kazimierz Nowak a traitor to Lower Swiecziema, even now as a disciplined agent of the Swieczieman Secret Service, was an unforgivable crime they would have to pay for.

So while he disciplined himself and corrected his mistakes, he had also plotted revenge against those who had wronged him, using those four years to perfect his plans, make allies, and cripple enemies for the final blows they would eventually experience. Small things that didn't mean much at the time, but over the long term, accumulated, grew, into a master stroke that would shame his superiors and prove once and for all that Kazimierz, a man twenty-five years old, was the best.

There was one person Kazimierz never forgot, however: the Premier. It was he who was most responsible for Kazimierz living and, better, keeping his job. It had conflicted the disgraced spy for years, for in order to make sure that once he acquired power he would stay there, he had to get rid of the Premier, but how could he plot the downfall of the man who had saved his life? But then came the answer, ironically given to him by the superiors who had wrongfully accused him of treason: Dawid's son. He too was plotting against the Premier, and thus, if assisted, would be the one to deal with the Swieczieman leader, not Kazimierz. It was perfect, he would be absolved of all blame no matter what happened. It also helped that Jozef Grudzinski was opposed to Kazimierz' superiors, and wanted them out one way or another.

Their goals aligned, Kazimierz contacted Jozef one year ago, and set up a partnership that had helped Jozef's cause not only survive, but thrive. He set up contacts in the Swieczieman Secret Service, both with field agents and analysts, but more importantly kept everything under wraps, Sanacja and its dwindling amount of true supporters completely unaware of the danger they were in. It helped that Jozef had chosen very talented lieutenants to help in recruitment and plotting. Obviously, Kazimierz was the most brilliant of the bunch, but he always gave credit where credit was due, and credit was most certainly due to the top men and women in their not-so-little movement, Solidarność.

Four days ago, Kazimierz got another call from Jozef, an order to begin the final preparations for the coup. It would occur this weekend, and all needed to be ready. Immediately after he hung up the phone, Kazimierz had made a phone call to an associate, who then did the same, and so on until all parties had received the message, and the target was... taken care of. Another call was made later, which circulated amongst Kazimierz' coworkers and secured an upcoming promotion, brought about by that previously mentioned target's elimination.

Then... things got easier, and thus, interesting. The phone calls were now almost a constant thing, but Kazimierz' superiors, if they weren't already on board with the plot, were none the wiser, because by now they were drowning in a bunch of fake leads on some Miroslavan cells somewhere in the Mezhist Union, and too busy to take note of the plot they couldn't see dancing in front of them. It was almost too easy, except Kazimierz wasn't worried by that. He knew it was because he and his contacts had done their job right.

That was the thrill Kazimierz went for, the knowledge their job was being done correctly. Primarily because it was good in of itself, but also it wiped away memories of his one and only official mission. Some memories, however, would not be forgotten. The spook pulled out his Lucjan LP8 and regarded it grimly. This pistol had saved his life when things went south in Volga, and the pistol served as a constant reminder to do the job right, whatever the job may have been. Never to leave it half finished, never to leave anything to chance, always to succeed no matter what he had to do to get it.

It was a mantra he lived by, and in a few days, he knew he would finally taste sweet, sweet success with his comrades, a success he so desperately craved...

 

[Josepania]

GREAT HALL, JOZEF'S PERSONAL VILLA
PILZNO, LOWER SWIECZIEMAN CONFEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9/8/12, 11:07 A.M.

Pilzno was, prior to the Steel Revolution, little more than a minor town. Its usefulness in maritime matters was dwarfed by the comparative giants of Oswiecim and Stradow, it had no known valuable resources, and was a, at best, somewhat redundant potential military base. Its most, and perhaps sole, notable feature was its unusually lush and pristine environment, even during the middle of Swiecziema's infamous winters. Small wonder then that the Imperial Family, after realizing that Pilzno existed and what it featured, built their personal retreat there, often choosing it over Wislica when they made the trek to Lower Swiecziema to govern. Obviously, that decadence was not appreciated by the Veterans and their Mezhist inspirations, and so when they took control, Pilzno was completely ignored, the retreat allowed to decay and crumble with no more funding poured into its lavish upkeeping. So it went on for almost three decades.

That is, until Jozef took note of it two years ago. On an obscure bureaucratic mission to Pilzno, while he was coming up with his plot to take control of the Premiership, he found the run down retreat and decided then and there to call it home. Using his connections and some bureaucratic smoke and mirrors to redirect the necessary resources, he rebuilt and restored the Imperial Retreat to something of its former glory, and with the Niebswi Party continuing to ignore him and his projects, he made it not just his own private villa, but made the surrounding area a village dedicated to his closest friends and lieutenants, and indeed, made Pilzno the headquarters of their movement, which they termed Solidarity. Pilzno itself was also slowly, but surely, becoming its own capital for Solidarność, the people populating the sleepy city becoming more in tune to what Jozef had in mind for the future...

In the villa itself, its Great Hall one of the largest of its many rooms, Jozef himself sat at the head of the table, enjoying his food and the company of his four closest companions. Anastazya Kowalska to his right, Boleslaw Gorski a bit further down, Wladyslaw Zielinski to his left, and Kazimierz Nowak further down that side of the table. All were calmly eating the food prepared for them, a rather simple but masterfully cooked meal which included the group's personal favorites, pierogi dumplings. By the standards of the Imperial Family that once resided in this villa, it was peasant food, but to the five Swiecziemans that enthusiastically dug in, it didn't matter what social status their meal belonged to. It was good, and that was all that mattered.

Along with eating, the five were chatting with each other over simple topics. There was no mention of politics except if it was gossip related. The economy didn't feature unless it was regarding personal economics. Social issues were restricted only to "did you hear about such and such doing this and that?". The appearance was, in short, that of five close friends simply coming together over lunch and sharing their otherwise trifling experiences of the day. The plot that they had devoted the last year to, especially for the past five days, seemed to be long forgotten, as though it didn't matter anymore, almost as if it had never occurred.

Whether intentional or not, the circumstances were cathartic, Jozef pondered, especially so after he started roaring with laughter as Wladyslaw finished telling his joke about the Karlovian, Miroslavan, and Swieczieman who walked into a bar, joined by everybody else in the room. Even the normally stoic Kazimierz and Boleslaw allowed sincere chuckles to escape in response to the joke. It was, truly, a respite from the usually harsh life of the Mezhist Union and its politics. As he wiped away tears of mirth, Jozef briefly wondered what it would've been like if he wasn't ambitious, if he merely wanted to settle down somewhere and live the rest of his life in peace and isolation, save with his closest friends, who like him would have no feelings of revenge, of settling scores, of simple acquisition of power.

Alas, maybe, those passionate feelings were stronger than those desiring peace and quiet, and it was only with minor reluctance that Jozef composed himself and tapped his wine glass with his fork, signalling for silence. The pleasant conversation and enthusiastic eating died away almost instantly, the four friends of Jozef immediately transforming into his four lieutenants, shifting with the mood away from a friendly get-together, to a meeting that would not only determine the fate of Lower Swiecziema and potentially the Mezhist Union, but change their lives forever.

"As you all know," Jozef began, looking at each of his four companions, "This week has been spent in final preparations for Operation Sleight of Hand." Even now, at this serious time, Wladyslaw snorted with amusement at the cliche name for the operation. Ordinarily Jozef would have reprimanded him, but he had to admit Wladyslaw had a point, so he chose to ignore it instead. "I would like you all to give me your final reports on preparations. Anya?"

Anastazya nodded in response, now sitting straight in attention, a sharp contrast from her more eased posture previously, "General Secretary," Even now, she addressed Jozef with his proper title, like a true soldier did, "The military is firmly in the Solidarność camp. Sanacja's inaction for the past three decades, save for the occasional skirmish with the Soviets, has made both the soldiers and the officers restless. They want action, a chance to flex their muscles. The promises I and my contacts made, that you would give them that chance, have swayed the vast majority of them. Only a few holdouts remain, and those who can't interfere likely won't, once they see the power we hold. Those who can will be taken care of."

Jozef smiled and nodded, "Excellent... now Boleslaw, what can you tell me?"

Carefully setting his utensils down on the table and wiping his hands with the napkin, Boleslaw said, "My contacts have assured me the Diplomatic Corps are firmly behind us and will spin this in our favor to both the citizenry and the international world. Sanacja's isolation of Lower Swiecziema have rankled them, though perhaps not quite as much as the military," At this he sent a polite nod to Anastazya, who returned the favor. "They want an opportunity to throw the Mezhist Union's weight around, start acting like a great power rather than a secondary one. I have assured them you are more than willing to oblige." Both Boleslaw and Jozef smiled coldly at that. "Your contact in Upper Swiecziema has also provided much needed help. The intel she sent us and her assistance in Upper Swiecziema's Federal government have made me confident that our neighbors will not only tolerate the end of Sanacja, but support it. Apparently a significant faction there, too, desire a change in tone from the Mezhist Union as a whole."

Jozef's smile grew wider at that news. It was quite heartening to see that his friend, perhaps his closest of them all, still had his back. He ignored the sour look Anya had, knowing better than to break the chain of good news with a little unnecessary digging in that particular history, and turned to Wladyslaw. "Wonderful. Wladyslaw, I assume you too were successful in your efforts?"

Wladyslaw leaned back in his chair, relaxing as he pleasantly nodded, "But of course. The corporations are very, very interested in the economic plans you and I, mostly me," Jozef gave a mock glare at that, "Have come up with for the Mezhist Union. This global recession has hit them, and the Sanacja movement hasn't done much to fix any of the damage, as per usual. Too much dogma, not enough thinking about the health of the state, its people, and its economy. Most of the CEOs and top board members have assured me they will throw their weight behind our cause. Those who won't will be voted out, voted over, or in the most stubborn of circumstances... eliminated."

Jozef's smile turned quite vicious at that, matching Wladyslaw's own, and he nodded. "Outstanding. Last but not least... Kazimierz. Don't be such a spook, share your information with the rest of us."

Kazimierz gave a polite smile at Jozef's teasing, and briefly adjusted his eyepatch before responding, "Well, you probably already know this, but you know I like to hear myself talk at times, so I'll say it anyway. The Swieczieman Secret Service will back Solidarność. Our intel is solid, our agents are in place, and enthusiasm is high. We spooks don't want to be behind a desk all the time, some action every once in awhile would do us good, being able to stretch our legs and minds, something the Sanacja movement has restricted us from doing... the fools. Miroslavl is ripe for some covert operations, as is a fair few of our neighbors. Reassurances that Solidarność will give them a bit more freedom to cause mischief were very well received. All who resist us and are able to do something about it will not live to see Sunday."

Even though it was good news, it was chilling nonetheless, so Jozef's smile, and that of his companions, was slightly more forced as Jozef nodded, "Brilliant."

At that, Jozef pushed his chair back and stood, "Everything is set then. Once we leave here today, review your organizations, and make sure they understand what will happen. Tomorrow, at twelve o'clock noon, we will give the final signal. You all will be here in Pilzno with me, monitoring and supervising the progress we make. If all goes well as expected, we will take my plane to Wislica, and make the transition of power official." Coup, rather, but it sounded more impressive and legal to say it like Jozef did, "If anything goes wrong, we follow the backup plans. If, God forbid, those fail, there will be a submersible waiting for us that will take us to Upper Swiecziema. My contact there has guaranteed our safety."

Jozef paused, looking at each of his lieutenants, his comrades, his friends, in turn. "You all have worked hard for this moment. No man or woman in Europe can deny this. I am lucky, and proud, to know each and every one of you, and I ask you to share my confidence, and believe with every ounce of your body, mind, and spirit, that we cannot, and will not, fail. Not after all we have gone through in our lives and over this year, to achieve what few before us have accomplished."

At that, Jozef took out his pistol and laid it on the table in front of his plate, his calling card, to be displayed one more time before the plot was set in motion. Everybody else did the same, their pistols joining his in a show of solidarity, in tune with what their movement stood for. The time for purging was over. The time of isolation was done. A new era was dawning, and the young would lead Swiecziema to never before seen glory.

Jozef then stood rigidly at attention, clicked his boots together, and extended his right arm to just above eye level, index and middle finger also extended, giving the Swieczieman salute. "Sława zwycięstwu." he barked.

His four companions immediately stood themselves and copied his position, replying as one. "Sława zwycięstwu."

The arms lowered, Jozef nodded firmly, and the five sat back down to continue their lunch. The jovial, friendly mood did not return however. It would not return for the rest of the day, or indeed, for the next two or three days. Not until their goals had been achieved, and the era of Solidarność replaced that of Sanacja.

It would begin tomorrow...

 

[Josepania]

OFFICE OF THE PREMIER OF LOWER SWIECZIEMA, THE PREMIER'S PALACE
WISLICA, LOWER SWIECZIEMAN CONFEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9/9/12, 5:00 P.M.

The building dominated Wislica's skyline, exactly as it was designed to. After all, when the Imperial Family ordered its construction, they did so with decadence firmly in their plans, a showcasing of the power they wielded in the Imperium, from the bustling cities of Upper Swiecziema, to the frozen mountains of Lower Swiecziema. With little doubt in anyone's minds, they succeeded, the palace was a marvel of engineering by the standards centuries ago, and that engineering endured with only minor modernization and improvements to this day. Although, initially, the Mezhists from Carentania wanted to let the building rot, perhaps even tear it down, the Veterans had overruled their wishes, and declared that, although Oswiecim would forever be the birthplace of Lower Swieczieman Mezhism (in name, though Niebswism would quickly eliminate actual Mezhists under Dawid's direction), the Imperial Palace in Wislica was too much of a symbol of power to let it go to waste, and so it stood and thrived.

It was in the Imperial Palace, now the Premier's Palace, where all power flowed outward in regards to Lower Swiecziema, and in the palace itself, it was the Office of the Premier where that power truly began, the heart, brain, and soul of not just the Sanacja movement, not just Niebswism in Lower Swiecziema, but indeed all of Swiecziema. Every Lower Swieczieman from the poorest beggar to the most powerful bureaucrat understood this, and respected this, sometimes feared it, and rightfully so. For although officially power was shared with the Confederate Congress, whose Congressional Capitol occupied the same city and cast its own impressive shadow over Wislica, that Congress was dwarfed physically and bureaucratically by the Premier's Palace. Parliamentary loopholes had been ruthlessly abused numerous times in order to make sure that things got done in Lower Swiecziema, but nobody dared to complain about it. First and foremost, their message wouldn't get far and the shouter would be silenced forever more rapidly, but more importantly, who would want to question the wisdom of the Premier? The man who participated in the Steel Revolution and led it and its rebels to glorious victory over the Imperium, right alongside their Upper Swieczieman brothers? The man who kept the Hated Enemy, the Soviet hordes to the south not only at bay but confined in their hellhole of a territory? The man who had cleansed the realm of corruption and decay, and brought Lower Swiecziema and, with the assistance of his brother Premier, all of the Mezhist Union back to its feet?

Almost no one, certainly no one successfully. Yet now, outside, the Premier's authority was being questioned, not just in Wislica but all over Lower Swiecziema. It was not open rebellion, however, with mobs of angry citizens battering down the doors, and the international world having its eye firmly upon the Mezhist Union. That would have been somewhat easier to deal with, in part because it could have been seen from a mile away. Instead it was a silent, but far more deadly coup that was being enacted. The Premier and his most loyal subordinates were being cut off completely from their assets in the military for defense, the diplomatic corps for assistance from Upper Swiecziema and the common citizenry, the corporations for the funding required to keep the state going, and most painful of all, the Swieczieman Secret Service for valuable intel and the ability to break this silence. The Premier and his movement, Sanacja, were being strangled in a concentrated effort coming from within that seemed to appear out of nowhere, and what was worse: loyalties of those that could have been in contact were now in serious question. Already, four of the Premier's top subordinates disappeared from the grid, even though their connections to the Premier were officially open. It was a gesture, like this whole coup was a gesture, that the once unlimited power the Premier held was now gone in the span of a few hours, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Some, like the Premier himself once, could have argued there were still things Dawid Grudzinski could do. He did still have a few connections left after all that didn't seem to be touched by this mass amputation, which he had created for situations like this, and through them a counter response could have been coordinated that would bring this coup out into the open and bring that coup into battle with its most dangerous enemy: a confused and uncertain population that was more likely to be hostile to it than supportive. That and, with more time, perhaps more could have been done to respond to this coup.

Premier Grudzinski did not do these things however. He instead resolved to sit at his desk, ignore all calls by his loyal subordinates begging for instructions, and get himself thoroughly smashed.

He had already gone through a sizable bottle of strong vodka already, and was currently almost done with the second one. As he downed another shot, its initial burning of the throat and then soothing of the brain failed to chase away the feelings of hopelessness and despair he was experiencing at this time. He, unlike probably everybody else still loyal to him, knew exactly what was going on, and who was behind it all. He was, in fact, expecting that instigator to walk through his doorway any minute now to make his betrayal, not just of the office but of family, official, and Dawid wanted to make sure that instigator saw what he had reduced the Premier to, and recognize the magnitude of his actions.

Premier Grudzinski had been a drinker for most of his life, but up until about a year ago, it had been kept relatively under control. He had his family, and then the state, to take care of, and alcohol found little room in that busy schedule. But then the Premier had his deadly heart attack, and everything changed. After that, his family and the state had to find the room to fit in his life around the alcohol. For it was at that time that Premier Grudzinski realized he was old, very old, and his time in Europe was beginning to run out. It struck him as more than coincidental that, around the same time, his fellow Premier and Steel Hero Stukow found himself battling cancer, and losing as the months went on. The old generation was dying, but it was not going to be mercifully quick by any means, rather a long, hard slog towards the waiting arms of Death and whatever lay beyond.

Maybe the instigator had sensed that weakness, and acted upon his ambitions only then, even after all that had been done for him. Elevating him to General Secretary even when such a thing was preposterous at his age, ignoring the initial, obvious buildup of his powerbase, then ignoring him when that obviousness rapidly disappeared and called for serious paranoia, and indeed, allowing it all to occur rather than treating him like Dawid had every right to: as a traitor, flesh and blood be damned.

The rhythmic whirr of the helicopter landing in front of the Imperial Palace, at the helipad installed only a few months previously, heralded the instigator's arrival, right about the same time the last shot in the second bottle was downed. That gave Dawid only a few more minutes to make his way through the third bottle as much as he could, no matter how hazy and disconnected from the world he currently was. He didn't care, he needed this 'medicine', to steel himself for what was about to occur. It would be the most painful event in his life, far outstripping his heart attack.

The minutes passed, and the shots were downed, until the instigator himself stepped through the door, alone, unmolested, and a smug triumph no doubt hiding behind that cold expression he now wore... or maybe it was already on his face, by now it was very difficult to perceive the world around him.

"So... this is the response of the Premier?" the instigator asked, tone mostly neutral, with a hint of growing disgust.

It took a few seconds for Dawid to gather his thoughts, before he slurred out, "This is the response of a father, betrayed by his son."

Jozef refused to rise to the bait, resolving instead to study the office rather than the sad sight in front of him. "It's not one the Sanacja movement expected or hoped for, regardless of the circumstances."

"But you... you did, didn't you?"

Jozef shrugged, "I admit, it has made this effort easier, more than I initially anticipated. But I guess I know you better, unlike the rest of your friends."

Dawid muttered something vile that Jozef, and perhaps Dawid himself, didn't understand, so Jozef plowed on. "It doesn't matter, anyway. Whatever you could have done, or do now, we can counter. It's far easier and better for the good of the state if you acknowledge this, and officially transfer powers of the Premiership to me, effective immediately."

The Premier paused, regarding his son with a cold, cruel eye, before muttering, "I will not."

Jozef seemed unfazed by the refusal, as though he expected it. Sarcasm dripping from his voice, he asked, "I take it you have some kind of master plan, or secret weapon I don't know about that you can use on me?"

A flash of anger was seen from Dawid, before he replied, "No. I have nothing, except my refusal to comply."

The confidence that Jozef possessed and, indeed, radiated in the room faded as he began to comprehend his father's last, desperate gamble, a simple stonewalling of passive resistance. "What point is there to this?"

"Isn't it obvious? No, perhaps it isn't, blinded as you are by your ambition. Let me spell it out for you, you worthless child." Jozef opened his mouth indignantly, but Dawid plowed on heedless, "You are not ready. You wouldn't have been ready for at least another decade, and now you never will be ready to possess power. If I give it to you now, you will run the state into the ground, or lose it to the Red Horde, or hell, knowing you now, cause a goddamn meteor to crash into the Union and obliterate it from the earth."

Jozef took a deep, calming breath before replying, "I am ready, I have proven as such. You have nothing, you yourself admitted it, while I have everyth-"

"All you have is worthless!" Dawid interrupted. "Without my compliance, your goddamn coup, your goddamn betrayal, it falls apart! You have proven nothing except you are an overly ambitious, shortsighted, ungrateful welp, and that you might be able to take power, but you'll never be able to hold it! Not without my approval, and I will never give that to you!"

Jozef's confidence was now gone, as he began to see visions of the entire plan, all he had worked so hard for, falling apart, because his father was a stubborn fool who would not see the light, see destiny. "But I deserve this! I have fought for what is mine, for what I deserve! You taught me that! How dare you deny me-"

"HAH! You continue to be nothing more than a whining babe! 'I deserve this! I fought for it, so it's mine!' You deserve nothing you can't handle, and you've proven to me that you can't handle power! You don't even understand what it is! You think in terms of quantity, if you have more people on your side you win. But you don't understand the quality, the true power, like I hold! I have stopped you in your tracks, and once things fall apart, I will give you what you truly deserve, a traitor's death!"

Now there was fear in Jozef, a fear that went beyond comparatively simple miscalculations of his efforts. It was a fear of losing his life to a very, very dangerous man, who no longer regarded Jozef as a son, but as a traitor. His backup plans for if things went south were useless now, he was too committed, he couldn't turn back, he couldn't run and hide, because Dawid would find him, drag him out and humiliate him, then brutally execute him. He had to think of something else.

It was at that point he became aware of the weight on his hip, the pistol he carried everywhere, and a last ditch plan began to form in his mind. The plan horrified him, and the rational part of him was screaming not to do it, but his fear, his will to live, overrode those objections. Slowly, his hand reached for the pistol and unholstered it, keeping his eyes locked on Dawid, who by now looked absolutely livid, akin to a monster from a nightmare.

"A brilliant counter, father," His voice was visibly strained in its calmness as his hand closed around the pistol, comprehension of what Jozef was planning to do slowly making its way into Dawid's clouded mind, "One I cannot respond to as I had planned... so I need to improvise..."

Dawid's eyes widened, now the fear was beginning to enter him too. "You would go that far, boy?"

The pistol was out, in plain sight to both Jozef and Dawid. "To save my life? Yes father. I have told you numerous times I would do whatever it takes to get what I wanted. You ignored me then, you will pay attention to me now." The barrel slowly raised, leveling itself with Dawid's chest. "You will do as I ask, or I will have your signature forged and your death explained away as a successful assassination attempt by Miroslavan spies. The Swieczieman Secret Service is on my side, they'll do whatever I say, and the people are willing to believe that if anything goes wrong, it's bound to be the Red's fault. Either way, I succeed."

Both men remained silent as the seconds ticked by, staring at one another and daring the other to make the first move. It remained a stalemate, but now the roles were evened out, no longer lopsided, first towards Jozef, then towards Dawid. And both men were now afraid of one another, and afraid of the choices they'd have to make to break the stalemate.

Dawid made the decision first, "Do it, then." Jozef's eyebrows raised, refusing to acknowledge what he just heard. "Prove to me that you're not all talk, that you're a man of action, that you will use power once it's given to you."

"You're willing to die?"

"I died over a year ago. After you decided to forsake your family and your country and give into your ambitions. You'd just make it official."

Jozef visibly hesitated at this invitation to kill his father... or what was once his father. He had hoped, desperately hoped, he could just bluff his way past the old man, but perhaps Dawid was too drunk, too depressed to care... or he was bluffing himself. Neither scenario gave Jozef any good options, except one that would guarantee success...

... and damnation.

Jozef's arm dropped to his side, the pistol now pointing to the floor. "I won't."

The fear disappeared from Dawid's expression, and the beginnings of a triumphant smile began to show again, "Don't have the guts to do it, boy?"

A flash of anger appeared on Jozef's face, before an idea popped into his mind, "No... I just don't have to."

Dawid's smile faded, "What are you talking about?"

The idea rapidly formed, grew, and with it, Jozef's confidence, "Think about it, father. I now have key personnel in the military, the diplomatic corps and the politicians, the corporations, and the intelligence community. Through them, I can gain more support from the rank and file of those areas, and eventually from the entire civilian population, given enough time. The best part is that you will not be able to stop me." Jozef paused, using the time to make sure his idea was solid, but partially also to see the look on his father's face, as Dawid started to realize the effects of this new trump card Jozef played. "You have nothing, in comparison to me. No power but the ability to stay alive and not sign anything official. You will become a figurehead, nothing more. Maybe I can even, eventually, get the Confederate Congress to force you to resign for health reasons. It doesn't matter."

Dawid's mouth hung open as he realized what Jozef had just calmly, rationally explained. The Premier had already lost, but it took until now for him to truly realize it. Jozef sighed, "I will say this much for you: you have taught me, just now, how to properly use power. To recognize, truly, what I have, and what it means to have it. For that, I thank you. But I must demand, one more time, that you save yourself the trouble, and resign immediately."

Jozef holstered his pistol, then reached into his greatcoat to pull out a piece of paper, crafted and looked over by him and his four lieutenants to make sure it was an air-tight, crystal clear document that would have Dawid resign, and subsequently make Jozef Premier and all the powers related to it immediately. He placed that paper on Dawid's desk with a pen, then waited.

He waited for two full minutes, those minutes spent by Dawid trying, and failing, to come up with some kind of counter, any kind of counter, to stop what now seemed inevitable. Finally, as though he were moving through molasses, Dawid slowly reached for the pen, moved it to where his signature needed to be, and signed his name for one last time in his life. It seemed like an eternity passed before he wrote the last letter in his name, at which point he simply let go of the pen, allowing it to drop onto the desk, and resume his staring into space.

Equally slowly, Jozef reached for the document and pen and pulled them over to his side of the table, and entered his own signature, completing the bureaucratic ritual. The ex-Grand Secretary felt a tingling throughout his body as he recognized his success, that he had finally achieved what he had worked so hard for. As he wrote the last letter in his own name, he could not resist the wide smile forming on his face. He was now Premier of the Lower Swieczieman Confederative Mezhist Republic.

"Thank you, father. I'll see that you retire to a villa somewhere quiet, and get you a therapist to deal with the alcoholism..." He said as he put the pen and paper back into his greatcoat.

The words snapped Dawid out of his stupor, and he gave his vilest glare yet. "Never call me 'father' again. I have no son."

Jozef's sense of achievement far outweighed his personal sadness over this declaration, though it still existed, and it was with a final gesture of bitterness when he replied with his own, chilling glare. "You stopped loving me in favor of that," he nodded towards the bottle of vodka, "Until you realize that mistake, consider the feeling mutual."

Premier Jozef then walked out of the room, plans for the future already running through his mind, leaving behind a broken man, who was once Jozef's father, and who sunk forward to the desk, weeping bitterly.

 

[Josepania]

SEJM CHAMBER, CONGRESSIONAL CAPITOL
WISLICA, LOWER SWIECZIEMAN CONFEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9:34 PM, 9/10/1952

Despite its de facto rubber-stamping power, the Confederate Congress nonetheless held much de jure prestige in Lower Swiecziema, almost as much as the Premier himself. Many non-representatives, ranging from the press to those ordinary citizens lucky enough to win a monthly lottery, often witnessed its public sessions, a strong propaganda tool to the masses that showed its efficient, precise government at work. Nevermind the fact that the masses did not have much say in how that government was formed, or what issues were discussed and worked on. Such facts didn’t matter, because such facts were inconvenient and inefficient, blatantly opposed to the ideals of efficiency and precision.

Today, the Sejm Chamber, the lower house of the Confederative Congress, was packed to the brim, many guests left standing in the peripherals of the chamber because there just weren’t enough seats to go around, and it was unthinkable for the prestigious representatives to be forced to stand, especially during a time like Revolution Week, and most especially during a time where the General Secretary of the Niebswi Party himself would be making a speech in regards to the Premier.

Jozef was currently in the waiting room, surrounded by Swieczieman Secret Service guards dressed in full ceremonial uniforms, reviewing his speech notes as he waited for the preliminary speeches to be completed. He had been working on this speech for months now. In fact he had been working on numerous variations of the speech, depending on the results of the master plan. This current variation revolved around a notably successful, though not overwhelmingly successful, conclusion of the plan. That particular speech was dependent on Premier Dawid Grudzinski not only being supportive of Jozef’s efforts but also present in the Sejm Chamber. This reality, however, had neither occurring, but at least everything else went exactly according to plan.

So it wasn’t nervousness of screwing up the speech that plagued Jozef as he waited, it was simply his body and mind adjusting to the fact that, within minutes, he would make his acceptance of leadership public, not just to those assembled in the Sejm Chamber, but all of Lower Swiecziema, the Mezhist Union, and the world. And the simple fact was that, no matter how much Jozef knew he deserved this, he would be the youngest leader in all of Europe, one of the youngest in history, perhaps. Resistance from the older generation, even those who had helped him obtain power to begin with, was to be expected. Even though all politicians that would have conceivably prevented his rise had been eliminated or detained, their secondaries far more malleable to Jozef’s charm and willpower, and even if Jozef’s speech were categorized as one of the best in his career, perhaps in Swieczieman history, there would still be resistance to the radical ideas of a young man lacking the wisdom and experience the Veterans had.

That would be dealt with later, after the speech. For now, he just needed to make one final, titanic effort to secure the power that was rightfully his, that he had fought so hard for, that he had given up so much for, even the love he once shared with his father, to achieve. Such loss had stung, but there was too much at stake, too much to gain or lose at a moment’s notice, to worry about that. Besides, he had found new loves, new people he could confide in, from his loftiest dreams to his darkest fears. Those four people were waiting outside right now, possessing front row seats for this monumental occasion. They would, afterwards, govern right alongside Jozef, but that had to wait until after the speech.

He could hear the speaker outside wrapping up his somewhat dry warm-up speech to the assembled outside, his role only to pave the way for the new Premier-elect and nothing more. To calm his fluttering nerves, Jozef reached for the pistol he kept in his holster, but did not take it out, only grabbing onto it as though for support. The Swieczieman Secret Service guards took no notice of this, or if they did, they did not show it. Their job was to make sure Jozef stayed alive and healthy for his speech, and they would do that job well.

The speaker outside finally finished his speech, and got around to calling out the General Secretary of the Niebswi Party and Premier-elect, Jozef Grudzinski, to the first enthusiastic applause of the night. Steeling himself one last time, he let go of the pistol and walked out into the chamber, surrounded by his Swieczieman Secret Service guards, and found himself almost overwhelmed by the noise and sheer number of people that were in the chamber. He knew that most of the people there had been instructed to be enthusiastic, but he was still slightly unprepared for just how much enthusiasm they were giving, forced or genuine.

Still he kept a pleasant smile on his face and walked forward, quietly and gently waving to those assembled as he made his way closer and closer to the podium that would host his speech. He kept himself thinking that it was one last march to victory, rather than what his body kept feeling, akin to a long march to the electric chair. He had to be positive, so that he could project the positive tone of his speech throughout the Congressional Capitol, and through them, all of Lower Swiecziema.

He reached the podium, and looked out over the crowd as it continued its adoration of him, perhaps more likely the office rather than him. But when he saw his four closest lieutenants, Anastazya, Boleslaw, Wladyslaw, and Kazimierz all standing in the front row, giving him genuine applause and support, he felt his confidence returning, growing, overpowering whatever fear he once had of this upcoming speech. With a wide smile, he waved to them specifically, then returned to the more stoic acceptance of the rest of the applause.

Eventually, it died down, and Jozef approached the microphones to speak, feeling all the eyes, the cameras, photograph and video, upon him. But he no longer felt fear. He felt invincible.

“Assembled Congressmen of the Confederate Congress, members of the press, peoples of Upper and Lower Swiecziema, thank you for joining me tonight. For tonight is a monumental occasion, going beyond the enthusiastic celebration of Revolution Week. It is an occasion dominated, over all others, by the passing of a torch. The torch is power, and the participants are two generations of Swiecziemans, the older, and the younger. These two generations, I am here to tell you tonight, are represented by my father, and myself.”

“For yesterday, I was summoned to the Office of the Premier by my father, Premier Dawid Grudzinski, who informed me that he could no longer effectively lead Lower Swiecziema with the same energy he possessed for almost three decades. His heart attack, though it pained him to admit it, had done much damage to a man who had risen above all others, and struck him down when he was at his best, his highest, in the nation. Know this, he did not let it defeat him. Instead he stood back up and continued to march forward. Such is an example that all Swiecziemans, myself included, must follow. But even a man as great as him, he told me, could not ignore reality for long, and the reality was that he was not the same man he was thirty years ago, and Lower Swiecziema deserved more.”

“He told me that he had to step aside, before the office killed him, or before he, being human despite all his monumental achievements, committed an error that would bring hardship to his people he has fought for all of his life, such was his love for Lower Swiecziema. And so he, in front of me, signed documents that detailed his resignation from the office of Premier, and the transfer of such powers to me, the General Secretary. I told him that, although I would sign these papers, I would not take advantage of this event. I would not sneak into the office like a thief in the night. I would, instead, go to the Confederate Congress, in the spirit of the law that I hold in the highest regard, and seek their recognition and approval of this peaceful transfer of power, before I did anything else. He agreed, and so I stand before you all tonight.”

"I stand here tonight to ask you to recognize this transfer of power, this passing of the torch, despite the many legitimate reservations and concerns you have for this event. I tell you that this could be, nay, should be, the beginning of a new era for Lower Swiecziema, indeed a new era for all of the Mezhist Union. We have experienced almost three decades of Sanacja, of cleansing of the extensive corruption the Fallen Imperium had over us. That time was well spent, but that time must now fade, its participants congratulated for their superhuman efforts to pave the way for us, the next generation. Now, that new generation must step forward, taking the tools given so generously to us by the Veterans, the Steel Heroes, all of those who came before us, and take charge of our lives."

"I ask you to let us now make this an era of Solidarność, when all Mezhists and, indeed, all peoples proclaiming civilization over all else to come together, and not only halt the spread of corrupted communism, of putrid post-delegationism, of barbaric anarchism, but to turn back these infections upon Europe. Let us be the vanguards, the spear tips, the pioneers that will lead the counter-charge, the counter-revolution, that will eliminate these monstrous ideologies from the map once and for all."

“Now, I know that I, a representative of this next generation, am young. I know that I, the next in line to take the Mezhist mantle, lack the experience held by the Veterans and the Steel Heroes, like that of my father, the representative of the past generation. But you must know this as well: we young people shall not cast aside the Veterans! We shall not cast aside the Steel Heroes! We shall embrace them! We shall go to them for guidance, for support, so that we may not only learn from them, and emulate them, but in the process be better than them, and bring the Mezhist Union into a New Golden Age that will rival that, even surpass that, of the Golden Imperium!"

"That is why, even though I request its powers, I shall not take the title of Premier, for that title is a holy title, to be reserved for the demi-gods that are my father, and the Premier of Upper Swiecziema. I instead propose, and add to my request, that my retired father, Premier Dawid Grudzinski, be awarded the title 'Eternal Premier', so that his legacy shall be forever remembered from the icy steppes of Sarmatia to the sandy dunes of Himyar. From the eastern shores of Toyou, to the western shores of Occidentia, long after he departs from this mortal realm. I request that, and that I take a new title, one that holds the exact same powers as that 'Premier' holds, but no where near the prestige it holds, for I do not deserve that. I request, instead, that I be named ‘Hegemon’, and be allowed to lead Lower Swiecziema to that New Golden Age I promise to you all. I leave it to you to vote for these two proposals, for I will not coerce you. I hold too much respect of those that came before me to ask for that much."

"And I ask, above all else, that you find the courage, the faith, the bravery to leap into the unknown, and give me your confidence, your belief, that I and the rest of my generation shall not fail yours, nor our past generations, nor our future generations! That we will bring about that New Golden Age, not just for Lower Swiecziema! Not just for the Mezhist Union! Not just for Sarmatia! But for all of Europe! Give me that confidence, and I shall give you glory, victory, and dominance of Mezhism!"

The reaction was deafening, the building itself shook as the people assembled roared and applauded their approval. No longer did it seem artificial, showmanship and little else. They were now chanting his name, the name of Lower Swiecziema, of Mezhism. Jozef had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams, and he could no longer hide his own enthusiasm as he stepped back from the podium, returning the mass Swieczieman salute given to him. He could no longer see his friends, for they had been overwhelmed by other people rushing forward to the stage to get a better look at him, but he knew they were there, making their way out to the waiting chamber as he began to do, delayed for a good half-hour as he accepted the praise and congratulations of all those in his path. He did not rush, there was no more need to rush. He talked, briefly, to each person that came up to him, be they a Congressman, a reporter, or a simple citizen, the Swieczieman Secret Service guards barely keeping the rest of the crowd from simply crushing Jozef in their attempt to get close to him.

He finally made it to the waiting chamber, separated physically by the noise of those in the Sejm Chamber, though it continued to reverberate throughout the building. He was now alone, save for, as he expected, his four friends, who stared back at him, almost not believing what they were witnessing: their victory, against all odds. Anastazya, his Anya, finally broke ranks and approached him, looking at him with a reverence so unlike her usual, no-nonsense character. She embraced and kissed him passionately, and in that moment, as he returned her affections, Jozef felt as if nothing else mattered, not even his other three friends who stood in the background, patiently waiting their turns.

They were still locked in a passionate embrace when, eventually, the noise died down enough, and the Speaker of the Sejm called for votes on Jozef’s two proposals, of making Dawid Grudzinski ‘Eternal Premier’, and making Jozef Grudzinski ‘Hegemon’, with the powers of the Premier. There wasn’t even a need for actual vote casting, the acclamation sounded unanimous, and it was with the loudest cheer yet that responded to the Speaker’s proclamation of both proposals passing without opposition.

Through all that, despite all the work and effort he had put into reaching this moment, Hegemon Jozef Grudzinski did not care. He would care later. Right now, he needed to celebrate his triumph with the woman he loved.

 

[Josepania]

SEJM CHAMBER, CONGRESSIONAL CAPITOL
WISLICA, LOWER SWIECZIEMAN CONFEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
4:01 PM, 9/13/1952

The Hegemon of the Lower Swieczieman Confederative Mezhist Republic was grumbling as he stood up in his seat to leave the chamber, a far from expected reaction to the result of a legislative pieace he had just successfully pushed through the Sejm and was expected to make its way relatively easily through the Upper House, the Senat. Ordinarily it would have been cause for celebration, for it was confirmation by the Confederate Congress of the creation of the Executive Cabinet, and Jozef's appointments of his top lieutenants to the four General Executive offices in that cabinet. Such a triumph was vital to Jozef's ability to govern Lower Swiecziema as he wanted, with his friends at his side.

But the Sejm and, to a lesser extent the Senat, had recognized that importance too, and although they had been reassured by Jozef in his speech two days ago, indeed the promises he and his lieutenants had made to get them in power in the first place, the Confederate Congress decided that just rubber stamping the Hegemon's first major action was unacceptable, unless they could be 'persuaded' to think otherwise. In other words, Jozef had to give up numerous, individually trifling concessions that built up to a frighteningly large pile when all was said and done. They could be reversible in the foreseeable future, but for now that loss of power stung Jozef, and even with that, he barely managed to come up with a bill that was nonetheless very watered down compared to what he had been initially pushing for.

He knew that part of the reason for this pyrrhic victory was simply that his backers wanted to test him, find out how hard and how far they could push him, and Jozef had not been established long enough or firmly enough to be able to get his way without a fight. More importantly to the Hegemon, however, was that the Speaker of the Sejm was at best an incompetent fool at the job of pushing through the Hegemon's goals. More likely, he idealistically wanted to remain a purely neutral party in the whole process, an admirable goal for democratic societies, but Jozef had no intention of following those same goals. At worst? He too wanted to milk the Hegemon for all he was worth. The same went for the Consul of the Senat. Although the Veteran who held that seat had not done much, if anything, to block Jozef's legislative efforts, according to Kazimierz' agents he wasn't doing much to make sure his fellow Senators would be supportive of the Hegemon's legislative piece either. Therefore, he couldn't be relied upon to be an ally in the Confederate Congress either, a fact that further darkened Jozef's mood.

Up until this point, he had been convinced that the Confederate Congress was such a rubber-stamp legislature that it would take no effort. He now realized that it had only worked that way under his father, the now-Eternal Premier Dawid Grudzinski, because of the immense amount of prestige that surrounded that man. After all, he was a recipient of the Hero of the Steel Revolution medal, and everybody, Jozef included, knew he deserved it. Who would dare go against him? The same could not, yet, be said of Jozef. His potential brilliance and his status of son of the Eternal Premier could only take him so far.

Therefore, both the Speaker and the Consul needed to be replaced, and soon, before more concessions were painfully extracted from Jozef and he was, eventually, rendered powerless, with the Confederate Congress actually achieving its de jure power rather than what the Hegemon wanted. He had numerous plans after all, many he knew the old salts in the still powerful Sanacja movement would not be happy with. They would be rendered powerless in due time, but the priority now was to take the key positions.

The Hegemon already had two people in mind as possible replacements, but he would need to discuss them with his Executive Cabinet first before doing anything, for after all, he wasn't aiming to be a tyrant, just a dictator. As for how to eliminate the current troublemakers, Jozef only needed to go to his General Executive of the Interior. No doubt Kazimierz could cook up reasons for their resignation and departure from office... or perhaps from life itself.