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Crotobaltislavonia

Elder Statesman
Joined
Aug 13, 2007
Messages
504
Capital
Banja Luka
A Mountain-Top Chateau

The more than half-dozen men assembled represented the most powerful and influential Yiddish gangsters in Crotobaltislavonia. The last year had seen their fortunes rise as Nekmet had foolishly gone to war with the State... and lost. The Yiddish crime families, traditionally small time and local, had banded together into the Cartel to neatly fill the void and take over Nekmet's most profitable criminal enterprise: Blud.

The dinaris were flowing in like manna from Heaven.

The gathering was having a heated debate. After Sobel had been assassinated, the Cartel had attempted to buy her replacement with another Yiddish politician. But the bitch lesbian Hodiah had balked on the deal. Before the Cartel could agree to anything, some members had gone on their own and struck back hard.

"We cannot make the same mistake Nekmet made!"

"The dyke stole my money; I had to punish her."

"My assets in Eiffelland have been seized because of your recklessness."

"None of us can afford to act unilaterally anymore. Are we together or not?"
 

Crotobaltislavonia

Elder Statesman
Joined
Aug 13, 2007
Messages
504
Capital
Banja Luka
The junta members were all there: General Matej Milojević of the Air Force; General Ratko Milovic of the Army; Admiral Dimitrij Žitnik of the Coast Guard; General Dušan Kokot of the Border Guards; and Perko, Commissioner of the Banja Luka Police. They stood uneasily, a few nervously puffing on cigarettes, another draining a tumbler of expensive liquid courage. Soon, the sound of boots could be heard approaching. The general officers set down whatever they were holding, lined and straightened up. And then the door opened and in walked the last man any of the junta wanted to see, but the man they knew they needed. Standing at attention, they snapped salutes to their foreheads.

General Alexander Radek smiled, a broad cocky smile, and returned the salutes.
 

Crotobaltislavonia

Elder Statesman
Joined
Aug 13, 2007
Messages
504
Capital
Banja Luka
Radek woke up from a drug-induced slumber. He was in a hard wooden chair, his hands tied behind his back and his feet tied to the chair's front legs. As the drug wore off, Radek noticed that his left hand throbbed with pain, that he was in a basement, and that he was not alone. Across the room, a man was standing, watching. He was holding something, an envelope. Still hazy from the drug, Radek's attempt to speak came out a barely audible whisper. The man held up a hand.

"Don't bother, General. I'll do the talking." He held up the envelope. "There is a letter here. It says you have been kidnapped by the Cartel in retaliation for your incendiary speeches regarding the Yids of Crotobaltislavonia. They demand that democratic government be restored. As proof they have you, one of your fingers is being sent along. Your fingerprints are on file, no?"

Radek felt with his left thumb where his index finger should be and found only a bandage covering a wound. He glared at his captor and tried to speak again. He managed to get out, "I'll kill you."

The man laughed. "We'll talk later, General. I have to be off now; time to post this." He turned and disappeared through a door. Behind him, Radek fought against his bonds.
 

Crotobaltislavonia

Elder Statesman
Joined
Aug 13, 2007
Messages
504
Capital
Banja Luka
The doorway light went on and Radek's jailer came in with two other men. One was carrying a tripod and a camera. The second man walked straight over to Radek, grabbed a handful of hair, jerked Radek's head back, and spat in his face. "Kadikistan says hello."

The other man set up the tripod and camera, pointing it at Radek. Radek's jailer put on a balaclava and switched places and his friend from the East. The camera's red light went on and the jailer began speaking.

"General Alexander Radek, you have been convicted of crimes against the Yiddish people. The penalty is death."

The jailer pulled a small pistol from his back pocket and held it to Radek's head. Radek tried to pull his head away from the weapon, but the jailer pistol whipped him, leaving a red gash across Radek's cheek. Pressing his pistol against Radek's temple, the jailer declared, "people's justice," and pulled the trigger.

Radek heard only a click and opened his eyes. His jailer turned to the camera. "Our patience is wearing thin. The next time, this will happen for real."

The camera stopped recording. The jailer pulled off his balaclava and replaced his pistol at the small of his back. He said to his underling, "give me the tape. Pack this stuff up. And then ... give the Generalissimo the junta's regards."

The jailer and his friend from East laughed at the little joke and left the room. The other man broke down his equipment, carried it out of the room, and then came back. The man smiled at Radek as he threw the first punch.
 

Crotobaltislavonia

Elder Statesman
Joined
Aug 13, 2007
Messages
504
Capital
Banja Luka
General Milovic held up the print out. "Comrades, we have an oppurtunity. Why are we sending our Jews to Polesian? We recognize Polesian as the Jew homeland only because it claims to be their homeland. Nedernesia and this Jewish Agency seem keen on getting our Jews. So why don't we give them our Jews ... for a price?"

Around the conference table, the junta members rapped their knuckles on the tabletop, signalling their approval.

"Yes, have Jedreck open negotiations immediately!"

"Tell him not to take less than a thousand dinars per Jew."

"Vacation time, ah, Dimmy? The Riviera is nice this time of year; the nude beaches will be full."
 

Vrijpoort

Elder Statesman
Joined
Jul 27, 2018
Messages
450
Location
Berlin, Germany
Capital
Vrijpoort
Nick
Drei
Banja Luka

Ruptus Rothenhäuser had been to many places in his 20-odd years of 'business', but Banja Luka wasn't one of them. Getting here was a bitch and a half in itself. With no direct flight from Vrijpoort, he had to connect at KLM's secondary hub in Lars and present all sorts of documents even before boarding the second flight. Luckily a Nedernesian passport didn't raise too many questions at the border. He was assumed to be just another businessman on his way to his next meeting. Despite what the communist governments spouted out publicly, deep down they were desperate for cash and they knew the Neds usually had some with them.

Rothenhäuser's directions were very clear: engage with General Milovic's office to negotiate terms to get the Jews who wanted to travel to Nedernesia safely over the border to Ertruria before their onwards journey to Vrijpoort. Officially his client was The Jewish Agency, but he had ties with Divisie Twee, Nedernesia's foreign intelligence service. Before heading to the military office, Ruptus stopped at the seedy looking café as had been planned.

There was an old woman sitting in a corner doing a newspaper crossword puzzle and a taxi driver sipping muddy coffee. Then there was a middle-aged woman reading a novel. Ruptus ordered a coffee at the counter and brought it over to the table where the middle-aged woman was sitting.

'I don't normally take sugar with my coffee, but it tastes different here' he said quietly as he sat down, small duffle bag between his legs under the table.

The woman raised her eyes and closed her book and then pushed the sugar across the table, 'That's okay, most drink it like that here.'

Ruptus sipped the disgusting coffee without wincing and waited patiently.

'They're always looking for money, especially in the form of hard currency and even more so if it's guilders. Milovic might not take the meeting himself, but one of his deputies certainly will. Negotiate as you were paid to do. All I need from you is some handy work.'

The woman took out a book and laid it on the table for Ruptus to see. It was written in Engelsh, thus not likely to draw attention if a Nedernesian businessman were seen reading it.

'Inside under the back flap are a few devices. When you're alone and it's safe to do so, remove the backing to expose the adhesive and place it somewhere where it won't be seen for months, just like you were shown how to do in Vrijpoort. Ideally we want under a desk near reception, inside the toilet roll dispenser in the gents and, only if you have a moment alone before the deputy or whoever arrives, inside the meeting room.'

Ruptus took a quick glance at the wafer-thin devices on the back flap of the book, amazed how the technology worked.

'We hope we will be able to get snippets of conversations that might help us build a better picture of their finances, particularly procurement and international transfers. But maybe they'll just record secretary gossip and farts.' The woman finished her coffee and got up to leave.

'Good luck and farewell.'

Ruptus put the book in his bag and left cash on the table for his coffee before leaving a few minutes later. He checked into the nicest hotel his secretary could find, which wasn't saying much, but it would have to do. After a shower, he changed into a suit and got some files into his briefcase, along with the book. He also had wads of Nedernesian guilders that he stashed into the briefcase.

Shortly after lunch, he appeared before one of the military offices in the city centre. He showed his passport to the guard and presented a letter explaining that he was here to conduct business with General Milovic's office. Inside the envelope containing the letter were a few crisp guilder notes. The guard waived him through to reception with a straight face and kept the letter and envelope until Ruptus finished his meeting, for 'safekeeping'.

Ruptus gave a smile to the secretary and showed his passport again.

'Yes, that's right, my office called yesterday. My client understands that General Milovic is interested in a transaction that I can be of help facilitating.' Ruptus sat down and waited patiently for the secretary to confirm his meeting. He was equally prepared to be shown the door. Perhaps these guys didn't want money after all.
 

Crotobaltislavonia

Elder Statesman
Joined
Aug 13, 2007
Messages
504
Capital
Banja Luka
Victoria, the one-time Queen of Crotobaltislavonia, sat on the terrace of the Elbener country house she had now inhabited for years. From the terrace, she watched her children (Alexandra, Marina, Konstantin, Antonia) playing with the servants' and neighbor children.

"My 'surviving' children," Victoria thought bitterly as she watched them. Crotobaltislavonia had given Victoria a crown and a husband. But then it had take away that crown, that husband, and her oldest son. For years, Victoria had kept the dream of returning to Banja Luka alive. Slavonian royalist expatriats had kept her living in comfort in Elben, had even formed an "army" to restore Victoria to her throne.

But Victoria was tired, couldn't care less about that podunk country to the south anymore. Now, she only wanted to see her children grow up happy and safe.

-----

Maximilian Jedreck was where he could usually be found: with a woman. Jedreck sat up in bed, poured himself another tumbler, gulped it down. Turning, he looked at the woman he was with. He could see the shame on her face as she covered herself with the bedsheet. But she'd said she had a husband and five boys and would do anything to keep them from being deported to Polesian. Yes, the Junta's final assault on the Yids had been a boon for Jedreck. Desperate people would do anything to save themselves. And desperate was so sexy!

-----

Ajda Resnik sat at the vanity in her dressing room, wearing only her underwear and a pair of running shorts. Her hairdresser was busy braiding her long blonde locks. Another woman was touching up her make-up. And a third was picking out clothes for the next newscast. There was a knock at the door. The news director stepped in, stole a glance at his attractive news anchor, said, "breaking news. We've got a source in Army intell saying Kadik radio chatter in-country has spiked. It's all in code and they don't know what it means. But something's up. You're on in five."

Ajda stood up immediately, said, "give me my blazer." She put on the navy blue coat and headed out into the studio.

-----

Milica Živković, aka Csenge Budai, Grandmaster of the Banja Luka Chess League and former CEO of CBS Chess sat with a chess board on her lap. That there were no pieces on the board didn't matter. The pieces were in Milica's mind where she replayed match after match after match, almost ceaselessly. She took nourishment only because the doctors had placed a feeding tube. She slept only because the doctors regularly sedated her. Oddly, to the marvel of the doctors, Milica still used the toilet on her own.

-----

Dr. Elizar Montepelier of the European International School of Thought was at his computer typing away furiously. He was working on yet another monograph, attempting to yet again explain yet another schizophrenic shift in Crotobaltislavonia. Elizar paused, took a puff from his pipe, and yet again thanked God for the meal ticket that was the Free Canton of Crotobaltislavonia!
 
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