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| The Descent into Anarchy | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 9 2015, 03:00 PM (423 Views) | |
| Larashk | Mar 9 2015, 03:00 PM Post #1 |
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It was an unusually warm day outside is of Kievengrad. Three days had passed since the Union between Rusol and Zalivya was created and signed. The entire population of Rusol was now waiting to see the president to come out, and address the people. Fear was in western immigrants, but they expected that the President would be kind to them. He had never spoken against them, and has given them so far security and sanctuary from the corrupt democracies to the west. A clock made 12 rings, as it struck noon. My father was out, collecting milk and eggs from the cows and chickens. I was sitting on our worn couch, watching the television. The past week had been quick in my head, and some fear was aroused in me. My family was from Legantus, a democracy. We feared with these surges of policy being moved to anti-west was a worry some sign, but we stayed positive. I watched the television, waiting for the President to come out of his home, and address the nation. A clock in the Klavingrad Square struck one, making a dining noise. People stood from their chairs in front of the podium, and began to clap furiously as the President stepped out. Everyone was excited, but also were placed the Presidents propaganda department. He moved to the podium, crisp and cool. His body stood relaxed, but his face was cool. He waved his hand to silence the crowd, and leaned back, then leaned into the mic. His face filled with color as the first words began to slide from his lips. "The Great People of Rusol, I welcome you to my speech. We have made huge strides these past weeks, and have been able to secure ourselves economically and militarily in this modern world. We have committed ourselves to the east, and not to the democratic west. Zaliviya, our Slavic brethren, are now our economic partner. With this, I have made a choice. The west is a corrupt, collapsing, democratic disaster waiting to happen. With this, I refuse to allow the grand nation of Rusol to collapse into this danger. Rusol cannot become weak. To ensure this, I sign Executive Order #131, and is emplaced immediately. It calls for the immediate removal of all western 1st generation immigrants to leave Rusol. All westerners will be given 1 month to exit the nation. Any resistance will be met with ten times the amount of resistance back. Any westerner that remains in Rusol will be stripped of property, stripped of all items, and sent to work in a rehabilition center. This order will save Rusol, and all of the Slavic peoples. One People, One Goal, One Nation! The clock in our living room struck two, making two dings. I was in shock, and had no choice. As the people on the television cheered and clapped for him, anger arose within me. My father had just entered the house, and I turned to him. He knew what had happened, and his face drained of color. My Mother began to cry, but I knew I had to be strong. I stood up, and went outside. A cold breeze followed by light rain tapped my face as I sat on the porch. People exited their houses, young and old, most just standing as a community, talking and discussing. That's all it looked like until a beat up jalopy drove by the crowd, and stopped. Men reached in the back, grabbing items from the back, but I did not know what it could be. A few moments later, I discovered what it was. A man yelled "Only a few mags for each of you, then spread out and get ready to ambush those fuckers!" The anger rose in me, and I ran into the crowd, and looked at the man distributing the old rifles. "Sir, please give me a rifle. I want to fight!" The man was a fool, and gave me the rifle. I ran into my house, setting up by the window. My father and mother were in the basement, trying to plan out everything, and what they should do. They didn't know what to do, and could care less if a rebellion had just begun. The storm worsened, and heavy rain pelted the walls. A clock chimed three, making 3 quick dongs. President Klavic leaned back in his office chair, taking a sip from his coffee. "Another day in par-" He was cut off as a man opened his door, one of his Generals. He did a quick salute, then began to talk. "Sir, there is reports of armed rebellions coming up all over the west. We have no troops over there to combat them, and sir, they can overrun the capital at anytime. We are d-" President Klavic had no time for a crusty, old General to be yelling at him. He cooly raised a small pistol, and squeezed 3 bullets into the mans chest. The General fell, and quickly a clean up crew grabbed the man, taking the dead body out of the room. "Do not tell me, President Klavic, how to do his job." He exited his office, moving into the Emergency room. Officers stood around a table, all staring at the end of the table, at a projection of a map, showing the amount of rebellions and their concentration. Klavic entered, and they all saluted, and sat down. "How many?" was the first words out of Klavics mouth. "Nearly a million, sir. I've never seen anything like this." The officer replied quickly, but was on point. "Hmm. Is the artillery in place?" "Yessir." "Blast those towns off the face of this earth. IF they wI'll not leave, we will forcefully assimilate them." President Klavic exited the room, and left for his office. The clock in my house struck four, making four loud dongs. The rain had worsened, and you could barely see ten feet. The noise of thunder could be heard miles away, but it sounded different. I had my rifle ready as my father walked up the basement steps. I turned my head, and anger could be seen in him. "Drop that fucking gun! Do you WANT to waste your life for a lost cause?!? GIVE ME THE-!" He stopped mid sentance. A noise, like a whistling could be heard. Even the rain was quiet. My father ran at me, grabbed me, and tossed me towards the basement. "GET TO C-" He never finished the sentance. I was able to crawl to cover, but the house collapsed under the pressure. It was as if it was in slow motion. A large shell ripped from the roof, then exploded. I was blinded, unable to see anything. Like closed my eyes, and I went unconscious. The clock rung seven times. I awoke in a stir, my face covered with ash. The noise of trucks and APCs could be heard. The noise of doors being kicked opened, followed by gunfire, then crying was constant. I opened my eyes, and saw my home. The walls were crushed in, only the door stood. A groan was heard, and I turned. My father was pinned by a piece of the roof, which he was trying to push off. Three Rusol soldiers moved into my home, clean rifles aiming at the basement door. I had my rifle ready to fire, cocking it. One man stepped onto the back of my father, and in one moment, he swung the barrel of his gun to the back of my fathers head, and fired. Pain and anger filled me, and I stood up, ready to kick open the door. "AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHRRRRGGGG!" I yelled as I kicked the door opened. I squeezed three bullets off before something slammed into my chest, throwing me down the basement steps. It felt as if I was floating in mid air, and when I hit the floor, I went into a state of darkness. Edited by Larashk, Mar 9 2015, 03:53 PM.
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"All is fair in love and war." - Miguel de Cervantes Lets go Polskis! | |
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| Saros | Mar 19 2015, 04:36 AM Post #16 |
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Sarotov watched the murder of the man who had spoken out before him with an air of apprehension. Tension was running high, and at any moment, this scene could descend into chaos. He turned his phone over in the palm of his hands, prepared at any moment to call in members of ю́ Company, First Battalion of the Preobrazhensky Guard Regiment- one of the regiments who Lisnyak had assigned to Kievengrad- to defend him. Yet, Sarotov knew this could only be used if all other options had been exhausted. "The documents are open for your examination, at your leisure, Mr. Skrenski," Sarotov replied, holding aloft the documents and approaching the man with the smoking pistol. He stretched out his hand and turned the document over to Skrenski. Edited by Saros, Mar 19 2015, 05:41 AM.
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| Larashk | Mar 19 2015, 12:53 PM Post #17 |
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Mikhail holstered his pistol, and turned his head to the guards. "If any congressman stands up to protest, arrest them." Screnski turned back, grabbing the document cooly, as if he had not recently killed a man. He read it over quickly, then moved to the main desk in the congress room, and began to read the document in depth. "Hmm, tak-tak-tak. All of this I believe we can work with. Will the military be controlled by each nation, or just by you?" |
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"All is fair in love and war." - Miguel de Cervantes Lets go Polskis! | |
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| Mastropa | Mar 20 2015, 03:48 AM Post #18 |
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis
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Logotheti Eileithyia ignored the media attention surrounding her as she watched the six vessels selected by her Office of Health and Welfare slip out of the port of Kerkyra and into the Achaian Gulf. They were, admittedly, not the largest passenger vessels that the logotheti and her team could have selected, but they were some of the fastest for their great size, as well as some of the easiest to appropriate for this mission: cruise ships that had been built within the last ten years, whose Achaian owners had been compensated by the Megaron for the brief danger to which their assets would be exposed. It was not often that any Achaian, especially within the government, could appreciate the intrusion of foreign tourist traffic in the Peloponnese, and once certain companies (foreign and domestic) had begun suggesting that foreigners could be brought into the Peloponnese itself, the Megaron had been forced to intervene, sharply limiting such traffic in all areas of the Peloponnese outside of two tourist-driven ‘cities’ and largely confining the cruise industry to offshore sightseeing. It was fortunate that Achaian companies could still make money regardless—and that they could compete with larger international conglomerates in so doing. Otherwise, Eileithyia thought to herself, there might not have been any vessel suitable for taking on a large number of refugees to be found in Achaian ports. Normally, of course, these vessels would also have been absent, or else filled with holiday-makers who could not be held against their will on Achaian soil in order to commandeer their cruise ships for the duration of the crisis. In this, though, the recent war against Melzae had also proven fortunate, as it had forced the world’s cruise companies to cancel or divert all cruises scheduled to pass through the Sundra Channel. These particular vessels, owned by an Achaian company, had been brought back to port to wait out the war, and the Office of Health and Welfare had taken the opportunity that Makaria had provided to put these ships to better use. After two weeks of work, the new paint still gleaming on their hulls so that they could not be mistaken as anything other than evacuation transports, the six cruise ships made their way out to sea, already turning northward to leave the Achaian Gulf and steam on toward the Sundra Canal. On the horizon, other vessels were turning to accompany them, bigger and more menacing. These would not enter Rusolian territorial waters, it was true, but nonetheless the Office of Military Affairs had insisted that a strong naval contingent would provide an escort for the unarmed humanitarian ships as far as the Rusolian border. It was not in the Megaron’s nature to allow Achaian citizens, or Achaian equipment, to leave sight of land without a guard of some sort. Indeed, with the ships heading directly toward a conflict zone, there was every chance that armed intervention might become necessary to keep the humanitarian vessels afloat—which made it all the more frustrating in the eyes of Logothetis Enyalios of Military Affairs that Anax Kerameikos had agreed to let the Rusolians take over escort duties upon reaching their territorial waters, where the danger was greatest. He hadn’t argued, however. That had surprised Eileithyia, who had almost hoped that he would; regardless of her position as the Peloponnese’s top health provider, she too had served in the Achaian military to gain her citizenship, and knew the dangers involved just as well as anyone. Given the anax’s assurances to the world that the vessels would be humanitarian and non-military in nature, however, it made sense that he would avoid causing friction with a foreign nation that was already proving unstable without the additional pressure of Achaian guns in range of its ports. The media’s attention was beginning to wane; the ships were too far from shore to see clearly anymore, and pictures and video of distant dots on the horizon were far less useful to the news agencies than the pictures they had already gotten. Reporters were preparing for their evening on-site reports, while the more ambitious still lined the docks in the hopes of catching Eileithyia’s attention and snatching an interview. The logotheti, however, continued to stare out to sea, watching the ships she had selected wade into danger well beyond the interests of any reasonable Achaian. Where was the sense in that? Or was there something in Rusol that had caught the anax’s attention, something even his logothetai couldn’t hope to see? Eileithyia shook her head and frowned. She doubted she would know until this matter played itself out to the end. Edited by Mastropa, Mar 20 2015, 11:29 PM.
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![]() MAKARIA to the Achaian People: Be as Many as the Stars | |
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| Saros | Mar 20 2015, 04:14 AM Post #19 |
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Sarotov physically stepped back from the man, shocked at how this situation was progressing. However, he was getting what he had come for. He stepped forward again to plead the case of Union. "Of course, each nation will have full control of its military forces. Such measures are only to be used when the Union, as a whole, decides to mobilize its combined forces. Then, such integration will be required." |
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| Mastropa | Mar 20 2015, 06:34 PM Post #20 |
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis
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“We are approaching Rusolian territorial waters, sir,” the navigator said, turning to the admiral standing behind him. Admiral Patroklos nodded as he continued to look out through the bridge’s port-side windows. “We go no farther,” he ordered. “Message the Starbright: Wish them luck and Makaria’s blessings. The anax is grateful for their service.” “Yes, sir.” As the message was transmitted to the lead cruise ship, the admiral finally turned to the helmsman and ordered, “Hard to port; full ahead to our predetermined coordinates. We’ll wait for news there.” He eyed the communications officer as he added, “Pass on those orders to the rest of the escort. Ensure that all preparations for combat have been made; this is a dangerous neighborhood now.” “Yes, sir.” Patroklos returned his attention to the window as the STOL carrier on which he served, Lykavittos, turned sharply to the left. Around the carrier, the rest of the escort, including one other similar carrier, several destroyers, and even a submarine, did likewise, splitting off from the path on which the six cruise ships continued. It was a risk to leave these vessels to the protection of foreign powers, but the admiral trusted to logic, and to Zaliviya, to keep Rusol’s hand steady in this matter. Not only would damaging or sinking humanitarian vessels bring the condemnation of the world down on Rusol, but it was not in Rusol’s interest to hinder the removal of those Westerners that the Rusolian government was already trying to remove. All in all, the Achaians were doing Rusol a service just as much as they were serving the West. As far as Rusol was concerned, therefore, the safety of the cruise vessels was all but assured. From anyone who wanted an excuse to bring the wrath of the world on Rusol… that was a different matter. That, really, was the true fear, and Patroklos gave yet another short but intense prayer to Makaria, entreating her to bolster Rusol’s naval strength so that they could adequately protect the ships that were entrusted to them. Other than that, there was nothing that his mandate allowed him to do but focus on other business and wait for word. |
![]() MAKARIA to the Achaian People: Be as Many as the Stars | |
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| Saros | Apr 18 2015, 02:32 AM Post #21 |
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| Saros | Apr 19 2015, 02:23 AM Post #22 |
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Slavic Army Forward Operating Base Western Rusol The presence of Major General Leon Tatischev made the FOB personnel slightly uncomfortable. It was atypical to have a general officer this far afield. By all accounts, it was expected that he would be directing the war from Kyavgorod, or "Klavingrad" as these Rusalians had taken to calling it. However, Tatischev was known for leading from the front. Here, he decided to direct the war against the few scattered militias that had refused Zaliviyan asylum. Most notable was the Ostrhenisch Volksheer, some irascible group of Rhenish immigrants who had the audacity to attempt to organize their villages in the west into some sort of underground resistance. Tatischev was listening to some Rusalian officer going on about destroying the villages, highlighted on a map of the nation superimposed on a powerpoint slide, with poison gas, ending any serious resistance within four months. Tatischev shook his head. "No, Major. That would be too easy. You will learn nothing from an easy war. We will extend the war to perhaps six or seven months, and learn to function as a united, Slavic Army. This is all a training exercise for a larger mission." The Rusalian major stuttered a bit. "Very well, sir. What shall we attack then?" "I am of a mind to test our new Mil Mi-38 transport helicopters, to transport soldiers of each Slavic nation directly into battle, allowing us to develop intelligent air assault tactics in real combat," Tatischev mused. "Are there any fortified areas which would offer an opportunity to test our VTOL opportunities?" "Yes, sir," the Major pointed to the map on powerpoint. "Here, in the Yuzho Plain. They control a grain area from an abandoned cinder block village here that they've turned into a base of operations. However, it is worth noting that they have teams of anti aircraft guns placed in certain areas thirty to forty miles out from the village." "I see," Tatischev replied. "A clear lane will need to be secured then." "We have the coordinates of at least two of these positions, sir," the major offered. "Shall we use Zaliviyan missiles to take them out?" "No. Missiles cost money. Send in the Bruvalkian 52nd Armored Regiment. The dead cost nothing." *** Port of Vatschopol Southern Rusolian Coast "Some Achaian ships are requesting permission to dock, sir," an underofficer reported to the CO of the Zaliviyan 102nd Mechanized Infantry Division. "Some humanitarian something or other." The CO groaned. "Makarians? An unsavory faith, to be sure. Let them in, nonetheless, and provide them with an escort. As much for their containment as safety." Edited by Saros, Aug 25 2015, 01:37 AM.
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7:56 AM Jul 11