The Chessboard

[Socialist Commonwealth]

The Knight

Marko Erjavec stood out in Mazara. He stood out amongst the ragged clothing of the local populace and the dirtstained combat suits of his fellow soldiers. His uniform was neatly cleaned, all buttons polished to the brim and his medals gleaming in the sun. He stood out amongst the depressed, downtrodden stares of the people on the streets, who watched only the ground they walked on, while he was watching forward with confidence, mustering the faces of those passing by as they avoided to return his glance. His demeanor was that of an officer of a victorious army in an occupied country without having fought himself in the battle. In fact, Major Marko Erjavec had arrived just that day in Mazara, the largest city in the Carentanian occupation zone and the location of their headquarters on mainland Solaren.

But as visible Marko was in Mazara, no one would have assumed his position to be that of commanding officer of the RAI in Solaren, the Revolutionary Army Intelligence. The Carentanian foreign intelligence service had a myriad of duties to fulfill in the recently liberated country and not all were as obvious as their usual support roles for the armed forces. Solaren was, for all intents and purposes, still shaped by the rule of Pope Urban, down to the very thinking of the people. As they cowered around Marko at the sight of his uniform, he could catch a glimpse of what lasting imprint years of psychological terror had left on the minds of the Solaris. They avoided contact with him, the new authority, tried to appear as submissive and non-threatening as possible. What plans, however, they harbored behind this facade, Marko couldn't even guess. Tapping into this hidden conscience, that was the Majors true mission here, to remove the stains of Urbans rule and liberate their thinking.

His new office wasn't that far anymore, a small patrician building left unscathed by the fighting, located at the central market of the city. It had already been taken over by the military a while ago and been the seat of a logistics and communications unit of the 2nd Cavalry which was stationed in Mazara. Marko didn't intend to announce this change of ownership to the public and the guards at the entrance would remain the same. They had erected a small perimeter around the doors, fencing it off to give the soldiers a better overview of who was approaching the building. The market itself was crowded most of the day, a bustling mass of people trying to bargain for the necessities of daily living. A cancer in the eyes of the Carentanians, as those who controlled the bread and the butter gradually took hold of whatever kind of wealth the Solaris people had left after dictatorship and war. And a breeding ground for insurgency, right beneath the eyes of the occupation forces.

Marko had more than slight trouble shoving himself through the traders and customers on the market. They tried to step aside for the officer whenever they noticed him, but that was a rare eventuality. It was loud, noisy even, on the marketplace and the scenery was a chaotic mess of shouts, yells and screams. He was barely a hundred meters away from his destination, but Marko couldn't even see it. Was that why the driver had laughed so demeaningly when Marko had insisted he'd rather walk to his office, to get a first impression of Mazara on his own?

He was shaken from this thought when a young women ran into him, shoving him to the ground. She looked scared, confused and Marko could swear that the shouts on the market became louder as she hastily tried to get back to her feet. Only then did she realize, who she even ran into.

"Careful," Marko said in Solaris, but with a heavy accent, "why the hurry?" He tried to sound calming and smiled a little, but to no avail. The woman, maybe 20 years old at best, probably younger and with long black hair, a small, pointed nose and thin, pale lips, was shaking visibly. Nervously, she stepped back from Marko, her eyes jumping from one corner to the other in a desperate search for another way through the booths on the market. The shouting became louder, definitely noticeable now.

"What are you running away from?" He put his left hand on her right shoulder to calm her down. The girl tried to evade the touch, but there was another person standing behind her. The market had gotten more crowded around Marko, and even more people were trying to shove themselves in his direction. "What's the matter? Are you a thief?" Amidst his accent, Marko failed to sound as concerned as he had intended to. But he got his message across nevertheless. "I can help you. I am sure we can solve thi-"

Only now did Marko notice the bloody knife in the right hand of the young woman and his sentence broke off into speechlessness upon his realization. The sight of two Carentanian soldiers with fury on their faces appeared in the back of the Solaris woman and it didn't take much more for Marko to know, she had probably attacked a third one with her knife. This epiphany did not remain unnoticed by the woman either, who had seen Markos sudden loss of compositure and heard the shouts of the soldiers pursuing her. But as she tried to jump forward and raise her right arm in an intention to drive the knife towards Markos chest, he let his left hand slid down her shoulder in a quick movement, pushing the hand with the knife downwards. His hand clenched her fist with enough strength to cause her pain, but her attempts to instead grab his throat with her left hand failed, Marko pushing aside her hand with ease. He had already pulled his gun the moment he had seized her armed hand.

"Did you kill one of my comrades?" He asked calmly.

For the first and last time, he heard her voice, a bittersweet southern Solaren accent: "I hope so." She spat Marko in the face.

Pushing aside her left hand, which still tried to find her way to Markos throat, for one last time, he then pointed his pistol at her head. Without any further words, he pulled the trigger.

 

[Rheinbund]

Black nights’ tango


Torrence

General Modersohn, pushed the stop-button of the tape recorder. A short snap was heard and the “play” button sprung up. The tape stopped. Then the general looked at the Solaris Count Stefano di Perugia. The Count looked back in confusion.
“Entschuldigung, Herr General, but what is this? The only word I understood was ‘Solaren’. The remainder was inunderstandable. Where does this come from, and why did you play this tape for me?” the Count asked.
“This is a recording from a Carentanian radio broadcaster,” the General said.
The Count was a bit irritated. “Herr General,” he said, “I speak French, English and German, as one of the few in this country, but not Carentanian. How do you expect me to understand this?”
“I will tell you what this is about,” Modersohn said. “The newsreader was talking about Solaris land owners who keep their harvests in stock to speculate on increasing food prices.”
“But what...” the Count began.
“Stopstop. Calm down. I don’t accuse you of anything. I know who you are and what you did for the people working at your lands,” Modersohn said. “But nevertheless, this is important. Extremely important. I will explain to you why.”

After the capitulation of the Solaris armed forces, the Eiffellandians had chosen Torrence as the administrative center of Eiffellandian Occupied Solaren (EOS). The former Health Ministry apppeared to have survived the war well enough to serve as the seat of the administration of EOS. General Modersohn, who was the Commander-In-Chief of the Eiffellandian forces in Solaren and the head of the administration of EOS, also had his office in this building.
The nickname of General Modersohn was “The Sphinx”. And that was justified. Nobody ever knew what the man really thought. Nobody came close to him. Never did he give a sign of having feelings. He never screamed but his deep voice could cut concrete and sounded like everything from freezing cold to mildly cold . His sense of honour was extreme. He was a man aged 51 years old. He was 1.80 meters tall and musculous, and had metal blue eyes. His dark blonde hair had started to colour grey near his temples, he had some wrinkles in his face, but apart from that most people estimated him to be 40. There was not a single trace of fat on his body, and his physical condition matched those of the young Lieutenants under him. He still exercised an hour a day, didn’t drink alcohol, didn’t smoke and was ascetic. He ate the same food as his soldiers did. He didn’t allow himself any privileges with respect to that. Implicitly, he didn’t allow the officers below him such privileges either. Officially, the officers were entitled to more luxurious food than the soldiers, but no Eiffellandian officer in Solaren dared to actually claim that right. Also Modersohn’s sense of justice was extreme. He treated soldiers and officers the same: With distance.
Count Stefano di Perugia had the same feeling of justice and honour as General Modersohn had. Also he kept people on a distance. He had never really cooperated with the regime, and had always been good to the people that worked for him. In fact he still was. And he also suffered with his people. Even under the current circumstances, he could afford a better life than most Solaris people, but that went against his feeling of honour. He used to lived a luxurious life before the war, but in those days the common Solaris people didn’t starve, either. Solaren was technically backwards, but nevertheless was able to feed itself.
Di Perugia was an extremely rich landowner with lots of money outside Solaren. Money that he had inherited as head of the family, according to the late-medieval tradition that the first son of a nobleman inherited the land and the title, the second son became a priest and the third son was left behind without anything. Those third sons generally joined the armed forces, or became a scholar or a government official. The Count’s younger brother indeed had become a bishop. When the war broke out, Bishop Matteo di Perugia was the Archbishop of Mazara. After the Battle of Mazara, the Count had heard nothing of his brother.
During the war, his only son Maurizio got Tuberculosis. Normally, Di Perugia would have sent him to a sanatorium in Wendmark, but that was impossible because of the war. His son’s condition deteriorated rapidly, actually his son was dying, but suddenly there was this crazy old man from Eiffelland who pumped his son full with substances that Di Perugia had never heard of. This crazy old man gave these substances to Di Perugia as well. A few months later, his son was healthy again. Later on, it appeared that this crazy old Eiffellandian was Dr. Simiak, a famous internist who used to be a professor in infectious diseases. Shortly after that, a mass vaccination campaign against Tuberculosis started in Southeastern Solaren.

Di Perugia’s lands were in Southeastern Solaren, the part of Solaren that was the first to be conquered by the Eiffellandians. Di Perugia considered the old Solaris regime a bunch of megalomaniacs, opportunists and insane sadists. He had expected the war, and had also expected that Solaren would loose it. But he was also afraid of the Eiffellandians, who had not been very nice to followers of the Solaris Catholic Church in the months preceding the war. He was surprised that the soldiers were not hostile towards the civilians. He was more surprised when he saw how efficiently the humanitary aid followed the soldiers. The first year of occupation was not very hard for Southeastern Solaren. This year, Di Perugia had managed to sow and harvest again. Unfortunately, most of his men were in the North as soldiers, but he had asked the women and children in the villages near his lands to help him out. That was something he did not like to do at all (especially not because it was child labour), but he had promised to give a part of his harvest to the people that had worked for him, and had reserved a good sum of money for the children for later use. Of course the Count had kept his promise. That had cost him quite a lot of money, but had delivered him a good harvest. He would sell it at cost price, leaving his own living and the extra sums of money he had reserved for the children out of the equation.

Di Perugia knew that he had not been the only land owner in Southeastern Solaren who had done this. Because of that, he was quite angry about the accusations from that Carentanian broadcaster. But for now he would listen to the Eiffellandian general. Di Perugia already knew that he needed the Eiffellandians. A system in which the lower classes were grinded down was something he rejected, but he wanted to keep his lands. Under the Carentanians, and maybe also under the SNC, he would loose them. Under the Eiffellandians, he would keep them.

“Each economic system has its advantages and disadvantages,” Modersohn said to Di Perugia. “The disadvantage of the Social Market Economy is its complexity. It is difficult to explain. The Communists and the supporters of an orthodox current in Christianity have a much easier story to tell. Before we are even halfway explaining the Social Market Economy, the Carentanians have explained their system and answered all the questions. Solaren is facing a difficult time. I don’t need to tell you that. And in difficult times, people won’t have the patience to listen to difficult stories. And with this story on landowners keeping food in stock to speculate on higher prices, the Carentanians even have more ammunition to use against you land owners. They will repeatedly say that this would not happen when all land would have been collectivised.”
Modersohn paused for a moment. Then he continued.
“I don’t know if these accusations are true, but I am forced to take action. The reason why I invited you, is to ask you to help us with convincing the other land owners to cooperate with us,” Modersohn said. “We must show the world that no food is kept behind.”
“Herr General, to be honest, keeping food behind for speculation reasons would be a despiccable deed. I will talk to the other land owners,” Di Perugia said.

 

[Socialist Commonwealth]

The Pawn

Slumped over a wooden crutch, Antonelli watched the uniformed man approaching from the other end of the stretched hallway. His steps echoed back and forth between the floor and wall tiles of unfiromely white ceramics. Nurses and doctors passed by the Solarener without paying much attention to him. One of the lights flickered, but it was barely noticeable in the broad of the day. As the Carentanian officer had come close enough for Antonelli to recognize him, he smiled and began walking towards him so they could meet halfways. Slobodan Rozman had been the kindest face around the Solaren POW for last months, especially since the attack by a fanatical fellow countryman, back in the prison camp.

"Slobodan, glad you decided to pay me a visit again. How are you?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he said hastily, his right hand gesturing a circle - he wanted to get straight to the important parts. "Look, Guiseppe, I bring news for you. For once, this is an official visit."

It was a blatant lie by the Carentanian intelligence officer. But being just that, an experienced and respected intelligence officer, he could tell it with more than just a straight face. Like all the lies he had fed the Solaren colonel before, he had made sure that Antonelli would believe him to have made countless of private visits, when in fact, he had notified the Revolutionary Army Intelligence of every single one and had every word in these conversations recorded to later study them and make sure he won't miss any details.

"You're going home, Guiseppe."

The words left Antonelli suspended in disbelief. He could go now, back to Solaren? But would he even recognize his country? Then again, it was freedom, no matter what life in Solaren would be like, he could make his own decisions again. Yet... was he even welcome back home? Was there even anything he could call home? Antonelli was unsure what to think. At least here, in Carentania, he had a place to be, people that had spoken to him, even if only out of professional interest like the nurses and doctors. Solaren could well be a place of hostility for a man like Antonelli. They believed him a traitor. He had been told that much, even as a prisoner. By Christ, the bottle he had been stabbed with was perhaps proof enough that there was no honor guard waiting for him once he touched Solaren soil again.

"Guiseppe, I understand this comes a bit surprising for you. But there is no reason to delay this any more. The war is over and you are clearly not a criminal who needs to be detained until we can put you on trial. You are a free man again. Go back, make sure your family is alive and well."

Slobodan handed him a firm handshake. Antonelli accepted, bedazzled. Then, the Carentanian officer heaved his suitcase on a nearby table and opened the locks with a loud clicking sound. Antonelli could catch a glimpse of its contents, most of the space taken up by a thick folder with a massive red stamp on it. Despite the fact that Antonelli could not speak Carentanian, he was pretty certain it read "classified" or "secret". But, of course, that was not what Slobodan Rozman had wanted to give to Antonelli. Instead, he fetched a small letter and closed the suitcase again.

"Remember how I told you once that you could decide whether you wanted to be Colonel Antonelli, the traitor to Pope Urban, or become General Antonelli, the farsighted visionary who fought for a better Solaren? Your work isn't over yet, but your chances are better than ever. The Solaren National Congress is taking up responsibility throughout the country and they need personnel for that. Skilled and experienced people, but none of the old guard who are deep down still mourning the loss of their Pope and working to sabotage the newfound freedom of your people. We've put together a recommendation for you, testifying that you are 100% reliable and acquitted of any crimes of Pope Urbans regime. Enclosed is also a ship ticket to Mazara. Go there, meet the local interim gouvernor and make sure he gives you work."

Antonelli breathed in deeply, then let out a relieved, but exhausted sigh. "Thank you, Slobodan. We'll meet again, once Solaren has become a respectable country. One that really does gods grace justice." He shook Rozmans hand, both men said farewell to each other and with that, Antonelli was on his way.

Rozman meanwhile walked back towards the hospitals entrance with considerably less haste. When he finally exited the building, Antonelli had already left for the train station with a taxi. Waiting for his officer was Rozmans personal aide, for whom the intelligence specialist fetched the classified folder out of his suitcase.

"It's important that this gets to Mazara as soon as possible. Your job is to get it there. Enclosed are three copies of Colonel Antonellis personality report. You will bring one to the interim gouvernor of Mazara, one to the commanding Carentanian officer in that area, which is the commander of the second cavalry division, and one is for the head of Revolutionary Army Intelligence in Solaren, who also is seated in Mazara right now. Under no circumstances is any one else and especially not Colonel Antonelli himself, to be aware of the contents of the reports on the Colonel, nor even its mere existence."

With unquestioning efficience his aide saluted him. "Yes sir," he said.

 

[Potenza]

The Rook

It was perhaps about six in the morning. A cockroach, thick and black, with long antennae waving about as if trying to find something in the air, rested snugly atop the cigarette pack. The dawn light peeking through the blinds was at such an angle that the roach had found a happy little strip of darkness to stay. That is, until a hand swept across the wooden table, hitting the roach and sending it sprawling across the room. With a splat the insect hit the wall, falling to the ground with another splat, wiggling its legs frantically until it recovered its balance and retreated towards an air vent on the floor.

Paolo Ferlinghetti growled angrily and opened up the pack, taking a cigarette out. The hand holding the pack was visibly shaking, causing the remaining cigarettes in the box to rattle a bit. This caused Ferlinghetti to curse under his breath, as he realized he was feeling the effects of no sleep that night - if not the night before that, and the night before that. He had been unable to sleep for the past few months, and it was always the same. He would be unable to sleep for a few days, and then one night his body would just shut him down randomly, kicking in with the emergency functions the human body has in case of sleep deprivation. He had taken pills the night before to try to get him some rest, and that had proved useless. Now he was going to have to take pills to keep himself a wake. Every week was like this. Every week.

Through the round spectacles that rested on his typical Potenzan nose, Ferlinghetti watched as the match he lit burst into flames and settled, lifting it up to the cigarette. The nicotine entering his lungs felt good, and calmed him down a bit. His dark eyes glanced over to a pile of papers, and he realized he hadn't organized himself the night before, when he went on another late night creative spike. I can organize it tomorrow morning, he had told himself. It can wait until tomorrow. He had told himself that before he realized he would never sleep that night at all. Now he would have to organize that after the cigarette, if he hoped to be ready and presentable for the meeting that morning.

Outside the windows of the hotel the Potenzan military had commandeered for their civilian workers and officials, Ferlinghetti could hear the soldiers of the famous Scipio's Own division waking up and going out into the streets. They were officially the 10th Infantry Division, but had adopted the name "Scipio's Own" after the death of their general, Count Scipio di Morosini, in the 1940's or so. Ferlinghetti couldn't quite remember in his mental state. The division was considered the toughest in the Potenzan military, and perhaps for good reason. Many of the soldiers in the division were the "outcasts" of societies: they were men charged with crime and offered forgiveness for military service; they were orphans who had grown up with no one to adopt them, and had nowhere else to go; they were troublemakers from other divisions sent to the 10th for some disciplines; they were former mafiosos who were seeking a life outside of crime and knew they would be killed if left on the street; they were countless other kinds of men. They were tough and wouldn't accept intimidation from anyone - hence why Prime Minister Gaetano Merlino had personally selected them for the Potenzan cooperation in the Solaris reconstruction.

And Ferlinghetti was part of that reconstruction, though in a different way.

***

Maggior Generale Francesco Ronco smiled as he looked out at the various Solaris men before him. They were all gathered in a medium-sized room, with chairs gathered around a podium. The men were in the chairs, Ronco at the podium, and these men were the mayors and various community leaders of the zone currently under Potenzan occupation. They had all been escorted to this small village where the 10th ID had set up it's headquarters, and under the guard of men from the 1st Brigade. Ronco recognized this peace-keeping mission was still in its infancy, and things could go wrong - he was doing his best to make certain it didn't.

"Gentlemen, I thank you all for coming, especially so early in the morning," he began, speaking to them all in his native tongue - which the Solaris could understand, of course, "as many of you are well aware, I am Major General Francesco Franco, of the Tenth Scipio's Own Division. Our Prime Minister, Gaetano Merlino, personally asked for us to come here, to assist the Solaris people in the reconstruction and rebuilding of their country following the tragic war that you experienced not too long ago. He did this because he recognized that we are a common people separated solely by language." That drew light laughter from the crowd. "I recognize that our division's reputation precedes us, so permit me to dismiss some rumors right off the bat. First, my men are not rapists. We punish rape as a civil crime, and we take it seriously. The reason there are no women in our division is not because rape was a problem, but because we are seen as a rough and tumble outfit, and women have no place in such an environment. Second, while it is true many of my men are former criminals, they forsook their life of crime long ago. When my soldiers are out on patrol, you don't have to keep your hand on your wallet. Third, my men are far more disciplined than you may realize. The vast majority of them are orphans who had nowhere else to go, or young men who were down on their luck and needed a place to feel direction in their life. They found it with the 10th. Now one rumor I will confirm - we are tough sons of snakes, and while we aren't known for starting fights, we are known for finishing them."

Ronco glanced over to a doorway nearby. His major, known as Paco, appeared, motioning behind him. There came Ferlinghetti, carrying a large briefcase under his arm. Ronco visibly grimaced - Ferlinghetti looked horrible, with a pale, bony complexion and some sweat on his brow. This was the man who was about to speak with a good chunk of the civil leadership in Solaren?

"Potenza is not here as a conqueror, but as a brother," Ronco continued, turning back to the men, "we are here to help, and cooperate with the populace. To talk a bit more about this, I'd like to introduce you to Paolo Ferlinghetti. He graduated top of his class at the prestigious School of Architecture, at the University of Turin. He has been asked to offer his services in the reconstruction, and to give northern Solaren a new identity. Please welcome him."

Ronco began to clap, and the Solaris followed cue as the architect walked up to the podium and placed the briefcase upon it. As he opened it up and took out some concept designs, laying them atop the briefcase. Ronco noticed that Ferlinghetti's left hand was shaking a bit, although the architect hid it by placing it flat against the edge of the podium.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Ferlinghetti began, speaking slowly and assuredly, "Potenzan businesses are working with the government to assist in the reconstruction of Solaren. If the peace-keeping missions succeed, there will be great accountability in the country, and if that happens, then businesses will thrive, and, well, tourism will grow. We can help the world see your nation in a new light, yes? Well, I have some designs...they're really not much, I apologize..."

As soon as Ferlinghetti took up the first design and laid it against a nearby board for all to see, Ronco had to do a double take. It wasn't the design that shocked him, but Ferlinghetti's use of the words "really not much." Really not much? That had to be one of the best done designs Ronco had ever seen. It was nearly realistic, even though it was done in colored pencil. It was concept art of a large seaside resort, and the terrain looked like the west coast of northwest Solaren, near the oceans and lakes. Even the Solaris men gave appreciative sounds as they eyed the fine piece. Despite this, Ferlinghetti eyed it like an embarrassed father looking at a prodigal son, shaking his head a bit before continuing:

"This is just one design of a resort that one such company would like to construct to the west of here, along the lakes. It would have a shopping center at the middle, and hotel rooms above it. Businesses would most likely pop out around them over time, given the growth of the Solaris tour industry. And this one..." Ferlinghetti took out yet another exquisitely done concept art, this of a mountainside with a building that looked like a three story mansion. "This is the guest center for your nearby mountains. There are interests of opening up tourism for camping in the hills, or nature hikes, or uh...such things..." Ferlinghetti coughed a bit, wiping his lips, and Ronco was, for a moment, worried he was about to pass out. "That's just another. I have more, but uh...are there any questions."

At first, the room was silent. Then, one man raised his hand.

"Oh. Yes, sir?"

The man, who was older and had a beard with graying hair around the very ends, leaned forward and said, "You said you weren't coming as conquerors. Well...did you mean that for your government, or your businesses?"

Ferlinghetti furrowed his brow in confusion, "I'm sorry?"

"Are you here simply to enslave the Solaris people for your economy?"

Ronco stepped forward, putting a hand on Ferlinghetti's shoulder, "No one will be enslaved. Keep in mind my men and I didn't come here of our own free will, but at the behest of our grand duchy. Everyone in life is a 'slave' to something. The fact is, with the guns silent, your neighbors want to know what will become of Solaren. Some of your neighbors are keeping their hands in their pockets - my nation has her hands reached out to you. Is that bad?" No one responded to that. Ronco looked to Ferlinghetti, then back to the Solaris leaders, "Gentlemen, I thank you all for your time. You may leave if you like - my men will escort you back to your quarters."

As the Solaris headed out, Ronco turned to Ferlinghetti and said quietly, "Saint Salvo's ghost, Ronco - you look horrible. Have you slept at all?"

"A little," Ferlinghetti lied, "how did I do?"

"You were all right," Ronco said, "but don't let them push you around. They're just wary. You worship a man like a god, and suddenly he's not so much like a god, well...I guess I would be a little upset too."

Ferlinghetti took one of the designs and shook his head at it. "No, no...not right." He placed it on the podium, reaching into his blazer pocket and taking out a colored pencil he apparently had in there before. Ronco watched as the Potenzan architect began to scribble a bit along a single line, making what appeared to the general to be a minute change. "Wrong, wrong...argh!" Ferlinghetti cursed under his breath, "I'll have to fix this later."

"It looks good to me," Ronco said.

Ferlinghetti shook his head, stuffing his designs in his briefcase and leaving in a hurry, "It's never good...it's never good..."

 

[Socialist Commonwealth]

The Queen

Carefully, Eva arranged the slices of bread on the silver plate, surrounding the small pot with the garlic paste. The plate, massive metal and neatly polished, was a family heirloom of her husband, passed down through at least three generations. Eva had brought no such material wealth into her fresh marriage, but the food arranged on it was a staple of her homeland. She intended to serve the simple dish as appetizer, before she would treat the neighbourhood the newly wed had moved into, to a dinner of roasted meat and potatoes.

Eva and her husband Frank had moved into their house only earlier that week and, promptly greeted by the neighbourhood, invited them to dinner on the first Sunday. It was a very typical neighbourhood for the middle class of Eiffelland, their house two-stores tall and made of red bricks, surrounded by a large, daintily maintained yard and a shining white picket fence. It was a "dream come true", as Frank had called it, even if he had to drive almost 45 minutes every day in his burgundy colored EKW car to get to his work at the university hospital. For now, the house was much large than they had actually needed it to be, but surely, kids would follow soon and then Eva would also have more work at her hands than right now. It was barely a week, but she was already starting to feel a little lost whenever Frank was gone to work.

Surely this had a little bit to do with the fact that her German wasn't entirely perfect and her accent and limited choice of words gave her away as a foreigner. The neighbours who had come over for dinner were quick to notice that as well.

"What a curious treat," one elderly man with thick-rimmed glasses on his nose remarked, "a traditional from your homecountry, I suppose?" He seemed entertained by his own little detective game and smiled brightly at Eva and Frank. "And your choice of wine is superb. Frank, you said your wife choose this one, so she must come from a country with a rich tradition in wines. That and the strong garlic flavor in this sauce... mhhh. I assume: Potenza?"

"No. No right," Eva said a little clumsily, but with honest friendliness in her voice. "Carentania."

"Oh..." the man stuttered, falling into a few seconds of awkward silence along with the remaining neighbours who had surrounded the couple. For a moment, Eva felt as if she was being mustered and carefully examined by her new neighbours, who, apparently, then decided she was worthy of being given a chance - perhaps for merit of having left the socialist country and moved to Eiffelland. But this trust was not unconditional, as the grey-haired wife of the elderly man unintentionally made clear by the tone of her voice when she asked:

"So, how did you meet Frank then?"

-

Noise. There was noise everywhere. If war was loud, then the battles around Tegeata were a cacophony and the rocket artillery its loudest instrument - and the Carentanian soldiers were not even fighting the actual battle for the city, where, no doubt, the clash with the Solaren forces was more intense. Carentanians had instead moved to the south of the agglomeration, clearing villages and small towns and moving the artillery into supporting positions to clear the path for the Eiffelländers. It was the first time in the war that the two forces had cooperated in such a way.

"Slavic! Take Eisenstein to the hedge and cover our flank."

Seargant Milosevic was trusted by the men and women under his command and Eva Slavic was no exception. The young woman had learned to trust him and follow his orders throughout the battles she had fought in his unit during the Solaren campaign. This trust had held true vice versa as well, even though Milosevic had experienced Private Slavic as stubborn and rebellious at first, to the point he was doubting her quality as soldier alltogether. By the time of Tegeata, both had fought in enough battles for their troubles to be ironed out and Eva's position as the troublemaker of the platoon had been taken over by replacements like Eisenstein. Slavic and Milosevic were, in fact, the only surviving members of the platoon that had initially been dispatched to Solaren.

Eisenstein had only two days ago arrived at Mazara, fresh from training, and been placed under Milosevics command to get first combat experience in a veteran outfit. Apparently, no one amongst the higher ups had bothered with checking how many of the original members still lived, instead of just taking a glance at the long list of battlefields their company had served in. Alpha Company, Second Cavalry Division - a respected name amongst Carentanian soldiers and the horse-patch on your shoulder was sure to open up doors for you back home, once you finished your tour of duty. "If you finished your tour of duty," Eva corrected herself in her thoughts, but she didn't want to complain. Second Cavalry was part of the Revolutionary Guards. Neither she nor any of her comrades were conscripts, everyone was serving because they had decided to do so. This mess was her own fault.

"Keep an eye out for any movement and tell me anything you see," she instructed Eisenstein. From the hedge they could overlook two large fields of maize, seperated by a road that, for the most part, hugged closely to the slope the hedge was growing on top of. Right in the center of this small valley was a village of three intact buildings and one ruin. It wasn't their target, Milosevic and his soldiers were moving to secure a nearby farm whose buildings would provide better cover against raids for the artillery the commander intended to move within striking range of Tegeata. "If it's either of those types of movement: slow, careful, and clinging to the shadows, or quick, powerful and closing in to kill - well, shoot first, then tell me."

"Oh, um, well Corporal, I report a truck, approaching as quickly and powerful. But I have my doubts it wants to kill us."

Eva let the snide remark of Eisenstein pass. The sight of the Eiffelländer military truck driving down the road and passing by them closely, but apparently without taking notice of the two Carentanian soldiers, had confused her.

"What the hell are they doing here? And all on their own, too?"

The vehicle was a military version, but then again, it was not of military nature: it was clearly marked as ambulance vehicle and Eiffelland had quite a number of them in operation in the area to get the wounded to safety, where they could be treated better and without risking fire from Solaren units. However, this was clearly not any part of the operational theater where that would hold true and Solaren presence in the direct vicinity was still hours away from being erased by the Carentanian forces. If anything, the Eiffelländer should at least have had some kind of escort with them.

"Maybe there was a miscommunication and they thought we already had secured this sector," Milosevic, who had been waved over by Eva Slavic, was calmly noting. "Either way, this should be none of our concern, we have targets about three kilometers west of here." He patted Eva on the shoulder. "Keep watching the flank, we'll get go-"

He was interrupted by the sudden roaring of a gun, firing from within the small settlement between the maize fields. A shell hit the Eiffelländer truck, sending its front ablaze and the remaining vehicle on fire. A couple of men dropped out of the back of the truck in panic, two of them fell straight to the ground, obviously injured, one started running into the waist-deep maize plants in confusion, while another one obviously managed to regain his composure and return some inaccurate fire from his submachine gun. This was quickly followed by rifle-fire from the edge of the buildings, approaching the car-wreckage quickly. Solarens soldiers were charging their easy prey.

"Fuck it," Milosevic was grinding his teeth in frustration, then yelled out to his remaining platoon, calling them to the hedge to provide support. Without hesitation, he grabbed Slavic and Eisenstein, shoving them over the hedge and down the slope, onto the road. Eisenstein was reluctant, whereas Slavic was moving as if her entire body was automatized. She had done this before, Eisenstein not.

"You wanted to be a big fucking hero, didn't you?" She snarled at him. "Then let's go!"

She sprinted across the cobblestone road, towards the burning wreckage. Milosevic and Eisenstein closely followed her, but coincidentally, neither of them had the speed of Eva Slavic. The Solaren troops, pressing towards the injued Eiffelländers, had not even taken notice of the Carentanian platoon, even when some of the Carentanians had started firing upon them from the hedge. They had focussed on the two Eiffelländer men who were still standing: the runner, who was struck down by a volley from within the buildings, and the rifleman, who was trying to suppress the approaching soldiers and had taken cover amongst the maize.

When Eva had reached the truck, that man had been hit by a Solaren bullet as well, but managed to take down two attackers before he had gone down. Eva Slavic took little notice of that and she also allowed herself only a short glimpse of the Eiffelländer Officer who was crouching below her, awake, but bleeding profundy onto the road. He had short blonde hair, a healthy complexion and wearing the uniform of the Eiffelländer medical corps. She was coated into the dim olive green of the Carentanian combat suit, her dark brown hair tied together in a way that guarantueed a tight fit of her steel helmet - and she had started firing away with her semi-automatic rifle at the approaching Solaren soldiers, being joined in that action by her two comrades within seconds.

The Eiffelländer officer was trying hard not to lose consciousness and found himself focussing on the Carentanian women who stood right above him, her depleted cartridges raining down onto him.

*bam* *bam* *bam* *cling* whenever she had depleted a magazine.

*bam* *bam* *bam* *bam*

-

*cling*

The sharp sound of the silver tablet dropping onto the wooden floor filled the room, spilling bread and garlic-sauce all over a nearby carpet.

"So silly I am," Eva excused herself quickly and tried to pick up the spoiled food as swift as she could. "Where my head. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Don't mind it, Darling," the senior woman she had been talking to said, "these things happen to all of us. Now," she turned to Frank, "you where going to tell us where the two of you met?"

"Oh it's a boring story, really," Frank waved his hand dismissively, "I used to work in the army - medical corps - and while abroad, we ended up sharing a ride together, talked a bit, and found each other to be quite sympathetic. From there on, it was pretty straightforward. Very boring, really."

 

[Rheinbund]

Queen’s Indian Defence


Perugia

Count Stefano di Perugia had his ideas about how Post-War Solaren should look like. He had virtuously managed to hide his antipathy to the theocratic regime while keeping his hands clean. Based on his nobility, his position as large producer of granes and the fact that he was not known as an enemy of the regime, he had always got travel permits. Therefore, he had seen all the countries around Solaren, from Talemantros to Arendaal, from Fresania to Franken, and all the countries in-between. He had seen the Ultracapitalism of Danzig, the Socialism of Carentania, the traditionalist and semi-aristocratic regime of Engellex, the Liberalism of Frescania and Arendaal, the militaristic authoritarian but also centrist democracy of Wieserreich, the ultrademocratic community of Wendmark and the Centrist states formerly forming the EDF.
Ultracapitalism was not what he wanted. He couldn’t imagine how the upper classes of previous times could enjoy their excessive wealth while knowing that 90% of the people lived in extreme misery. It was not for nothing that Socialism and Communism arose during the 19th century.
But that wasn’t the right answer, either. Innovation needed a certain amount of economic freedom, people who excelled in their jobs or worked hard deserved to be awarded more than other people, people with large responsibilities deserved to be awarded as well, and the same counted for people who followed a long education. The solution was to mix capitalism and socialism. Something many countries had done, first of all the Germanic countries and Danmark. That was the path Solaren had to follow.
But was that also what the SNC wanted? Di Perugia had the very strong feeling that the SNC was a puppet of Carentania. Apart from the fact that he had a personal interest (his lands and his fortune), he didn’t want the Carentanian system in Solaren because of the flaws of Socialism.

Di Perugia did not have a connection with the SNC, but he always read the press releases of the Mazara Free Press Association (MFPA). Therefore, he knew that the SNC was planning to organise elections by the end of the year. Currently it was working on a new constitution for Solaren. The elections to be held would be organised according to that constitution. That was less important. More important was that there were apparently factions within the SNC. That was good news. Di Perugia decided to investigate what exactly the liberal faction wanted. But how to contact the representants of that faction?

Di Perugia decided to send an editorial to the MFPA.

But he also decided to form his own political party. He wanted to be part of the new government, whatever it would look like. But then he had to arrange a lot of things. First he had to collect enough people around him to form a political party. But he also had his lands. When the war broke out, Di Perugia’s son Maurizio was about to attend the last year of the Mazara Agricultural University. But then the universities closed. Mazara was shot to pieces by the Carentanians. Tegeata came out of the war with relatively low damage, because of which the universities restarted quickly there, but then Maurizio became ill. Now that he was healthy again, he was planning to follow his last year in Tegeata. But if Di Perugia had political aspirations, he needed someone to lead the lands. He had a plan for that, but then Maurizio had to agree.

Maurizio teared into Di Perugia’s working room. “Dad,” he screamed excitedly, “I got a letter from Carlotta’s parents. They found her in a refugee camp!” Carlotta was Maurizio’s girlfriend. She was the oldest daughter of Count Di Casorzo. She and Maurizio had met in Mazara, where she studied French. During the war, she was called for duty to work as a nurse for the Solaris Armed Forces. At a certain moment, the postal services stopped, so Maurizio didn’t hear anything from his girlfriend for a couple of months. Until today.
“Good news, Maurizio. Where did they find her?” Di Perugia asked.
“In a camp near Testono, in the Eiffellandian occupational zone. She went North together with the army. Her father already departed to take her back home. They will be in Tegeata in two weeks,” Maurizio told enthousiasticly.
Di Casorzo’s lands were on Capraria. After the fall of that island, the Carentanians started to collectivise the agricultural sector. Di Casorzo lost all his lands. To make sure that he could still dispose of his fortune, he decided to take his family off the island and travel to Southeastern Solaren. Now he was living as an exile in Tegeata. His fortune was large enough to live a modest life from, and that was what he did, embittered as he was because of the loss of his lands. During the war, his sons were at a boarding school in Wendmark, but that was something he could not afford any more. He had taken his sons back to Solaren and had put them on a Liceo in Tegeata. Di Perugia was still trying to arrange a job for Di Casorzo, but that was not really easy.
“Well, Maurizio, then it’s extra good news that you’re going to study in Tegeata then. You’ll be close to her then,” Di Perugia said. “But there is also something else to discuss. I am planning to ground a political party so that I can take part in the upcoming elections. If I am chosen, I won’t have the time to run the lands. I will need someone to do that for me.”
“Whom are you thinking of?” Maurizio asked.
“Well, actually, you. You only need to follow some courses until February, but then your stage starts. What about running our lands as your stage?” Di Perugia asked. “Of course, you need a research question, but that could be arranged. I developed some plans for a new irrigation system. What about you working on it?”
“Sounds interesting. What are those plans?” Maurizio asked.

 

[Socialist Commonwealth]

The Knight

The telephone line was hastily improvised, a cable running through an open window which Marko Erjavec now couldn't close any longer without cutting his connection to the outside world. He often worked till way after sunset and the chilling breeze of the night filled his office each time, but even as late as that, the telephone remained the lifeline of his work. Without it, he wouldn't be able to handle the numerous tasks given to his units spread across Solaren, wouldn't be able to disperse his orders as quickly as he did. Marko had, of course, requested an assistant, a secretary, by now, but no reply had been given by the responsible superiors back in Rijeka as of yet. The intelligence officer was left to his own assets with a growing amount of requests from the Commissariate for Defense.

He skimmed through a number of reports that had been stacked on the edge of his desk. The flickering light, a result of power fluctuations in the barely operational electrical grid of Mazara, made it harder than the sheer amount had already made it to read them. In fact, Marko Erjavec was only searching the reports for keywords, trying to filter out those deemd unacceptable for the task at hand. They were reports on Solaren political activists, labor activists to be precise. With the upcoming summit in Panetelleria, the Workers' Republic had desired to assume at least a little responsibility, secretely of course, as to who exactly was going to shape the future of Solaren labor politics. Carentania was "generously" arranging the flights for representatives from all corners of the country, which was seen as an adequate tool to deny overly reactionary, overly hostile and overly bourgeoise individuals from attending the summit.

"We regret to inform you that we are unable to provide you with a plane to Panetelleria. Despite our hardest efforts, our logistical capacities during the timeframe of the labor summit have proven insufficient to accomodate for the needs of all delegates."

Marko had to type each letter manually. It'd be at least a few hundred. His hands were hurting after a few dozen already. He really needed a secretary if the RAI would keep getting such sizeable tasks. And those were only the rejections, which would be sent out only shortly before the summit. Those Solaren citizens which Carentania would actually provide with a trip to Panetelleria were much more and they would have to get a letter as well, with exact time and location for where to meet their escorts to the flight. The Intelligence Officer in Mazara was barely coping with this amount of work by letting his subordinates across Solaren organize most of this themselves. They would receive identical forms into which they would only have to insert the different details and then hand them to the labor activists.

Not that this was Major Erjavec's only job. In fact, it was considered only a minor assignment in between hunting former members of Pope Urbans regime, issuing security evaluations and threat assesments to the Carentanian forces in Solaren and preparing for the upcoming political battle which would decide the path of the country. It was an open secret to all of Europe that the Workers' Republic sought to expand the socialist sphere as far as the border of Lorraine, much like Eiffelland and Potenza wanted to prevent this and instead reap the benefits of a Solaren market to their own economies. Only the next months could tell if either of them were expecting just how dirty Carentania was going to fight this battle.

Marko took the glasses of his nose, tiredly rubbing his eyes and sighing in resignation. He was looking nowhere as clean as when he had arrived in Solaren, his hair unkempt, his shirt hanging above his belt and there were large rings below his eyes. He really needed to push his superiors back in Rijeka more about that secretary. Even if that conversation was going to take even more time off of his actual work.

 

[Potenza]

Playing the Fianchetto

Away from Solaren, but not too far from it, in the halls of the grand ducal palace in San Salvo, the ancient halls had the echoes of beautiful feminine harmony. Devout Tiburan Catholics recognized it as a chant often sung during Easter, and many of the palace's servants were peeking down the halls and through the door into the main reception hall, where it was being sung. Inside, nuns from the nearby convent were chanting for a very special audience: Grand Duke Guido III himself. The young grand duke was seated in the middle of the room, aides and advisers standing nearby. The only other person seated in the room was Archbishop Ildebrandino Conti, the leader of the Metropolitan Archdiocese of San Salvo. One could say that, next to the prime minister, he was the second most powerful man in the Grand Duchy. He had much sway over the religious goings on...and he had some influence beyond the borders.

In truth, he had brought the nuns with a pretense. As the two men watched the nuns of different ages chant, Conti leaned over and whispered to the Grand Duke:

"Aide in Solaren should be underway soon."

Guido III nodded, not taking his eyes away from the nuns, "That's good."

Conti paused a moment, before continuing, "But we won't be alone..."

The Grand Duke immediately knew what the archbishop was hinting at, "The Reformed Church."

"They're already set to move in," Conti explained, still whispering, so that no one could hear over the two men talk over the chanting, "if they get power in norther Solaren, the Holy Church's hopes of expanding there will be for naught."

"We can't have that," said Guido, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve, "as you know, your eminence, the Torriani have always been friendly to Mother Church. I hope to continue that."

Conti smiled, "Very good, sir...I knew you would be wiser than the Visconti. That is why I wished to give you this proposal?"

"And what is that?"

"Grant the Church complete power over the charities inside Potenzan occupied territory. That way, we can make certain...only the right people enter."

Without hesitation, the Grand Duke nodded, "So be it. I give northern Solaren to Mother Church. She may do with it as she wills."

Conti bowed his head, "Very good, your majesty..."

 

[Potenza]

The Rook

If it wasn't a full moon out tonight and with no clouds in the sky, it would almost be pitch black. As it stood, there was some light for the lonely jeep that made its way down the winding Solaris road. There were some bumps from the shells in the previous war, creating at times a rather shaky ride. At times it was so bad that some of the Potenzan soldiers began to call any bumpy road a "Solaris highway." The headlights were on, adding to the depth of field, with no lights inside the car. This would be helpful if one wanted to sleep during the ride, but the bumpiness of the road would seem to prove otherwise. That's why it shocked the jeep's inhabitants that Ferlinghetti was sleeping soundly in the back sleep, laying across both seats and seemingly undisturbed as the vehicle occasionally tossed him around a little.

"How can he sleep?" asked Paco.

Ronco shrugged, "Maybe it's like a rocking chair. Poor guy doesn't seem to get any sleep. The body has a limit."

"Insomnia, you think?"

"Could be anything."

It was some time before the major began to start another conversation with his superior:

"Do you think the Carentanians will attack?"

"Who knows? They seem antsy about their neighbors. They could do anything. In the meantime, San Salvo's kept the entire Folgore division on standby in case something. I'm sure the Grand Duke knows what he's doing."

"He seems pretty clever for being so young."

"Give him time. Hey wait! Slow down!"

They had begun to draw closer to the Potenzan headquarters, in the major village that it was located. Electricity had been repaired by Solaris-based groups, and power was restored to most of the towns that had them. As such, there was now greater light, giving the jeep passengers a better view of what was unfolding during the night. To the right of the jeep, a group of children seemed to be picking and prodding at another boy - perhaps barely ten years old - who was trying to get away as quickly as possible, but couldn't because of his weak legs. Ronco noticed that the boy was leaning on crude crutches, and that he barely seemed to have any support for his body from the waist down.

"Stop, stop." Ronco ordered. Paco complied, and the Potenzan general stepped out. As soon as he did, Ferlinghetti was awakened, looking up from the back seat and whispering in an exhausted tone:

"Are we there yet..?"

Paco smirked a little, turning to look at the architect, "No, the general stepped out for a moment."

As the major smiled, Paco noticed something distinguishing about him, something he had noticed when the two first met. Paco had two strange scars, start from his lips and moving in a diagonal direction up towards his ears, along his cheeks. When he smiled, they were even more noticeable as the skin on his cheeks folded over them and his lips curled in a strange manner.

"Major," Ferlinghetti began, "can I ask you something?"

"The scars?" Paco asked. The quickness of the question suggested this wasn't the first time someone had requested permission before asking. "Before I joined the Tenth I was in a gang, in the worse parts of Turin. I got in bad with a girl of another gang leader, they accused me of being a snitch, so they tried giving me a Turin Grin. That's when they cut you deep from the lips to the ears and punch you in the groin. They left me to bleed for death, but didn't do a good job."

The answer took Ferlinghetti aback, and he could only stammer out a tired, "I'm sorry..."

"It's all right, it was a long time ago. I have a future here now."

Meanwhile, Ronco had approached the crowd of children, shouting, "Cessare! Cessare!" The children immediately recognized his uniform and started to run towards him, chanting "Poti! Poti!", the Solaris nickname given to the Potenzan soldiers. Ronco had ordered the soldiers be especially kind to the Solaris children, and it was common for units to be selected to hand out candy and goodies to them randomly, in an effort to win the local populace. However, this time, Ronco simply moved through them, going to the young boy leaning on his weak canes. The lad looked up at him timidly, unsure if he was in trouble or if this Potenzan officer would join in on the mockery too. Instead, Ronco smiled warmly and spoke in soft terms:

"Strong boy, to be able to walk so far from home on your own strength. I admire that. Today, you are one of Scipio's Own."

Ronco reached up to the side of his uniform, grasping the division patch, and with some exertion tore it from the sleeve. He handed it towards the young boy, who took it with a smile. "When you get older, see me for a position." He winked and turned, heading back to the jeep. The children followed him, asking for patches of their own, but once again he simply ignored them. Paco and Ferlinghetti watched him enter, and they said nothing as Paco started the jeep onward once again.

"That boy," Ronco said, "he has cerebral palsy. Like my son."

 

[Rheinbund]

Black nights’ tango


Torrence

General Modersohn wanted to give the Carentanians the benefit of the doubt. In his heart, he really wanted. But many recent developments did not allow him to do so. To be precise, some recent Carentanian actions did not give him the room to do so. He knew that it was intrinsic to ideologies that their adepts wanted to spread it over the world. That was the case with mehzism, with post-delegationism, with liberalism, in the end even with the Germanic social market economy, although the Germanics were not very vocal with spreading their economic ideas. They preferred to show the world that it worked. Socialists and communists, however, had made it a matter of honour to turn the world socialist or communist. Modersohn seriously doubted about the intentions behind the humanitary aid of the Carentanians. Were the Carentanians really concerned about the well‑being of the Solaris or did they just want to buy them into the socialist camp? Of course, expansion of the sphere of influence was also a reason for the Eiffellandians to be in Solaren, but it was not the main reason. The main reason was that the regime of Pope Urban was a risk for the safety of the region. Now that the Eiffellandians were in Solaren, they wanted to do everything to create a stable democracy there.
But what were the intentions of the Carentanians? Modersohn did not trust them. One of the first things they did at Capraria was collectivising the agricultural and industrial sector, and now they were a bit too enthousiastic with preaching socialist values. There were enough signs to presume that Carentania wanted it all. Not that Modersohn would accuse them of anything, but he wanted to be prepared. That was why he had asked for more troops in Solaren. Luckily he had managed to convince the government in Trier, so that he got the additional troops.
And then the SNC. The Solaris National Congress. Neither the Carentanians nor the SNC would ever admit it, but Modersohn considered them to be puppets of Carentania. The only function of the Liberals in the SNC was to give it an independent look, but in fact Rijeka determined what the SNC decided. Because of that, all decisions by the SNC were studied thoroughly before they were carried out by the Eiffellandians. Up to now, none of those decisions had been refused, but Modersohn would certainly refuse each and every SNC‑decision that could be considered a step towards a socialist state.
Meanwhile, the Eiffellandians had secured themselves the agreement of the majority of the Solaris in the Eiffellandian Occupational Zone. Southeastern Solaren had become a good example of what life would look like under the Eiffellandians: Stability, the practice of a constitutional state, freedom to live your life like you want and freedom of speech. The Solaris were emphatically involved in rebuilding the country. The materials were delivered by the Eiffellandians, the Potenzans, the Telorans, the Franconians and whichever country that had promised humanitary aid, but the Eiffellandians listened very carefully to the Solaris about what should be done where. That attitude was paid back with trust by the Solaris in the Eiffellandians. Furthermore, the new companies Lamborghini, Autobianchi and Moto Guzzi had also received technology from Eiffelland. Something like that would be done more often.
Something else that helped in obtaining the approval of the Solaris was the fact that the electricity network was up and running again. Plans were developed to extend the network and make it more robust.

But now that conference in Capraria. Chances were small that the people going there would only talk about the teachings of Karl Marx. Also here Modersohn wanted to be prepared. And he was. Maybe the Carentanians thought differently, but he was.
Quite some time ago, the Eiffellandians had taken over the issue of passports in their Occupational Zone. All Solaris people living in the Eiffellandian Occupational Zone were obliged to have a passport of the Eiffellandian Occupational Zone. The passports were issued for free, but the identities of the people were checked thoroughly whenever possible. This had several advantages. Because the passport was proof of the fact that the holder’s identity was thoroughly checked and therefore proven, it could be used to apply for a bank account, a driver’s licence and so on. And also for traveling abroad. No inhabitant of the Eiffellandian Occupational Zone could leave the Zone without a passport. Now this came in handy.
The Carentanians said that the people attending the conference would be flown to Capraria. Well, no plane could enter the air space above the Eiffellandian occupational zone without the air force knowing it. Would a plane land on one of the airports in Eiffellandian occupied Solaren, then it could not take off without having a flight plan with the destination on it. The passports and flying tickets of all passengers would be photographed on microfilm. This was already done at all the airports in Eiffellandian occupied Solaren. No passenger could go to the plane without having been checked first, so it was known who would take the plane going to Capraria. A plane landing somewhere else than at one of the airports, for instance a distant field, was suspect by definition. A platoon would be sent there, all the searching lights would be turned on and the air force would check the air space. Suspect planes would be forced to land on the closest‑by airports, civilian or military.
Of course the conference attendants could be taken to an airport in Carentanian Occupied Solaren. Therefore, the border between the Carentanian and the Eiffellandian Occupational Zone was thoroughly patrolled. Everybody passing the border crossings were checked. The people in buses, trucks or cars full with people got an additional check mark so that they could be found more easily later on. People trying to cross the border somewhere else than at the checkpoints were suspect by definition. Of course some people would manage to cross the border illegally, but not all.
And finally, all the boats were checked, especially the passenger boats. This happened in the seaports. Like at the airports, all people would be checked and filmed, and all passports and boat tickets would be photographed on microfilm. Fishing villages were checked as well. Boats going into sea from a random beach were suspect by definition. Of course also here it wasn’t possible to close the net completely, but to a large extent it was.
Goal of the operation was to know the names of all the people going to the conference in Capraria. The official reason for the intensified checkups were terrorist threats. The result would be a list of names. The people on that list would be surveyed by the Staatsschutz, which was also active in Solaren. In this way, it would become known who were the false‑positives on that list and who were really followers of Carentania. The latter would remain under surveillance, but only be caught when they would do something suspect.

 

[Rheinbund]

Latvian Gambit


Senigallia

“So you’re not going to witness against Siciliano?” Lieutenant Matthias Weiß asked his boyfriend, the 19 year old Marco Gambini.
“No. He and I are the only survivors of that partizan group were were members of. Siciliano can accuse me of everything. Of course it will be my words against his, so I won’t be convicted, but it will damage my credibility. And I will be labelled the murdering ex‑partisan for the rest of my life,” Marco said. “But I’m not worried. There are more than enough people who want to testify against him. I don’t expect Siciliano to ever leave prison.”

They were sitting at a distant part of the beach, 100 km from Senigallia. It was far in October, but it was still 25 centigrades, the sun was shining fiercely and the sky was cloudless and deep blue. Matthias had a motorcycle at his disposal, and he had taken Marco with him to this part of the beach, so that they could be alone. They didn’t have that opportunity very often. Matthias didn’t have furlough that often, and Marco often had to work in the hotel. And when they had time, they couldn’t meet in Senigallia.
At least in Southeastern Solaren, the Solaris cooperated closely with the Eiffellandians to rebuild the country, and quite a lot of Solaris had Eiffellandians as friends. But Marco’s father was still very hateful towards the Eiffellandians. Before the war, his hotel went extremely well. During the summer months, it was filled with tourists, the majority high‑ranking officials from the old regime and their families. Because of that, he had a lot of contacts in the old regime. Those days were gone. The guests Gambini had in the past had all disappeared. The remaining Solaris people didn’t have the money to go on holiday. This year’s tourist season was the second one in a row that failed. And Marco’s father blamed the Eiffellandians.
Apart from that, there was another reason why Matthias and Marco could not be seen toghether in public. Homosexuality was still frowned upon in Solaren. Gays weren’t burned at the stake any more, like in the days of the old regime, but they were excluded from society instead. There was still a lot of violence against gays, and sometimes gays were even beaten to death. Up to now, the Eiffellandians hadn’t been able to change the public opinion towards gays. Well, apart from Tegeata. In the setting of a constitutional state, a setting that the Eiffellandians had created in Southeastern Solaren, the cities were always more liberal than the countryside. And that began to count for Tegeata as well. Compared with the rest of Solaren, Tegeata was quite liberal. It even had a thriving gay scene. Torrence and Testono would follow later on, and maybe even more cities that the Eiffellandians wanted to develop further. Like San Remo, the port city on the west coast that the Eiffellandians were enlarging.
In any case, there was enough reason for Matthias and Marco to meet secretly. And so they did. They sent each other short letters. Each morning Marco assured that he received the mail so that he could take Matthias’s letters out. Each afternoon Marco delivered the mail to the mailbox, complete with his own letter to Matthias. In that way they communicated about when they could meet and where Matthias would pick Marco up. Each time that was a different location.

Matthias and Marco had discussed life in Eiffelland when Matthias was staying in the hospital where Marco was serving his PoW‑time. Of course gay life in Eiffelland and Solaren had been discussed. Marco had told about the persecution of gays in Solaren, and Matthias had told about gay life in Eiffelland. Homosexuality had been legalised in Eiffelland 2 years ago. The Eiffellandian larger cities were tolerant to gays, but the countryside was not. Matthias had told about the hard times he had to suffer in the small village where he lived during his childhood. His father was a colonel in the Eiffellandian Air Force, but Matthias’s eyes weren’t good enough to become a pilot, so he joined the army.
“But what does a gay want in the army?” Marco asked. “I imagine it as quite a macho culture.”
“Well, believe it or not, but 30% of Eiffelland’s professional soldiers is gay, and we divide the conscripts by sexual orientation. The gay conscripts have their own batallions. Their underofficers are gay and their officers are either gay as well or don’t mind to command a bunch of gays,” Matthias said.
“So we weren’t quite far from the truth when we called you bastardi sodomiti,” Marco grinned. “But why are there so many gays in your army?”
“Where else would you expect such a concentration of guys with hot bodies than in the armed forces?” Matthias grinned back.
Later on, when they were in a relationship together, Marco referred to that discussion again.
“You told once that 30% of your armed forces is gay. Do I need to worry that one of the other gay soldiers will take you away?” he asked.
“No, not at all, I’m completely yours,” Matthias said, put a finger under Marco’s chin and kissed him on the mouth.

Now they were discussing the upcoming process of Aldo Siciliano, the former police director of Southern Solaren who was as corrrupt as a man at his position could be in a dictatorship. Everything that was forbidden or unavailable under the rule of the Solaris Catholic Church had been smuggled by him, and he had run some nice production facilities for heroin and cocaine. He was also wanted in Eiffelland because of the drugs, but he would be trialed for his crimes in Solaren first. Furthermore, he had put several rich people behind bars so that he could appropriate their possessions. But most importantly, he had raped several young men who had been captured for homosexuality. They were released in exchange. The men refusing him were raped as well and killed afterwards.
During the war, Siciliano landed in a partisan group. Accidentally, Marco was a member of that group as well. Not voluntarily though — he had been dragged into that group by his older brother. And so he became the last victim of Siciliano. He escaped from the partisan group after Siciliano had tried to inject a dose of heroin into Marco’s arm.
The Nicosians had kidnapped Pope Urban to Syracuse and sentenced him to death, but there were more than enough other people from the old regime who needed to be trialed for various crimes against humanity. Siciliano would be one of the first.
“In fact I’m glad that I don’t have to testify,” Marco said. “The last person I want to see ever again is him. I hope he’ll rot away in a cold and narrow cell for a very long time before he dies. Just lock the door and throw the key away. That man is a pathological sadist.”
Matthias didn’t know what to respond. Instead, he fondled Marco through his black curly hair. Marco nestled himself against Matthias. After a few minutes, he said: “Come, let’s go for a swim. It will probably be the last time of the year.”


A prison in the centre of Southeastern Solaren

During the days of the Urban-regime, Andrea Badoglio was a public prosecutor in Mazara. In that position, he often cooperated with Aldo Siciliano. Or better said, he kept Siciliano’s smugglers out of the hands of the police and gave Siciliano’s enemies a one‑way ticket to Ustica. In return, he obtained lots of money on an anonymous account in Danzig. Badoglio was a wealthy man.
But of course he realised that he would be wanted after the fall of the old regime, so he took precautions. He found himself a barrister of about his age, with a wife of about the age of Badoglio’s wife, and children of the ages of Badoglio’s children. The barrister and his family were killed while the Carentanians attacked the city, and Badoglio and his family escaped. Now their official names were Mario, Gabriela, Vittorio and Anna Salerno. As barrister Salerno, he was the defending counsel of Siciliano. And in that function, he visited Siciliano in prison today.

“Ciao Mario,” Siciliano said, making sure to use the name that Badoglio had adopted.
“Ciao Aldo,” Badoglio said.
“What kind of news are you bringing me?” Siciliano asked.
“Well, I have some information on your trial. You will be transferred to Torrence for that. That will happen in November, and the trial will begin in January,” Badoglio said.
“What are the outlooks?” Siciliano asked.
“One thing is good,” Badoglio said. “You won’t get the death penalty. The Eiffellandians managed to push that through. No death penalties will be issued. But there are an enormous lot of severe charges against you, and the Eiffellandians themselves would like to have you as well for a couple of charges.”
“Why would the Eiffellandians want me?” Siciliano asked.
“Drug trafficking. They are usually quite hysteric about that, but in your case they left the honour to the Solaris,” Badoglio said. “Probably also because they know that you are going to get a severe punishment here.”
“Aren’t you afraid to be recognised during the trial?” Siciliano asked.
“Well, I’m taking my precautions. Wait and see,” Badoglio said. “Meanwhile, I found Marco Gambini back. In Senigallia. He is working in the hotel of his parents.”
“What a pity. I could have given him a luxurious life, and actually I offered him that, but refused. He hoped that he could study medicine, but now he ends as a hotel boy, and later on as the owner of a hotel that used to be top‑notch but is currently more and more in decline,” Siciliano said.

 

[Potenza]

The Rook

In the western sections of northern Solaris, where the zone of Potenzan occupation and the waters of the sea met, activity was a bustling. The Mazzio Corporation, one of the Grand Duchy's biggest names in the transportation industry, had laid the foundation for a train system that was supposed to stretch from one end of the country to another. The managers and supervisors were Potenzans, but the workers were all Solaris, paid for by the Mazzio Corporation. Leopoldo Mazzio, the president and CEO of the company (and suspected mafia boss), had personally promised Prime Minister Gaetano Merlino that the Solaris would receive equal pay comparable to their Potenzan counterparts. Thus far, it seemed he had kept true to his word. Most of the Solaris working on the railroad were paid a fair share. The vast majority of the workers were unemployed, mostly because their businesses or crops had been destroyed during the war, and they were desperate for labor.

Soldiers of the Tenth Division were nearby, keeping an eye on things. Their main function was to make certain no one launched any attacks against the workers, or attempted to sabotage the machinery. An armored vehicle was always near the end of the track, full crew inside ready to start up and counterattack at a moment's notice. For the most part, however, no attacks came. Some of the Potenzan soldiers went to the nearby beach to throw rocks, while others sat down near the workers and played Potenzan folk songs on a guitar - which none of the workers minded, any way. There were even a few instances where the workers actually knew the songs and sang along with the soldiers.

Ferlinghetti probably would have sang, but his mind was on other things. Nearby the construction of one of the tourist resorts he had designed was underway as well, much to his chagrin. He was still unhappy about his final designs, and he wanted so many changes to be made. With every plank and every cut into the dirt to lay a new foundation, he saw something he didn't like - some unforeseen mistake or something he could have made better. He had spent the previous night doing nothing but toiling over his designs, but even after spending two hours coloring in some fresh idea, it only ended with a loud growl and crumpling the paper up, angrily tossing it to the floor. Now, with no ideas for improvements, Ferlinghetti could do little except watch the brain child he wished he could have miscarried be brought into life.

"Sir," a voice said.

Ferlinghetti turned and saw a tall, swarthy man wearing a nice suit behind him. The man showed no emotion as he asked, "Are you Ferlinghetti?"

"Yes," the architect replied, "can I help you?"

"Please come with me," the man said, moving aside to reveal a black car behind him, not too far off, "Mr. Mazzio would like to speak with you."

A shrill went up Ferlinghetti's spine. The Mazzio wanted to see him? The head of one of Potenza's most influential businesses was here in Solaren? The short architect moved forward, flanked by the large man in the suit, who eventually moved forward to open the side door of the car. Sure enough, Leopoldo Mazzio was inside, wearing an expensive suit (as he was always known to do), and showing a bit more gray on the sides of his head. Beside him was a younger woman (but not by many years) with dark red hair, a rarity in Potenza except for those from the Duchy of Treviso, and a lovely red suit that hugged her features. If the rumors were true, she was most likely Mazzio's consigliere, and although it was often against mafia rules to have a female consigliere, if the capofamiglia said it was all right, few people argued.

"Mr. Paolo Ferlinghetti," Mazzio said, waving a hand, "please come in. I mean you no harm."

The architect moved in, sitting down across from the business couple and immediately enjoying the plush, well taken care of leather seats of the vehicle. Mazzio crossed his legs, then his arms, smiling a little at Ferlinghetti as he began to speak:

"Your reputation is well known in the halls of Turin's commercial districts. Some think you're the best architect to ever live. I understand, however, you are here under contract."

"That's true," Ferlinghetti replied, finding a problem focusing due to his lack of sleep, "I uh...have a contract from Turin, I'm working on some future tourist resorts here. I'm just here to make sure they go according to plan, really. I'm just the designer for the most part though...I think. I'm not really sure..."

"I understand," Mazzio said, cutting off the impending rambling, "that's why what I'm about to say to you was never said. Do you understand my words?"

Another shrill went up Ferlinghetti's spine. What was he about to ask? This man controlled most of the trains and buses in the Grand Duchy, and had his finger firmly stuck in the Potenzan Merchant Fleet. What could he possibly want with someone like Ferlinghetti?

"Y-yes," the architect nervously replied.

"Good," Mazzio said with a bigger smile, "now, I have two stations planned right now - one at the end here, one at the far end of the line, to the eastern shores. However, I intend to build a station in the middle...one grander than the other two. Sort of a celebration of the tracks meeting halfway. I'd like you to design it."

Ferlinghetti felt his hand go up to his neck, rubbing the back of it, moving to his cheeks as he wiped some sweat that was developing, "I don't know if I would have the time, I mean I'm already under pressure to make certain the design for the resorts are as perfect as possible."

"Money is not an issue," Mazzio added, "and all I would want is the design. My men can take care of the rest. I believe a figure in the millions would suffice?"

For a moment, the architect pondered if he had actually managed to fall asleep, and was really in a dream. Did one of Potenza's most powerful men just offer him a plate full of cash for some simple designs.

"All right," Ferlinghetti finally said, smiling nervously, "I guess you uh...drive a hard bargain? Heh heh..."

"Good!" Mazzio leaned forward, tapping the window. The door opened, and it was obvious that it was now the architect's time to leave. As he did, Mazzio waved a hand and said, "Pleasure doing business with you, Ferlinghetti. I hope our friendship lasts..."

 

[Potenza]

King and Pawn versus King

"I do believe I hear the sound of that Protestant Prince now."

These words were said by Grand Duke Guido III, as he sat in his study, beneath the large statue of the goddess Athena. He was in his usual state, with his leg crossed over the stub of his bad leg, the useless fake leg dangling off the edge of the chair. The words were spoken to himself, as he had spent his time in the room by himself, thinking on topics to discuss in the next Sunday discourse to his people over the radio. Now this silence was interrupted by the sound of a nervous palace staff member trying to ask someone to slow down, and the additional heavy footsteps suggesting the two men were moving at a quick pace. Soon after this noise was heard, the staff member and the Duke of Treviso himself appeared.

"Your majesty," said the palace staff member, "His Royal Highness..."

"Duke Prospero di Cornaro, yes I know," Guido said, "Prospero, you sent your man to tell me you might be coming. Urgent business, you said. You may leave us."

The staff member bowed, backing away, not turning from the Grand Duke until he was out of the room. Duke Prospero, wearing an expensive suit with a sash draped over his chest (the usual attire for the more humble Cornaro household), glared at the Grand Duke with a rather cold expression. It was clear that Guido's position was the only thing making Prospero truly speak his mind.

"What is the meaning of this?" the duke asked.

"The meaning of what?"

"You know what I'm talking about. The Reformed Church has been forbidden from going to Solaren."

"That was not my doing," Guido said, "that was the decision of the Catholic Church."

Prospero quietly noted that Guido had not stood up from his chair. As Grand Duke, he was not obligated to do so, but many - such as his predecessor, Eldizio I - did so anyway out of courtesy. Guido took his handicap as an excuse of not rising at a moment's notice, but many, like Prospero, knew it was his quiet way of insulting those he didn't particularly care for. You knew if you were on Guido's good side by whether or not he took the effort to stand up for you.

"It was the decision by the Catholic Church," Prospero said, "using the power that you gave them."

"My hands are clean," Guido remarked, "I do not micromanage who goes in and out of Solaren. If you have a complaint, I would make it to the Archbishop Conti. He would be able to assist you better."

"I also know you have power over the church. You could get them to revoke this rule. It would be in your interest - it affects your citizens."

"A minority of them," Guido corrected, "do you think I should be ruled by the whims of a minority? Most governments seek to avoid such slavery."

"Irregardless, they have every right to be in Solaren as anyone else."

"Do they?" Guido asked, smiling a little as he started to tap the head of his cane on his arm, "Their 'humanitarian' efforts will be a front for missionary activity, everyone knows that. You want to go into a nation that suffered under a pseudo-Catholic dictator and bring them the joys of Calvinism?"

"No one will be compelled to convert," replied Prospero, "and it's not Calvinism they give them, it's the gospel."

"Irregardless," Guido said, "it is beyond my power. I don't compel the Catholic Church to do anything. As I said, I would take up your struggles with them. However, I do thank you for coming, Prospero - I appreciate the input from all the nobility, no matter how small their voice."

Prospero raised an eyebrow, then bowed slightly, "Your majesty...I shall speak to the archbishop then." He turned and walked out, leaving the Grand Duke to be alone. Once again, silent descended upon the study. The leader of Potenza tapped his cane a few more times upon his arm as he quietly thought to himself on what had just unfolded. So many people were worried about a rift between the Duchy of Treviso and the rest of the country, but he didn't foresee anything of the kind. Still, he did foresee tension between him and the Cornaro duke as the reign of this grand duke progressed.

"That man is a dangerous man," Guido said to himself, "he's a leader who actually believes in his God. Those men tend to be either fanatics or idealists...he is the latter. And those are the most dangerous..."

 

[Rheinbund]

Queen’s Indian Defence


Torrence

“Buon giorno, signore e signori, in quindici minuti atterremo all’aeroporto di Torrenze. Si Chiediamo da ritornare alle Sue sedie e da legare le Sue cintole. La temperatura a Torrenze è quattordici gradi, è nevuloso e piove un po. Guten Tag, meine Damen und Herren, in fünfzehn minuten werden wir auf den Flughafen von Torrenz landen. Wir bitten Ihnen, zu Ihren Sitzplätzen zurückzukehren und Ihre Sicherheitsgurten anzulegen. Die Temperatur in Torrenz ist vierzehn Grad, est ist völlig bedeckt und regnerisch.”
It was the usual announcement before the landing that the purser announced. The only difference with the old days was that the announcement was given in Italian and German nowadays. And in quite good German, Di Perugia noticed. For the remainder, it was the same. The plane would land at the airport of Torrence in 15 minutes, the people were asked to go back to their seats and to fasten their seat belts, and the weather at the destination was described. 14 centigrades, cloudy and soft rain.
About 2 weeks ago, the Solaris airways company Aviazione Solaren had started its services again. There was a daily service between Torrence and all the major cities in Solaren, both in the Eiffellandian and in the Carentanian and in the Potenzan zone. The passengers were mainly Eiffellandian, Carentanian and Potenzan officials, but also Solaris officials and businessmen used the air services. Something else had changed as well. The safety standards applied by Aviazione Solaren were not Solaris any more, but Eiffellandian. And that meant a lot higher than in the old days.
Di Perugia was glad that the air services had resumed. It would take one or two days to travel from Southeastern Solaren to Torrence by train, and even longer by car. By plane it was only a couple of hours. Since the start of his campaign for the PSL, he had to travel quite a lot. The air services made that a lot quicker. Now he went to Torrence to meet with a representant from the liberal faction in the SNC and a representant from the Eiffellandian government to discuss funds.

After he had collected his luggage, he went to the exit and took the bus to the center of Torrence. It was still the same old bus as before the war. A 1920s model that produced an enormous cloud of smoke when it accelerated. The rear side of the bus was completely black because of that. But the engine worked and the bus rode. Given the state of Solaren, that was the most important.
At the Central Station of Torrence, Di Perugia left the bus and took a taxi to the hotel. He had already been to Torrence after the war, so he already knew about the extensive destructions in that city. At some places, rebuilding efforts had started. Di Perugia realised that it would take a lot of time before everything would have been rebuilt. Meanwhile, the homeless inhabitants of Torrence were housed in refugee camps until their houses had been rebuilt.
In the hotel, Di Perugia went to his room, unaware of his companion, an Eiffellandian Staatsschutz agent who had been ordered to inconspicuously guard him. There he unpacked his suitcase, and rested for a while.
An hour later, he went downstairs, walked out of the hotel and stepped into a black Borgward that had parked in front of the hotel. The Eiffellandian diplomat Claus Schiel, Di Perugia’s contact person with the Eiffellandian occupational forces, was sitting at the wheel. He greeted Di Perugia and began to drive through the city.
Di Perugia enjoyed talking to Schiel. The man was a young diplomat who virtuously combined distinction, good manners and a decent distance with an open attitude and a talent for creating a relaxed athmosphere. And that was a difference with General Modersohn, who appeared icecold and closed as an oyster, despite his good intentions. Di Perugia was convinced that Schiel would have a bright future in front of him.
After both men had greeted each other and had talked a bit about the weather and their well‑being, Schiel began to explain the plan.

“There is one thing we have to prevent,” he said. “It won’t take very much thinking to deduce that the Eiffellandian government agrees with your views. Too open support from us, however, could harm you. We have to prevent that. On the other hand, we would be very happy if the PSL would get a substantial part of the seats in Parliament, simply because that would be the best for the country. Therefore, we will financially support you, although not directly.”
Schiel stopped talking for a moment, because he was at a busy crossing. When he could drive further again, he continued to talk.

“As you know, the Solaris companies Lamborghini, Moto Guzzi and Autobianchi have been started with Eiffellandian support. That is something we see as our duty, but we convinced Lamborghini, the Guzzi brothers and Malghera to help you in return. The real sums of money we gave to those companies are quite a lot higher than the official sums, and we gave a part of the support in foreign currencies. Those companies will use those foreign currencies for their international purchases and will pass the Solaris Lire they got from us through to the PSL. Furthermore, our armed forces will buy motorcycles from Moto Guzzi for our troops here, and will pay a certain amount of money above the normal price for those motorcycles. Also that money will be passed through to the PSL. Officially, those funds will be private gifts from Lamborghini, the Guzzi brothers and Malghera, and everybody may know that they gave you those funds,” Schiel continued.
“But what if this construction is uncovered?” Di Perugia asked.
“Officially our decision to give money to those companies and the decision of the management of those companies to support you are separate decisions. Let them prove the link. That won’t be easy,” Schiel said.

One hour later, Di Perugia was back at the hotel. He had just been offered a large amount of money for the PSL. Of course he was happy. It remained to be seen if the cover-up would work, but he would be able to talk himself out of that. Now he waited for the representant of the liberal faction in the SNC.

 

[Potenza]

En Passant

It was late at night in San Salvo. The throngs of the Constitution Day parade and celebration were still going on throughout the city, with people (drunk and sober alike) going about the streets, from pub to pub, dance hall to dance hall. Even indoors, celebrations were going on. Many companies and businesses were having Constitution Day parties, paid for so that employees could have a time to relax and mingle. Even in governmental halls, there was cause for celebration. Why shouldn't there be? This was the anniversary of the formation of the Constitution of 1828, which brought about birth of the Potenzan government that still existed to this day. Perhaps there was no greater cause for this celebration than in the prime minister's building in downtown San Salvo, which had loud music playing inside, heard through the windows. Most of the ministers were there with their wives, as well as some friends and some of the prime minister's closest allies in the Chamber of Ministers. The who's who of the National Alliance, the prime minister's party, were there, discussing the matters of politics and the future of the Grand Duchy, especially with a sympathetic and supportive grand duke in power. There was some debate among the party members on who truly held the real power - that is, did the prime minister have the grand duke in his pocket, or did the grand duke have the prime minister in his pocket? Perhaps both men truly thought one held the other.

While Prime Minister Gaetano Merlino's wife was entertaining some of the guests, Foreign Minister Gian Lombardo was asked to come back to the prime minister's private office. He made his way down the hallway that led to the office, hearing the music dim a bit as he departed from the main festivities. Two government employees - one of the prime minister's personal secretaries and one of the aides at the Interior Ministry - were engaged in drunken and passionate kissing, not even stopping or taking notice of Lombardo as he made his way around them. When he finally found the door to the prime minister's office, he entered without knocking and immediately saw Prime Minister Merlino himself and Defense Minister Sergio Mattarella seated on the couch together. Merlino had already taken off his tie (now straddled lazily across the floor before him) and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. The wine glass in his hand suggested he had been working on moving past a state of being tipsy.

"Ah, Lombardo," Merlino said, grinning, "good, you're here. I suppose you're all wondering why I called you here today..." He began to snicker at his own joke. It was clear to both Lombardo and Mattarella that he was gradually getting drunk. Most within the prime minister's close circles knew he was an alcoholic, and although he had cleaned up a bit during the election (thanks to the motherly guidance of Guido della Torre, nor Grand Duke Guido III), he was slowly relapsing. Thankfully, he was always sober at public events or meetings at the Chamber.

"We know why you called us," Mattarella said, "at least I do. I think you should tell Lombardo here."

"What is it?" Lombardo said, smiling as he sat down in a chair beside the couch.

"Oh, it has to do with Solaren," Merlino began, then, glancing to his two most trusted ministers, lifted up his finger to make little shushing sounds, "but it does not leave this room, understand? The only other ones who know this story are Generale Paolo Magro and Tenente Generale Giorgio Battiste...Battisti, sorry...oh yeah, and Ronco too, he knows. OK, and Macor too, forgot about him...I think...yes, he knows..."

"Not an invasion?" Lombardo asked. "From Carentania?"

"No," Mattarella answered, "but it is related to them."

Merlino lowered the (nearly empty) glass of wine to the table by the arm rest, eying it lovingly as he started to trail his finger around the rim of the glass. He began to say softly, his eyes glazing over as if his mind were somewhere else, "His Royal Majesty and I are of the same mind that, if we are to face any threat from Carentania in Solaren, it would be better to be caught prepared than with our pants down. So...we've agreed to begin deployment of the Folgore division to Solaren, to assist the Scipio Division in a possible defense...it'll start with a single brigade, just making some defensive preparations...just...hmmm..." Merlino turned away from the glass, looking forward as he licked his lips, muttering, "I am going to make such love to my wife tonight..."

"They'll be doing what the Scipio division wouldn't be able to do while maintaining peace and defending reconstruction efforts at the same time," Mattarella explained further, "we've planned some rather scorched earth policies should the Carentania attack."

"Scorched earth?" Lombardo asked. "We aren't going to destroy all of northern Solaren are we?"

"No no," said Mattarella, "but perchance our military should be forced back, we will not leave anything usable by the Carentanian forces. Especially anything built by us."

"Bridges, important roads..." Merlino muttered, smirking as he lifted his hands and spread his fingers out, "Ch'pow..."

"The reason this is so secretive," Mattarella explained further, "is we don't want to cause any disruption in the days leading up to the conference. The Grand Duke is still intent on maintaining peace, but there are worries the Carentanians are not. Especially with the recent rumors that the Carentanians have made military plans to attack other forces in Solaren. If Potenzan troops are intended targets, we will have to be ready."

"Oh we'll of course make a statement in due time," Merlino continued, "I will any way...yeah, it'll be me. I won't let Mattarella take the hit for me. But we'll announce it either when it comes out, or after the first brigade of Folgore have been deployed."

"Just one brigade?" Lombardo asked.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes," Merlino said, waving his hand about in a daze, "Battisti will be taking full command of northern Solaren. He'll make sure things are all right...uh...Lombardo, you may go, any questions, that is? Or...yes..."

Lombardo stood up and held out a hand, "Not at all, I understand fully. Thank you, and happy Constitution Day, minister."

Merlino shook Lombardo's hand, his head rolling to one side as he did. Mattarella shook Lombardo's hand as well, with a small smirk on his face. The defense minister knew that Lombardo had been promoted to be a yes-man for the prime minister, and he served his job well. He knew ahead of time that the foreign minister would have no objections - Merlino could probably say that he was declaring himself a god before the Chamber the next morning and Lombardo wouldn't have a problem.

"Hmmmm...Mattarella," Merlino said, after Lombardo had left, "could you leave too, and tell my wife to come here? I want to make love to her over my desk..."

The defense minister winced at the prime minister's bluntness - a sign he truly was drunk now - and he was only to happy to leave. He knew by the morning the prime minister would be perfectly fine. Mattarella did indeed go and tell the prime minister's wife that she was needed in his office - though he didn't tell her the finer details. As soon as she arrived, the prime minister went at his intentions. His wife was shocked, but didn't protest or resist his rough advances. In fact, it actually flattered her that, while many other politician's wives dealt with affairs and doubts of sincere love, her husband still had feelings for her in this regard. As he held her hair tight and was grunting with every thrust, pressing her head against the surface of the desk where he had signed treaties and orders, Merlino couldn't help but grin to himself and think quietly, in the back of his head, If those Carentanians try to mess with us, this is precisely what I'll do to them...

 

[Rheinbund]

Black nights’ tango


Torrence

General Modersohn looked at the map of Solaren that had been attached to one of the walls. It was a detailed map. Even the smallest hamlets could be found on it. Also the roads and railroads could be found on it, although the major roads and railroads on it often indicated what used to be roads and rairoads. Many had been bombed during the war, and not all had been rebuilt yet.
The new seaport at the west coast of Solaren, San Remo, was indicated as well. It took quite a lot of effort to turn a small fishers town into a large seaport, but it had to happen. Modersohn could not understand how the Eiffellandian government could have agreed with handing Bargia over to the Carentanians. They were lucky that it was possible to extend the seaport of San Remo, or better said to build a new seaport beneath San Remo, because that was actually what needed to happen. The old seaport of San Remo was encapsulated by the old town. Extending that harbour would mean destroying a beautiful old city centre. That was something the Eiffellandians did not want to do, so a large seaport was built beneath San Remo. It would serve both as a commercial and as a military seaport. A carrier fleet as well as several frigates and destroyers would be stationed there. In fact the carrier fleet was already active in the seas west of Solaren.

The activities in San Remo could be considered a sign of Eiffelland’s intentions with Solaren. And it was. The Eiffellandians were in Solaren with the intention to stay. For a long period of time, the international politics of Eiffelland, like those of all the other EDF and Germanian League members, was not to interfere with other countries’ affairs, especially not with wars conducted by other countries or blocs of other countries. But the war in Solaren changed everything. Solaren was defeated, but this war was also the downfall of the EDF. Eiffelland could be considered one of the winners of the war, but the real winners were Carentania and Nonsuch.
And the war revealed something that neither the EDF nor the Germanian League had ever noticed, and that still nobody in the capitals of the Germanian League memberstates understood. A blind hatred towards the EDF, and a blind hatred towards Germanian countries. Despite a good system of social welfare, socialist countries still considered Germanian countries with their social market economy bourgeois. No matter what the topic was, the names of Germanian countries were never mentioned in media from socialist countries without the word “bourgeois”. And especially Wieserreich was considered a foe for never proven but always presumed “imperialist intentions”.

The map of Solaren and its surroundings gave a picture that the Eiffellandian government did not like: The Long Sea in-between Carentania’s jaws. The Carentanian Occupied Zone of Solaren was the upper jaw, and the Carentanian mainland was the lower jaw. It would have been easy for Carentania to close its jaws and with that the Long Sea, if not for the Eiffellandian presence in Southeastern Solaren. For the safety of the Long Sea, and to keep it open, Eiffelland’s presence in Solaren was crucial. At least that was how the Eiffellandian government and General Modersohn looked at it. Of course Nonsuch and Danmark could easily open Carentania’s jaws, but that would lead to a geopolitical situation that the Eiffellandians didn’t like, either. Therefore, to keep the global power balance in the centre, the Eiffellandians had to maintain the Solaris status quo, so that they could stay.
The slow processes in the SNC were advantageous with that respect. The longer it took for the SNC to reach a concensus about the new constitution, the longer it took before the elections were held, the better. Because then the Eiffellandians had more time to win the hearts of the Solaris in the Eiffellandian Occupied Zone, and to let them get used to a social market economy. Carentanian rhetorics about that were true, but Modersohn didn’t have a problem with that. The Carentanians did the same in their occupational zone.
Modersohn had even the feeling that their ultimate goal was to turn Solaren into a Carentanian puppet. Well, not against the will of the Solaris. And he would do everything to turn the will of the Solaris against Carentania’s ideology. At least in the Eiffellandian Occupational Zone. While the Carentanians were turning the Solaris in their zone into socialists, the Eiffellandians turned the Solaris in their zone into freedom‑loving people enjoying the advantages of the social market economy.

The Eiffellandians did everything for that. They invested in new companies to give the country an economic backbone and to create jobs. They started many infrastructural projects and employed Solaris for that. In almost all cases, the contractor and the main engineers were Eiffellandian, but all the subcontractors were Solaris companies employing Solaris people, and the main contractor employed as many Solaris as possible while the Eiffellandian engineers educated the Solaris engineers.
One of the most important problems was feeding the Solaris. Almost everything was scarce. Luckily, the Eiffellandians managed to prevent serious problems in the form of starvation. An efficient distribution system made sure that everybody got enough food to live. There were problems, but they were not large. Meanwhile, everything was done to get the Solaris agricultural sector back on its feet, so that the country could feed itself next year and even export food, like it had always done.
Something else was done as well: Winning the hearts of the youngsters. The Eiffellandians introduced jazz and artists from Italian speaking countries, and stimulated young Solaris to make music as well. Saxophones became popular in the Eiffellandian Occupied Zone, as well as pianos. Danceclubs began to emerge everywhere. Also a radio broadcaster focused on young people was established. The Eiffellandian soldiers were encouraged to befriend Solaris young people. That sometimes resulted into love‑affairs. And into other funny side‑effects. Contrary to Solaren, dental care was at a high level in Eiffelland. The Eiffellandian soldiers looked like walking toothpaste commercials. The Solaris youngsters wanted that as well, so the sale of tooth brushes, tooth paste, tooth pickers and floss threads increased enormously. When Modersohn discovered that, he took care of it that the Solaris dentists in the Eiffellandian Occupied Zone could use the newly introduced white tooth filling materials for front teeth with Eiffellandian subsidies. All these efforts paid off more and more. The Eiffellandian soldiers became more and more popular among the Solaris youth.

The largest problem at this moment were the groups of adepts of Pope Urban. They had formed a political party, but some of its factions were violent. With a comparable program as the Carentanians had used, the Eiffellandians had taken as many weapons out of the Solaris society as possible, but some weapons had fallen into the hands of violent groups who wanted to re‑install a theocratic regime. Once the Eiffellandian soldiers capturing such a group had even found a tank. OK, a model from the 1910s that was still used by the Solaris army, but nevertheless a tank. Luckily, there were not many of such groups, but sometimes they were a burden.

All in all, everything was on track in the Eiffellandian Occupied Zone. There was still a lot to do, but there was progress.

And something else was prepared as well. An unified Solaren, fine, but that will not become a socialist Solaren. For the case that the SNC would come up with a constitution that resembled the Carentanian constitution too much, the Eiffellandian Occupied Zone would become a separate state from the rest of Solaren. And the Eiffellandians would do everything they could to defend that separate state, when needed.

 

[Potenza]

Castling

Cold had descended upon northern Solaren, as no doubt it had throughout most of the country. It was especially chilly for the Potenzan officers and soldiers standing at attention on the tarmac of the small airport near the largest town of the Potenzan occupied zone. It was hardly the airport known to the Eiffellandese troops down south, and its planes were few in number, small in size, and mostly served to transport people to the larger, far more international airport down south. Maggior Generale Francesco Ronco as positioned there with his fellow troops of the Tenth Division, wearing his usual uniform of a Potenzan soldier, now with a large scarf wrapped around his neck. Major Paco was beside him, a foot behind, watching quietly as the small, single-engine plane that had just landed came to a stop. Though the propeller was spinning slower and with less noise, the wheels had stopped and some Potenzan ground crew were placing the stoppers to keep the plan from moving unnecessarily.

The door opened, and out stepped a tall, thin man with short-cut gray hair. The stars on his lapel were two in number, signifying the rank of a tenente generale, and the badge on his shoulder belonged to 4th Corps of the Potenzan Regio Esercito. This man was Giorgio Battisti, lieutenant general of said corps, which contained both the famous Scipio's Own and Folgore divisions. The 4th Corps was seen as a "special" corps, in the sense that it contained some of the most unique units in the army. The Folgore were the airborne, considered one of the best trained units in the army, whereas the Scipio's Own division was famous for being made up of orphans and former criminals, and considered one of the toughest units in the army. Battisti therefore held what was both one of the most envied and one of the least desirable positions by Potenzan high command.

The soldiers and officers on the ground - Ronco included - snapped into salute, remaining in that position as Battisti advanced towards them. He saluted them back and gave them an at ease order, then turned around and whistled. To the soldiers' surprise, a harlequin Great Dane leaped out of the small plane, running happily to Battisti, eventually standing at his side with that long tail wagging.

"Good boy, Nano," Battisti said to the dog, then turned to Ronco:

"Good to see you again, Ronco. I trust you're doing all right?"

"I picked up a little cold, sir," Ronco replied, "should pass by in a week, though, don't worry."

"Good, good, good." The Tenente Generale patted his dog on the head and started to walk with Ronco towards some nearby vehicles that were awaiting them, "I've just come straight from San Salvo. Magro is adamant about maintaining some level of secrecy regarding the first brigade's deployment." The "Magro" in question was Generale Paolo Magro, the Chief of Staff and second most powerful man in the Ministry of Defense next to the minister himself.

"Understandable, sir," Ronco said, "I've told our men at the airport to expect their arrival tomorrow night. Personally, sir, I'm glad Operation Mushrooms was cancelled." The mention of Operation Mushrooms referred to the initial plan by the army to airdrop the first brigade across northern Potenza ("mushrooms" referred to the top of parachutes, seen from above). The plan was eventually scrapped for a variety of reasons: the extravagant nature of it was considered by critics to be overkill; Solaris civilians may mistakenly believe the Carentanians were invading and unnecessary panic would be caused; the accuracy of the landings was not assured, and may cause unnecessary problems in linking units up with one another, delaying their action. Instead, the high command had approved of a plan to simply airlift the first brigade into northern Solaren and deploy them where needed.

"Would have been too dramatic," said Battisti, agreeing, petting Nano as the dog walked along beside him, "would have been counterproductive to the whole plan. What is the situation with the locals?"

"Most are fairly positive, I believe. Many are war-torn, war-shocked, or worse. They just want to move on with life. I think there may be some elements who are getting restless, and are not trustful of us. They're mostly along the border with the Carentanian and Eiffellandese zones."

"That's expected," Battisti said, "the Carentanian newspapers seem to think that a full blown revolution will break out this month. We'll see if that bears any merit. In any case, it's in our best interest to maintain protection of the economic efforts in this country. Give the Solaris jobs and they'll be too busy to be shooting at us."

"What about the other armies?"

"The Eiffellandese won't bother us. If anything, I'm interested in pursuing close relations with their commanders to help unify peace-keeping efforts - especially if these rumors of rebel elements is true. The Carentanians better not try anything. They have no interest making war with us. They make war with us, the Eiffellandese will move in, and the Empire of Engellex will step in to protect our sovereignty."

"That's been confirmed then?"

Battisti nodded, then opened up the door to the jeep, waving into it with his hand, "Come on, Nano! Up boy!" The Great Dane leaped up, moving with much difficulty to make himself comfortable. His head was peeking out the door as Battisti stepped in. Nano managed to sneak in a few licks of Battisti's face as the general turned to his inferior and answered:

"Confirmed. Foreign Ministry reported it to us before I left. Pray the Carentanians aren't ruled by dunderheads."

Ronco shut his commander's door and went to his own.

"That's his dog?" Paco asked.

"Yup. Takes him every where."

 

[Potenza]

Castling

Norther Solaren had become busy for the Potenzan occupational forces and their associates. The deployment of the First Brigade of the Folgore had gone by without too much problem, and had only been reported as of late. Already they were setting about in their role of preparing defenses, which included hiding the equipment and material of the Scipio's Own in the event of an aerial attack. Lieutenant General Battisti had begun drawing up contingency plans for select bridges and roads to be blown in the event of a Carentanian attack, and the local airport's runway to be destroyed to be made unusable - but these, of course, would only happen under the most extreme of circumstances. The Scipio's Own, for the most part, continued their role as peace keepers, guarding the utility structures and economic developments built under the auspices of Potenzan businesses.

Major General Ronco had been especially adamant about the impact the Potenzan troops would make on the children in the region. Elements of his division watched over kids as they went to school, and some were positioned outside the school to keep an eye on them. The soldiers were under strict orders not to harm, mock, or scare the children, and not to interfere with them unless a fight broke out. On top of this, with Christmas around the corner, and thanks to funds graciously provided by the Defense Ministry (and given the habit of government fiscal decisions, it was gracious), the Scipio's Own provided little "gift packages" to the Solaris children at schools and in more rural villages. These included not only simple candy for the kids to enjoy, but also crayons with special coloring books. These coloring books served a two-fold purpose: first, they provided the children something to do in their spare time; second, they educated the children who were living in a land torn by war. Some of the pages showed the children what a sign outside a discovered minefield looked like, and warned the children not to go near them. Another page had an image of a Potenzan armored vehicle, and warned children not to linger in the blind areas where the driver couldn't see. Other pages had simple illustrations of a Potenzan soldier looking as cheerful and non-threatening as possible, attempting to paint them in a positive light, and also to make certain the children were not afraid of them. Still another page showed a Potenzan and Solaris child together, and taught children the little nuances between Potenzan Tiburan and Solaris Tiburan.

Still, of course, there were the adults to win over. When the Folgore first began to appear openly, Ronco met with the civilian leaders of Solaris as he had before, and tried to be very honest and clear about Potenzan intentions in the north. What he got seemed to be a greater polarization: many Solaris civil leaders and local spokesmen didn't seem to mind, and in fact, because of their experiences with the EDF in the war, welcomed any Potenzan effort to keep the Carentanians at bay if need be; others seemed to be of the opinion that Potenza was merely solidifying her control over the north over and against Carentanian (if not Eiffellandese) interests. Ronco feared that this might be unintentionally brewing a revolution, and with rumors of uprisings to the south, this wasn't a good thing. Ronco told Battisti of his fears, and in response, Battisti told his inferior two things: 1) Ronco should give him a list of all the Solaris authorities who displayed growing hostility with the Grand Duchy; 2) the only people who knew such a list existed were Ronco and Battisti.

Meanwhile, up north in the Potenzan homeland, a new plan was brewing, a plan dubbed Operation Holy Innocents. It was named after the day on which it was to take place, which was the feast day commemorating the massacre of the children in Bethlehem - more specifically, December 28. The plan was a cooperation between the Metropolitan Archdiocese of San Salvo and the Potenzan government, and would involve the massive delivery of aide packages across norther Solaren. This would be done by air, as carried out by the Royal Air Force throughout the day. It had originally been planned for Christmas Day, but this scoffed at by the air force due to the lack of time to properly prepare their pilots. December 28 was agreed upon then, and the landing sites - seen across northern Solaren - were picked out. The aide packages themselves consisted mainly of food and material that could be used during the colder winter months (jackets, blankets, children's clothes, etc.), and had been collected ahead of time, right after the Tiburan Catholic Church had been given full honors of overseeing the Solaris relief. Archbishop Conti had even appealed to Tibur itself, and received some additional aide from other Tiburan Catholic communities across the world. 4th Corps was, of course, notified, and Battisti began to send out the news to all Solaris villages and towns throughout the north that a massive aerial show was going to be seen on December 28, and they shouldn't be frightened by the sudden number of places in the sky.

For now, most Potenzans in Solaren hunkered down for Christmas. The soldiers sang songs at night, the chaplains prepared for the coming masses, and the officers prayed that the season would pass by in peace and quiet.

 

[Rheinbund]

Queen’s Indian Defence


Perugia

Count Stefano di Perugia came out of the pew and attended the line for receiving the Communion. In front of the priest, he knelt down. The priest conducted the ritual of the Communion as proscribed, but Di Perugia couldn’t overlook the gaze of hatred. Di Perugia knew why. When he sought publicity for the PSL, he was quite negative about the role of the Solaris Catholic Church in the past decades. He had expected some problems with the Church, but he did not expect his excommunication. When that happened, he immediately contacted the Bishop. That was 2 months ago.
“What else do you expect after criticising the Church in the way you did?” the Bishop had said. “Do you really think we let that happen? I know that you cooperate with the Eiffellandians. They may occupy the country, but we still call the shots when it comes to religious matters. And this is a religious matter.”
After that, Di Perugia contacted General Modersohn. One week later, his excommunication had been abolished. Modersohn didn’t want to tell how he did that, and Di Perugia didn’t ask further. Most important was that he was a full member of the Solaris Catholic Church, otherwise his campaign would have been impaired.

Now it was Christmas Night. The Germanic Christmas Tree was considered a heretic symbol by the Solaris Catholic Church, so there were no Christmas Trees in Solaris houses, and no Christmas Trees in the churches, either. Di Perugia didn’t know how the Eiffellandians grew firs in their country, which was as warm as Solaren, but there were definitely no firs in Solaren, apart from the ones in the buildings of the Eiffellandians. Nativity Scenes there were, however. Earlier this evening, Di Perugia’s wife had laid the Child Jesus into the crib of his own Nativity Scene. On the 6th of January, the Three Wise Men with the camel would be added, and then the Nativity Scene would stay until the 2nd of February (Candlemas).
Di Perugia celebrated Christmas intensely this year, thanking God especially for the cure of his son, who would absolve his studies next year and marry after that. A lot had happened this year, and a lot more would happen next year. The PSL was a success story at least in the Eiffellandian Occupied Zone. It was more difficult in the Carentanian Occupied Zone though, because of the Carentanian propaganda over there. But in the end, no matter what the SNC would decide about the new constitution, he would have a good enough power base, at least in the Eiffellandian Occupational Zone. And he already knew from Modersohn that the Eiffellandians would cooperate in grounding an independent state in the Eiffellandian Occupational Zone if the SNC-constitution would become too disadvantageous or the SNC would turn too Socialist. 1953 would become an eventful year, but Di Perugia was confident that everything would turn out for the best in the end.

 

[Rheinbund]

Black nights’ tango


Torrenze
Two months earlier

Cardinal Cortez was used to the red eyes behind the golden mask of Pope Urban. They could sprew fire when Urban was angry. The red eyes of an albino. The golden mask had become a myth because of the many stories about its reason, but in fact it was a protection of Urban’s sensitive skin. Urban was a man with a fragile health due to his skin problems.
There were quite some differences between Urban and the people currently ruling Solaren. For instance the man Cortez was currently facing. The Eiffellandian General Modersohn. Urban’s angry outbursts were legendary; Modersohn always remained calm. The difference in health was impossible to overlook as well: Modersohn looked more healthy than a man of his age could be according to Cortez’s standards. Furthermore, Urban didn’t consider himself bound to the principles he imposed upon his people, but Modersohn imposed his rigid principles to himself as well, especially to himself. He was harsher to himself than to the people around him. And most importantly: Urban was a crazy sadist, while Modersohn was a benevolent dictator. But there was also something terrifying at this general. He never showed even the slightest signs of feelings. He was cold as ice.
Cortez had a Spanish name, but was a Solaris. He was born in Solaren, and so were his parents. His grandfather moved from Frescania to Solaren during the 1850s and converted to the Solaris Catholic Church shortly after his arrival. Despite his Spanish name, Cortez had managed to crawl to the top and could have reached the top by succeeding Urban when this war would not have broken out. He was already a Cardinal when the war broke out. Now he wasn’t the Pope, but he was the most important Cardinal and de facto ruled the Solaris Catholic Church. That was the result of making good use of a cascade of coincidences. Now he had been summoned by this inscrutable general. He didn’t know what would be more dangerous: The burning red eyes of Pope Urban or the icy look from the metal blue eyes of General Modersohn.

“Your Eminence,” Modersohn started, “What do you know about the excommunication of Count Stefano di Perugia?”

This question confirmed Cardinal Cortez’s presumption that the Eiffellandians supported the political ambitions of the Count and his PSL. Not something to be baffled about: The PSL advocated an economic system that was an exact copy of the Social Market Economy of the EDF-countries. A system that worked extremely well in the Germanic countries but was unable to prevent the fall of Montelimar and Lorraine. Cortez knew that the local Priest had excommunicated Di Perugia, including the denial of the Holy Sacraments. The case had been brought to the attention of first the local Bishop and later on of Cortez. It was a complex matter. Strictly speaking, the Priest was right. Di Perugia had spoken ill of the Church, and that was enough for an excommunication. But was it wise from a political point of view?

“You don’t have to tell me why you ask this,” Cortez said. “It would exactly fit your interests, a Solaris movement that advocates an Eiffellandian society here in Solaren. Di Perugia is nothing more than your puppet, a collaborator with the occupying forces in Solaren. And then exactly with one of the countries that prohibited the Solaris Catholic Church on its own soil. Do you really think I would make it that easy for you?”
“Regarding that prohibition of the Solaris Catholic Church, that was lifted immediately after the capitulation of the Solaris armed forces. The seized goods and bank accounts are ready for release to the original owners, and a compensation will be paid for everything that cannot be released to the original owners any more. Furthermore, it can’t have slipped through your attention that we didn’t abolish the Solaris Catholic Church here. In fact we didn’t hinder you while you practice your beliefs,” Modersohn said.
“That’s kind of you, very kind,” Cortez said. “But in the meantime, you try to create a second Eiffelland here, without asking if we Solaris want that.”
“What do you mean by that?” Modersohn asked. “The only things we try are introducing democracy and building up the economy.”
“But is that what the Solaris want?” Cortez asked. “Most were happy under the rule of Pope Urban.”
“Simply because they didn’t know anything else than the rule of the Solaris Catholic Church. Most people didn’t travel abroad, so most people didn’t realise that Solaren was 40 years behind,” Modersohn said coldly. “And then we are still not talking about the cruelties under Urban’s regime, the very reason why most of the few Solaris that traveled abroad kept their mouths shut. The only thing that was well-developed in this country was the propaganda machine.”

Modersohn took a sip of his glass of water and continued.

“I have barely seen anybody in the governmental institutions of this country with clean hands and at least some intellectual capacities. The same accounts for your Church. If I would lock up all the priests that were involved in crimes against humanity, there would be nobody left for reading Mass,” he said with the same cold tone in his voice.
“Bastardo,” Cortez said loudly.
“You can call me anything you want, but it is true,” Modersohn said icily. “Your Church had the chance to rule this country and in fact ruined it. In Biblic terms, you got a talent and buried it. Now your chance is over. Now it is the turn of other people.”
“General, you managed to steamroll this country with your planes and your soldiers. But you won’t be able to turn it into a second Eiffelland. I will personnally stop you from doing so,” Cortez said angrily. Then he pushed his chair backwards, stood up and walked to the door showing his anger in his movements.
“Before you go, Your Eminence, I have some pictures of you. I suggest that you come back to this table and sit down again,” Modersohn said icily, slowly and loudly.
“Come? Che cosa vuole dire?” Cortez asked [1].
“Ritorni e si seda,” Modersohn said icily and loudly [2]. Cortez came back and seated himself.
“The Eiffellandian photography company Agfa uses the following slogan in the Germanic countries: Nichts entgeht Agfa. Nothing escapes Agfa,” Modersohn said while he took a couple of photographs out of an envelope. The photographs showed Cortez on a trip to Eiffelland in 1947, when he visited followers of the Solaris Catholic Church there. To be more precise, they showed Cortez in a brothel, first kissing a woman and then making love to, no, not one woman, but three women at the same time. The pictures at which Cortez made love were full-colour. That was unintended (the photographer was so enthousiastic taking pictures that he had to change the film, and the only film he carried with him was a colour film for private use), but despite himself Modersohn liked to show off Eiffelland’s technological superiority in this way. Colour pictures were still expensive, and now it looked like the Eiffellandian secret services could afford them. In fact it was the secret agent himself that accidentally afforded it, but Modersohn didn’t bother to tell that to Cortez.

The pictures did their job tremendously. Cortez’s face became pale. “Tu bastardo brutto sporco Germanico,” he screamed [3].
“My secretary does not know this yet,” Modersohn said. “I suggest that you don’t speak too loudly.”
“Vai al inferno, porco Eiffellandese,” Cortez said furiously [4].
“I will leave it to God to decide whether I go to hell or not. But in the meantime, we have to talk. Plainly. I know that your comfortable life depends on your position in the Church. Loosing your position will make you poor,” Modersohn said.
“Not if I apply for early retirement. I can easily arrange for a doctor who tells that I’m too ill to work. And then the Church will get someone at the top who can’t be blackmailed,” Cortez said.
“I strongly advice you to remain healthy,” Modersohn said coldly, “because otherwise I will make those pictures public as well. You will stay on your position and you will do what I tell you.”
Cortez remained silent for a while. Then he asked: “So what do you want me to do?”
“I won’t ask you to suddenly tell that we Eiffellandians are saints. That would be odd. But a little bit of cooperation could be good. First, I want you to lift the excommunication of Count Stefano di Perugia. Second, no excommunications of politicians any more. Third, no obstruction of the political parties currently being formed. I don’t mind if you strongly support the political party that wants to restore your previous power, but leave it at that. Fourth, no cooperation with violent groups and no violence sanctioned by the Church. Bring your objections with words, not with violence. That’s it for now. In the future, I expect your cooperation as well,” Modersohn said. “And before I forget, no poisonous hosties any more. I know that the old regime used them to kill opponents. That is something I really don’t understand, how you could desecrate the Holy Sacrament of the Communion in such a way. And I don’t want an answer on that, because I don’t want to understand that.”

Cortez was furious. First this general who occupied Solaren with his soldiers blackmails him, and now he as a heretic even corrects the second in command of the Solaris Catholic Church about the holiness of the Sacrament of the Communion. But he realised that he had no other choice than cooperating with this man. If the Eiffellandians had found out about his visits to brothels, they would also find out about his role in the old regime, and indeed find a poisonous hostie every now and then. So he gave in. Modersohn had gained himself an ally, although an unvoluntary one.


OOC: Translations:

[1] What? What do you want to say? (polite form)
[2] Come back and sit down. (polite form)
[3] You ugly filthy Germanic bastard.
[4] Go to hell, Eiffellandian pig.

By the way, I want to introduce the name “Torrenze” for Torrence, because “Torrenze” looks more Italian.