Power Play

Discussion in 'The World Stage' started by Crotobaltislavonia, Dec 8, 2017.

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  1. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    These were two of the most powerful men in Crotobaltislavonia. And neither was calling himself "Big Brother". The first was middle-aged with dark curly hair and wearing an army uniform covered with decorations. He was General Alexander Radek, Minister of Defense for the second time. He was standing, pacing, stalking around the room, with one hand in a trousers pocket, the other hand waving around a cigarette to emphasize his words. The second was older with thinning grey hair and a stern demeanor. He was wearing a black sweater and black trousers. He was seated behind a desk, it was his office, as he silently watched the younger man move around and rail. He was General Franz Grossman, Chairman of the State Political Administation.

    "Tivo knew how to rule, but the ******* had to go and die. Then those damned monarchists put that foreign ***** Victoria on the throne and she didn't have a damned clue. I actually had hope for Pochenko. But when he started appointing his idiot cronies, my God! And now we have this ****ing joke in the Palace, a man who calls himself "Big Brother"! Dammit Franz, we've got to do something! Let's... let's just go over there right now and put a bullet in Farrago's head!"

    The older man nodded in sympathy. It's one thing to build a cult of personality and rule with flair; the proles eat that **** up. But this business with Trivodnia is fast getting out of hand, and to what end? Oil in the Polesian... unlikely. No, there is no point to it. Alex is right. But not immediately.

    "General, please, calm yourself. It wouldn't do for the Motherland to lose you to a stroke. I agree, we must act. But it's too soon for a counter-coup. Let's give Maxim..."

    "That little twerp Jedreck, who can't keep it in his pants? Give me a break." Radek scoffed with disdain.

    Grossman held up a hand. "I agree, the most Jedreck will probably accomplish in Kashtan is to knock up the honeytrap I sent along," and perhaps another if we're lucky, the old secret policeman thought to himself. "But he will be seen. And the Motherland will be seen. And on our end, I'm sure we can things under control for the time being."

    Radek didn't look convinced, but he had calmed down and took a puff from his cigarette. Grossman went on.

    "Farrago can be insulated from reality easily enough. He's already half-way there; he hasn't left the Palace in days. Order a stand-down at the border. There really is no need for those extra troops. The Border and Coast Guards are more than enough. Internally, I'll maintain the security crackdown for another... forty-eight hours. That should be long enough to capture Drago."

    Radek smiled. "Boris's son? He's in one of your nets, eh. Make sure that little ***** suffers before you kill him."
     
    Last edited: Dec 8, 2017
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  2. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    From the bed, the woman watched Big Brother retreat into the bathroom and close the door. Left behind, she covered herself with the bedsheet, reached for her pack of Luckies and lighter, and lit up. After taking a long draw, she slowly exhaled, tilting her head back as the smoke billowed out of her mouth and nose. She was Lydia Ortrun Gorman. She held the rank of Sergeant in the State Political Administration. And her current job description was honey trap.

    -

    Her employers had first noticed Lydia when she was runner-up Junior Miss Crotobaltislavonia at age 15. She was a charming German girl with poise, who spoke unaccented Slavonian. Three years later, the charming blonde was blossoming into an astonishingly attractive woman. After a discreet interview for a fake position, her employers had deferred hiring her. "She is too beautiful for undercover work. And make her a secretary and her boss will never get anything done! Hahahaha!"

    Lydia's first love was the theater. And though she could have tried for European film stardom after graduating secondary school, she instead became an actress on the stage in her home country. For the next two years, she performed with a travelling company, crisscrossing Crotobaltislavonia while honing her craft. One such performance on the stage in Banja Luka turned out to be her final audition for her employers.

    The play was "Three Sisters and a Cad." Lydia had played a woman with multiple-personality disorder. Grossman himself had been in the audience and had sat enthralled as he watched the actress convincely change characters at will. She had transformed from a nubile ingenue to a sly tease to an ugly spinster. "She is a chameleon," the Chairman gushed to a colleague the next day.

    -

    While smoking her Lucky, Lydia silently reflected on how the mission was going. The Administration had placed her on the Palace household staff. Check. She had hooked Big Brother's lust, starting with coy glances and discreet smiles, working her way up to brazen displays of flesh and appetite. Check. When Big Brother had made advances, she had reeled him in by playing hard to get, even escaping an attempted assault, watching as the man's lust turned into obsession. Check. Finally, when she was certain Big Brother looked at no other woman, only her, Lydia had netted her prey. Check.

    For now, her orders were simple: keep Big Brother in her net, report any intelligence Big Brother may reveal in those ... heady moments after, and await further instructions. If only all my missions were this easy, Lydia mused as she looked across the room at her brand new 10,000 dinar handbag.
     
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  3. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    Grossman was sitting behind his desk, focused intently a sheaf of papers in his hands. The papers were a printout of an online article from Elbener Zeitung that Operation Snow White had come across last night and forwarded.

    So, Vicky got out. No doubt Big Brother will be incensed. If we could do something about her, throw a bone to Big Brother, it would go a long way with the operation. What can we do about Vicky?


    The old secret policeman let the papers drop to his desk, swiveled his chair to the side, and leaned back in thought. Assassination as out of the question. Making Big Brother happy was not worth the risk, even if they contracted the job out to third-parties. Kidnapping, trying to bring Vicky back over the border, was even worse. CBS would have no deniability and might even spark a war.

    Something else...

    Grossman's eyes fell upon the old ZAP emblem hanging on his wall below the Administration's own emblem. It's use had been discontinued when the intelligence service, and his own secret police, had been subsumed into the Administration, but he had kept it out of sentiment. Focusing on the emblem, he silently read the old ZAP motto. Translated from Old Slavonian: "Not by strength by guile".

    The Chairman smiled as a plan formed. He mused aloud, "Vicky, just how far are you willing to go to save your son?"
     
    Last edited: Dec 14, 2017
  4. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    They were in Radek's office this time. Grossman had stormed in with upsetting news.

    "Big Brother is in Kadikistan! He's been there for over forty-eight hours!"

    "What!?" Radek stood up, knocking his chair over. "What is the fool doing in Kadikistan? How did he get past us?"

    "I have no idea what he's doing there. You know Kadikistan. And Big Brother's entire protection and service apparatus is competely separate from security and the military. There was no warning he was leaving the country. And my people within the Palace only just put things together this morning." For which many will die, Grossman thought.

    "Jesus, what is he thinking?" Radek covered his face with his hands, trying to imagine what Big Brother's thought process is. And then it hit him. "My God, he's making an alliance with the Kadiks! We're in a war of words with Trivodnia and he's making an alliance with their enemies!"

    Grossman sighed. "You were right. We should have killed him when we had the chance."

    "Trivodnia must be warned." Radek picked up his phone. "Call the airport. Tell them to have my plane ready as soon as I arrive."

    "I'm not a religious man. But I'll be praying they don't shoot you down before asking questions."
     
    Last edited: Dec 16, 2017
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  5. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    For the last six months, Lydia had been sleeping with the man she now sat beside as he stared out the hospital window in a stupor. She wore a nurse's white cap and dress. One hand's fingers held a Lucky, which she puffed on now and then. The other hand gripped the suppressed Nagant revolver that rested on her lap. Her present orders were simple: "if any intruders get past the guards, shoot 'The Dear Leader'."

    The mission had been painless (at least until the end) and lucrative since it began in December. Everything had seemed okay, better, after the Christmas Coup 'attempt'. Certainly Raoul had felt safer, more in control. He was calmer. But even the strongest building will falter if it's constructed on a weak base. And so it was with Raoul's regime. It certainly didn't help that he'd recently become addicted to 'Blud'. The inevitable bouts of erratic decision-making, insanity, and violence (towards everyone, especially his lover) had followed.

    When the proles started massing outside the Palace, the word came down: drug 'The Dear Leader', instructions Lydia had become only too happy to carry out. The next morning, an unmarked ambulance arrived at the rear loading dock. Instead of taking Lydia and Farrago to Municipal Hospital Hospital #1, the ambulance drove out of the city, past the security cordon, to the state psychiatric hospital. Farrago was brought inside, given more drugs, and put in a private room. And after being given her orders, the revolver she held, and a pack of cigarettes to pass the time with, Lydia joined Farrago and waited.
     
  6. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    EDIT: THIS GOT RETCONNED; DISREGARD.

    Outside Banja Luka


    Valerian Fyodorov shook his head when a blindfold was offered. "No."

    The officer dropped the rag and strolled back to the squad of soldiers. On command, the men raised their rifles, aimed, and fired. Unlike in other countries, all members of firing squads in Crotobaltislavonia are given live ammo. Twelve high-powered rifle rounds hit Fydodorov in the chest. And then the officer did his duty, putting a bullet in Fyodorov's head, to make sure.

    Inside Banja Luka

    The Army battlegroup had entered the city easily enough. Who was to stop them? Their objective was a large greenspace a few blocks away from Red Square. While the infantry secured the area, a heavy weapon's platoon began setting up. When they were ready, loud booms began filling the park and echoing off nearby apartment blocks. Second later, the booms were joined by explosions, and then screams.
     
    Last edited: Nov 2, 2018
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  7. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    Melchol Tirzah's right arm was in a sling, her nose was broken, and she was covered with bruises. But the leader of the Free Jewish Coalition was alive and very angry. She sat in a small room in a Banja Luka safehouse with the Coalition's leadership, a dozen other men and women from all walks of life, ranging from small-town Yiddish mafiosos to urban professionals to a former Trivodnian army colonel who'd escaped from the east. The talk matched Melchol's mood: outrage.

    "We must arm. I have ten caches of military-grade weapons ready for use by our..."

    "There are still plenty of Trivodnian veterans hanging around the bread lines in Orlitz-Slav. My contacts say they are waiting for the word..."

    "Nekmet may control the international trade through CBS, but we control the internal trade. Our groups are making a tidy sum selling to..."

    "We must act now before we end up another Free State!"

    "The longer we wait, the stronger the damned Slavs will get!"

    "We must fight back!"

    "FIGHT BACK!"
     
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  8. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    President Fyodorov was staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows behind his desk. Red Square was peaceful today. A column of SPA security troops in ceremonial uniforms were goose-stepping across the square. A gaggle of tourists from the far east were standing nearby, shooting with their foreign-made cameras. And off in a corner of the square, municipal workers were doggedly trying to erase a patch of pro-FJC/anti-Otpor graffiti that had appeared overnight.

    The President swiveled his chair back around. "How bad is it?"

    General Kruten did not try to dodge the issue. He was too old and too entrenched in his position to worry about sugarcoating bad news. "Your Excellency, the Jews are trending towards violence, understandably. The mafia is a concern, always. They are armed, widespread, and already operate in cells. A terrorism campaign is possible. But the Trivodnians are the danger. We are talking about trained soldiers looking for payback. I have ordered increased security along the inner border with Orlitz-Slavonia. And our best is working on finding and infiltrating the Coalition's leadership."

    "What about Lončar? I told her a counter-demonstation was fine. But sicing her Farragoist dogs on the Yids, my God, completely behind the pale."

    "Yes, Your Excellency. I will arrange for several of her colleagues in the Assembly to be arrested. Abuse of the Public Trust, perhaps. That should send the message that her position is not unassailable."
     
  9. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    Orlitz-Slavonia

    Raylena was working the afternoon shift today, filling in for another girl who was meeting a politico. Ray strutted around the metal pole, power posed, and started to remove another piece of clothing. Just then, a group of loud and drunk Trivodnians burst into the strip club and immediately headed to the bar.

    Yid officers, Ray thought to herself, as the men sitting around her thundered in approval and rewarded her with five-dinar bills.

    ...

    Later, much later, Ray stumbled into the alcove she shared with Eve, who was snoring like a chainsaw. Ray pulled the curtain closed and plopped down on her mattress. It had been a long night of men, drink, and sweat, and Ray was ready to sleep. But first, duty called.

    From where her mattress had been sliced open, Ray pulled out a sheaf of papers; matchbooks, receipts, wrappers, whatever. Finding a blank one, she began recording the evening's activities in her own private shorthand. The date, names and ranks, their wives and family, what had been done and with whom, information revealed, it was all there. None of the men had known anything about the Coalition that was not already circulating around. But the night had yielded plenty of material for blackmail files back in Banja Luka.

    Ray, who had come up with as stupid a name as Raylena, put her notes away, yawned, and laid down on her side, one hand under her face, the other hand under her pillow, gripping her Nagant revolver.
     
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  10. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    Midweis, Bergenheim

    Time was running out. Every day that passed saw the evacuation of more Jews to the Polesian Yiddish Ghetto. It wasn't just that the Jews were being forced from their homes in Orlitz-Slav. Reports from the ghetto said conditions were terrible with overcrowding, disease, and inadequate food supplies. Something had to be done. Maybe this wasn't the best option. But it was something.

    Martha was sitting in a cafe in Midweis, Bergenheim, having bribed guards on both sides of the border with heirloom jewelry that had been in the family for generations. As she sipped her coffee and wished she had some extra money for something to eat, a man walked up and sat down across from her. Martha looked across at the man. He was small and mostly Germanic-looking with blonde hair and blue eyes. But his nose betrayed his Yiddish heritage.

    "Bruno?"

    "Martha. You brought the bag?"

    They both glanced down at the black leather bag between Martha's feet. "It's as you said. Completely untraceable. Collected from the finest families in Crobobaltislavonia. Half now. Half later, if you can do it."

    Bruno nodded. "As I told the local contact: difficult, not impossible."
     
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  11. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    Hartem, Orlitz-Slavonia

    Raylena was sitting up against the headboard. One arm was folded across her chest. The other was upright, the hand at the end holding a Lucky. The smoke from the cigarette wafted into the air. After taking a long draw, she passed it to her new friend, a middle-aged Jewish mafioso from Bergenheim. He took a puff and passed it back.

    "How long are you in Hartem for," the female asked.

    The mafioso shrugged his shoulders. "A few days, maybe a week. Long enough to make some good purchases. Your Yid brothers and sisters have left behind some very choice cultural artifacts that'll make me a bundle when I resell them in Midweis."

    "Midweis..." Ray said this dreamily, as if the city was a paradise on the other side of the Moon. "I wish I could go. But the Slavonians aren't letting us leave, except to Polesian ... to stay. They say it's a real hellhole there. I don't want to go."

    Ray's acting coaches back in Banja Luka would have been proud to see the young woman produce tears at will. She looked away to hide them and then wiped them away with the back of her arm. The mafioso sat up, scooted back, put an arm around Ray, and clutched her close.

    "Don't cry. Don't cry. You won't go to the ghettos, I promise. Something is afoot that will really send a message to the Slavonians that our people aren't finished yet."

    Ding! There is a sucker born every other minute, Ray thought to herself. She laughed at her own joke.
     
  12. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    State Political Administration
    Banja Luka, Crotobaltislavonia


    Colonel Virginijus Seskus sat at his desk deep in the bowels of the SPA's headquarters. Laying in front of him were two file folders, side-by-side. The one of the left contained a copy of a rough draft of the President's major policy statement, which the Colonel was finding very hard to approve of. Inside the other folder, just arrived and on top, was Sergeant Gorman's urgent report detailing a Yiddish plot to assassinate the President. And now, with this tour of the country, the President was walking into harm's way. At the moment, Seskus was the only man who could save him. All it would take was a phone call.

    Instead, Seskus opened the desk's center drawer and withdrew his zippo. The Sword and Shield of the State emblem glinted in the light. Seskus smiled and proceeded to incinerate Gorman's report. Next, he pounded the red inkpad on his desk and stamped Gorman's file ENEMY. Finally, he swiveled around to his typewriter and began composing the order to terminate Gorman's life.
     
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  13. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    Raylena ... my name is LYDIA, ugh

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    ... had slept in. After uncovering a credible plot to assassinate the President, she'd earned it. Right now, she was packing Raylena's meager belongings. The intelligence in Orlitz-Slavonia was drying up. Every day there were less Yids around and the Trivodnian soldiers had mysteriously disappeared. Finding them was someone else's mission. Finding the Coalition's shadow leadership was hers, and it was time to move on. Bergenheim seemed promising ...

    Lydia heard the crunch of weight on the broken glass just outside her alcove's curtain followed by a man's voice softly cursing ... in Slavonian. Already reaching for her silenced Nagant, she leveled the revolver and fired twice. Even with the sound suppressed, the reports were quite loud. When Lydia opened the curtain, she saw several Yid girls sticking their heads out from their alcoves to see what the noise was. Ignoring them, she crouched down over the man who was slowly dying. With one hand, she jerked his shirt down, revealing two holes and a chestful of tattoos. The Nekmet crest was prominent. And just below it was a tattoo indicating the man was a bounty hunter.

    Lydia gave the man a hard slap across the face. "Wake up! Who hired you!? The Yids? Iyov," her boss at the brothel. "Ah, dammit."

    The man was dead. Frustrated, Lydia stood up and put a bullet into his forehead anyway. Now it was really time to go.
     
    Last edited: Nov 17, 2018
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  14. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    "Comrade Colonel, there is a man here to see you. He says his name is Krycek," said a female voice over the intercom.

    "Yes, he is expected, Comrade. Send him in."

    A moment later, the door opened and Krycek came in and stood at attention. Colonel Seskus put aside some paperwork and leaned back in his chair to regard the man. Krycek was from the east. He had greying dark hair and brown eyes. He was wiry. Though he was barely over thirty, he had the look of a man who'd spent a lifetime working hard underground. He was as loyal and reliable as they came, but only because the service had gotten to him first. If they hadn't, he might easily have turned into another Reservior Murderer, slaughtering for himself. Instead, Krycek killed for the State.

    "Krycek, reporting as ordered ..., Sir."

    "At ease, Comrade. Do sit down." Seskus learned forward, pulled a santized copy of Gorman's file from his desk, and slid it over to Krycek. "Sergeant Lydia Gorman, one of our honeytraps."

    Krycek picked up the file and opened it. After a glance at Gorman's mug shots, he started leafing through the folder. He stopped and looked up at Seskus. "The Dear Leader?"

    "Right. Slept with him and then killed him. A lucrative assignment as well, which we've ignored until now. Apparently she's burned out, they all do eventually. Most retire and shack up with somebody important. Gorman doesn't want to be a good little girl; she has other plans." Seskus leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk. "We can't let her go. We tried farming this out to Nekmet. But they've already lost one and the trail has gone cold. Unfortunately, time is against us. The President will be making a major announcement next week and Gorman could really muck things up."

    Krycek was no longer leafing through the file. Instead he was going through it deliberately, committing each page to memory with a glance.

    "Everything you need to find her is in there: family and friends, assignments and cover stories, contacts, lovers. Use the usual accounts, I'll make sure they have plenty of money. And Krycek, remember, she's one of us, so no games; make it quick. Understood?"

    The killer turned back to Gorman's photos and stared, her face burning into his mind. He nodded slowly. "Understood."
     
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  15. Auraria

    Auraria Well-Known Member

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    Orlitz-Slavonia

    “Exactly how long must we stare at trucks?” Anxo Castaño asked, putting down his binoculars and joining his squad “I’m getting so bored, gilipollas.”

    “We have our orders,” Eusebi Verdaguer replied “We need to report back on Kadikistan’s development in the area.”

    “I don’t need a reminder of the mission,” Anxo replied “I understand the point, I’m just saying I am losing my mind staring at trucks for hours and hours on end. They’re building roads, it’s confirmed, are we shocked by this?”

    “True,” Alonso Estrada said “The Kadikistani got a border with Crotobaltislavonia, a direct line to Bourgogne and the heart of Germania, Gallia. It shouldn’t be shocking that they’re building bridges. I agree that constantly taking pictures of it is a colossal waste of our time.”

    “He gets it,” Anxo said, plopping his ass down on the rocks next to his compañeros “we can’t even light a fucking fire, lest anyone see us.”

    “I thought Gallaecians loved the cold?” Eusebi asked, laughing.

    Fifty-seven operatives landed in Crotobaltislavonia when Humans sin Fronteras was allowed to send aid workers into the country. The teams were separated, based on their missions and very few actually knew the difference between the HSF aid workers and the Government men. Of particular interest to this group, dubbed the “Montañeros del este”, or MDE, were tasked with monitoring the Kadikistani’s infrastructure development across the new CBS-Kadiki Border. Auraria had an interest in gaining an idea of what type of capacity the new border provided in striking at the heartland of Germania. It was boring work, to be sure, but Solis believed it was critical to developing any sort of counterstrategy to a Kadikistani invasion.

    “Did you hear about the other teams?” Eusebi asked “they’re supposed to be going for Radek.”

    “To do what?” Alonso replied, Eusebi shrugged.

    “Can the militia actually win?” Alonso asked.

    “Of course it can, the free peoples of Crotobaltislavonia and the Yids have the Aurarine Republic on their side,” Anxo said, smiling and standing up “and we aren’t Eiffelland.”
     
  16. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    Foca, Crotobaltislavonia

    Bruno stood silently in the crowd as the President ascended the dais and began greeting the assembled dignitaries. Today Bruno was wearing traditional Elbener clothes: lederhosen, a brimmed hat with a feather, the works. He stuck out, but people would remember the outfit, not the man. The President was now turned to the crowd, waving and fist pumping as they cheered.

    Bruno paid particular attention to the security men. Crotobaltislavonia had had more than its far share of "regime change" over the years and the secret police had learned not to dick around with close protection. There were the usual bodyguards, men made beefy from muscle and body armor, ready to absorb gunfire with their bodies. One of the dignitaries was a plant. Bruno could see the bulge of a semi-auto under one arm. Sitting off to the side was a weak-looking political aide who happened to keep his briefcase balanced on his knees and opened a crack. Probably a sub-machine gun ready to go in there. And there were men on the rooftops with binoculars and high-powered rifles kept discreetly out of sight.

    As the President began speaking about the scourge of Blud, Bruno slipped away through the crowd. Where the crowd began to thin out, he passed an insanely attractive blond woman in a white parka and black leggings talking quietly to a policeman. Another cop stood guard over a group of boys on their knees with their hands behind their heads. As he walked, Bruno considered what he'd learned from the last few days of stalking President Fyodorov.

    Difficult, not impossible.
     
  17. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

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    Somewhere in Crotobaltislavonia

    Lydia was only half pretending to be annoyed. This was the fifth time today she'd had to produce her papers, and she was starting to understand why the Jews were pissed off. And the cop was taking a long time deciding if the papers were in order as he stared down at her chest. Lydia gripped her jacket closed tightly around her neck and the cop lost interest. After handing Lydia's papers back, he went on towards the back of the bus.

    The old man sitting next to Lydia leaned over and whispered. "Sometimes they take a young man or a pretty girl off for a search. The men come back with bruises and welts. The girls come back with their clothes on backwards. It's not enough to keep us low, the dirty schmucks have to defile our women too. But what can we do?"

    Lydia realized the old man wasn't being rhetorical and knew immediately it was a test. Give the wrong answer and that would be that. Give the right answer and the door might open. After looking over her shoulder to make sure the cop was busy, she opened her jacket back up. Around her neck was a leather lanyard. She pulled on it, drawing a homemade toothbrush shiv from under her brassiere.

    "Whatever they take from me, the price will be blood. A-yin ta-chat a-yin, no?"

    The old man looked impressed that Lydia had a command of the ancient tongue. He nodded thoughtfully and said, "when we get off at the staging area, stay with me. There will be a meeting later. The people there will decide if you can help us."
     
    Last edited: Nov 21, 2018
  18. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

    Joined:
    Aug 13, 2007
    Messages:
    272
    Location:
    The Heartland
    Capital:
    Banja Luka
    Nick:
    CBS
    Somewhere in Crotobaltislavonia

    Up until a few hours ago, Krycek had been up to his usual tricks tracking down Gorman. But Seskus had gotten a hot tip from the girl herself; she was still on a mission after all.

    "She's with Jews-On-Buses. Get to Krasrilevke. Their inside man has gotten them the President's itinerary and they're already waiting for him there. You'll have forty-eight hours to track her down."

    Krycek had sworn when he'd read the message. The sun had already gone down. He didn't have a car. And even the SPA, the vaunted "Sword and Shield of the State," was still an old-country bureaucracy. The motor pool had refused to give him a vehicle until the paperwork cleared the next morning.

    So here he was, sitting in the passenger seat of his hippie older sister's battered hippie van, ignoring her as she blathered her usual hippie tripe: the guys she'd screwed, her last Blud trip, that Black Sabbath was just as sophisticated as Mozart. Krycek covered his eyes and once again fought the urge to murder the woman.
     
  19. Bergenheim

    Bergenheim Well-Known Member

    Joined:
    Nov 27, 2016
    Messages:
    330
    Location:
    Anor Londo
    Capital:
    Midweis
    Nick:
    Vextra
    Road to Orlitz-Slavonia

    Eight hundred years ago, a small way-chapel was built on the long-roads into the east, to provide respite and a place to pray for Bergener Knights heading east on crusade. Today, the old faded stone-building was much stripped of its ancient iconography, and served as a make-shift hostel for weary truck-drivers and other itinerants.

    Jacob Bialik looked around the cold, drafty building with naked disdain. As a proud Jew, it was mildly offensive to be sent to a place like this. As someone fond of personal comfort, the lack of amenities proved the greater offence.

    "Jews-On-Buses. Fronts without Humans. Popular Polesian People's Front." Jacob muttered. "All these Fakakta meshuga, too many names for the same crap."

    "Hey boss, we got another one." called an underling. The aged Mispocha middle-man sighed. If Ephraim had just helped him out, taken his offer, he could have been staying in a Hotel in Banja Luka. Instead, he had to make do running guns in exchange for drugs and hard cash. As if he wasn't' approaching retirement age.

    Sighing, he paced wearily the worn stone floor, as another bus pulled in. Hippies would give him money for drugs, truck drivers would give him drugs for money, and anybody else...more interesting...would get guns, ammo and the blessings of the Bergener "Family" and, ostensibly, the Free Trivodnian State. At least, according to the forged papers he'd stolen from Kahnemann's outfit. Though, knowing what the Trivs-in-Exile were up to, he doubted the former Chancellor would much care if gangsters were running guns in his name.

    "Welcome to the Wayrest Chapel, gentlemen. May I take your coats? Would you like some schnapps? Something stronger?" he smiled unctuously, keeping up his front of being an innkeeper while he sussed them out.

    His eyes fell when he saw the big man in the thick coat. SPA? Shit.

    "Ah, come for the weekly bribe...? One second, gentlemen..."
     
  20. Crotobaltislavonia

    Crotobaltislavonia Well-Known Member

    Joined:
    Aug 13, 2007
    Messages:
    272
    Location:
    The Heartland
    Capital:
    Banja Luka
    Nick:
    CBS
    Krasrilevke, Crotobaltislavonia

    Valerian was in the backseat of his car, looking out his window at the mass of humanity that had assembled for his address. From the people outside, the President looked down at the folder that contained his speech. I am doing the right thing for the Motherland, but what of my people?

    -

    In the underworld of criminal and international intrigue, Bruno was a man of his word. He had taken the job and all but guaranteed success; the President would die. But he was also prepared to sacrifice all if necessary to get the job done. Plan A was in his coat pocket. Plan B was strapped to his chest. For my people.

    -

    Lydia stood on the stage, a part of a menagerie of dignitaries. A blonde and blue-eyed Germanic Jew would make a good impression. She looked out at the faces who had gathered here: Slavonians, Yiddish, Germans, Italians, Orthodox, Tiburans, Jews, Twents. Were they that different? No matter where they'd come from or whatever they called their God, they were still Crotobaltislavonian. Lydia's eyes started to well with tears. My people.

    -

    Krycek stood in the crowd, a man completely apart from these people. He stared at Gorman who was standing up on the stage. Under his coat, he gripped his silenced semi-automatic and felt the rush start to come on.
     
    Bergenheim, Mazidia, Elben and 2 others like this.

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