- Pages:
- 1
- 2
| Shadow Rising; It begins.... | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 3 2016, 08:44 AM (333 Views) | |
| Hardenburgh | Aug 3 2016, 08:44 AM Post #1 |
|
Houses of Parliament, Asugard Lewellyn Jenkins could scarcely believe that he had been elevated to the leadership of the Hardenburghian Social Democratic Party. Like all institutions in Hardenburgh, the SDP had a rigid hierarchy and hitherto, it was thought impossible that a backbench working class MP from an industrial seat in Cumbria could break through to the leadership. His accession was soon widely accepted. Indeed, his aggressive leadership had reinvigorated what observers believed to be a dying party. Unlike his predecessors, he had viciously attacked the government, ensuring that criticism of its failed foreign policy was widespread. The Federative invasion of Aegeania had turned the tables decisively. A key ally of the United Kingdom had been overrun by Federative forces whilst Hardenburgh stood idly by. The government’s failure to defend the final democracy in southeastern Valoria had angered numerous Conservative and Social Democratic MPs alike. Harnessing this popular discontent, Jenkins had been able to force Parliament to hold a vote of no confidence against the government. As he stood at the dispatch box; amidst the opulent surrounds of the Common’s Chamber, he felt the eyes of all who sat within fixated upon him. After taking a deep breath, he began his oration. "Mr. Speaker, Sir, I beg to move that this house has no confidence in Her Majesty’s Government.” A loud cheer arose from the Conservative and Social Democratic back benches. It seemed strange that so many on the government benches were engaging in a flagrant act of rebellion against their own Prime Minister. However, perhaps they hoped that the general election, which would inevitably ensue following a vote of no confidence, would provide them with an opportunity to clear the decks and install a new and credible government. “The timing of the motion, Mr. Speaker, arises from the government’s inept handling of the recent events which have swept Valoria. When we, in Her Majesty’s Opposition, thought that it was time for decision and action, the Prime Minister thought it was time for indecision and inaction.” “Hear! Hear!” Again, a hearty roar rose in support of Jenkin’s attack. From the government benches, a number of MPs should back in opposition. “You bloody hypocrite! Who are you!” The Speaker of the House, who was enthroned in the middle of the floor stood up. “Order! Order! There will be order! The honourable gentleman will be heard! I say, the honourable gentleman will b heard!” Jenkins continued, unabashed. “Three years ago, the Prime Minister was elected to office to serve his third term. Through firebrand rhetoric, he vowed to rise up and meet the Red Peril. He guaranteed the independence of those fragile democracies in Eastern Valoria, an honourable cause no doubt! However, actions speak louder than words. Through his needlessly aggressive foreign policy, which actively sought confrontation with the Federative Union, the Prime Minister tore up the foundations of peace and stability which hitherto secured peace in our time. Novgorod responded in kind.” One of the Conservative backbenchers stood up! “Lies and slander! The honourable gentleman and his excuse for a party would sell us out to the Federatives!” The speaker retired quickly. “The member for Lithingham will be seated!” “Out of the bowels of that despicable Empire, armoured legions poured forth into Zubrowka. In that, one of the bleakest hours this generation has known, what did the Prime Minister do? To answer that question with ‘nothing’ would dignify the farcical and incoherent response of the government. No doubt, it abated and facilitated the Zubrowka’s speedy reintegration into the Federative Union. Unjustly, the Honourable Gentleman was able to absolve himself of blame for this calamity. This was not the case with Aegeania. Little Aegeania, brave Aegeania, that valiant ally of the Empire-Commonwealth. When Federative armies massed on the Aegeanian frontier, the Prime Minister stood by and allowed that final beacon of democracy, liberty and freedom in Eastern Valoria to be vanquished.” This latter remark provoked a chorus of cheers from the opposition and government back benches alike. Jenkins glanced at the Prime Minister who, for the first time in his thirteen years as Premier looked nervous. A man who so readily exude control and authority now seemed shrunk and nervous. His own party was in rebellion. This was clear. “Mr. Speaker, the irresponsible and reckless actions of the Prime Minister and his cabinet have diminished the honour and prestige of the United Kingdomm and its Empire-Commonwealth. Moreover, the government has reneged upon the cornerstone of its platform.The prevailing situation in Valoria, to which I speak with reference, is bleak. The evil machinations of those villainous despots in Novgorod have finally been realised- in no small part, thanks to the complete collapse of Hardenburghian foreign policy.” Yet another intervention, this time from an Aurish MP in the government benches. “Mr Speaker, the honourable gentleman is a hypocrite! I seem to remember that it was his party which proposed complete non-interventionism!” The speaker cautioned him once again. “Western Valoria, civilisation’s final frontier, now faces a cohesive, truculent and heinous threat entirely and wholly committed to its utter and complete annihilation. This, Mr. Speaker, is the Prime Minister’s legacy.” Jenkins returned to his seat amidst rapturous cries of approval. Urquhart watched as his opponent took his seat. Members of the shadow cabinet slapped him on the back, and those in the benches above his leaned over to shake his hand. The government’s record was difficult to defend; indeed Hardenburghian foreign policy had been addled by numerous crises well beyond the government’s remit of control. Nevertheless, he stood at the dispatch box and addressed the assembly in a commanding tone. “Mr. Speaker, I’d like to note my surprise at the fighting rhetoric of the honourable gentleman. I am quite surprised that he proposes this government take a stronger stance against Federative aggression when three simple words surmise the foreign and defence policies of his party: withdrawal, retreat, surrender.” A murmur of approval rose from government benches. Enthused, Urquhart paused briefly before continuing his attack. “This government is not naive to the difficult situation which this nation and its Empire-Commonwealth has faced throughout the past few years. The difficulties which this government has faced in effectively tackling a resurgent Federative threat have been multiplied tenfold on account of the misdeeds of the Helvanic government in Western Valoria. The honourable gentleman speaks of this government’s legacy. That, I will tell him, is a brave defence of freedom and liberty in Western Valoria. However, this must be tempered with the essential interests of the Hardenburghian people. The honourable gentleman’s ignorance to this overriding priority can only be attributed to his party’s complete lack of experience in government-“ Suddenly Urquhart was interrupted by a Social Democratic MP Stephen Wilkes- a well known rebel. “Tell that to the people of Zubrowka and Aegeania! The Prime Minister’s total indifference to their plight is the great betrayal!” The speaker censured the interruption before indicating that the Prime Minister should continue. “Oh yes, Mr. Speaker, it is ever so easy to sit on the sidelines and provide a running commentary when assuming the immense responsibility of government is the farthest thought from one’s mind. There may have been shortcomings in this government’s foreign policy- however, we should cast our minds back to the grievous state of Imperial Defence this government inherited when it took the reigns from its predecessor in 2003-“ Yet another interruption! This time from a Conservative, James Buchanan. “Mr. Speaker, the Prime Minister is skirting around the central question here- his failure to defend the democracies of Eastern Valoria!” The speaker stood up. “Order! The honourable gentleman will remain quiet and reserve his commentary for when the debate is opened to the floor!” “Mr Speaker, I am right in saying that a stronger, more united Empire Commonwealth exists which is better to meet the Federative threat” Buchanan interrupted again! “Mr. Speaker, it’s hardly done that though! Look at the mess the honourable gentleman’s government has created. Mr. Prime Minister, you must resign. It’s the only honourable course” The speaker looked directly at Buchanan. “The member for Montgomeryshire will reserve his commentary for when the Prime Minister finishes speaking. This is his final warning. If I have to censure him again, he will be excluded from this house!” “Moreover,” Urquhart continued, “I should like to point out that the Honourable Gentleman’s party consistently refused to lend any support to this government’s policy of providing extensive aid to the Aegeanian government. Indeed, the honourable gentleman stood at the dispatch box and censured this government for over-involvement in a “Southern Valorian issue”, I quote. It surprises me that he has the gall to stand here now and falsely accuse this government of adopting and then criticising, the very policy which he and his party proposed!” Urquhart was hardly relieved to return to his bench and the debate passed to the floor. Urquhart grimaced. Now he’d have to face the anger of his own party. The first MP to intervene, however, Sir Percival Bligh, provided stirring message of support. “Mr. Speaker, I was wondering me if the Prime Minister would join me in utter and unreserved condemnation of the opposition’s hypocrisy. Pacifist pinkos have transformed, overnight, into warmongers. Mr. Speaker, when the honourable gentleman took place as leader of the opposition, he vowed to put the national interest before party-political interest. Mr. Speaker, the honourable gentleman’s underlying motivations are barefaced and shameless. Does the Prime Minister agree that it is he who should resign!” Standing up behind the dispatch box, Urquhart smiled coyly “Mr Speaker, I can only say this to the honourable gentleman. He may very well think that… I couldn’t possibly comment!” Peter Hughes, a disgraced ex-minster who had his eyes on the leadership stood up and addressed Parliament. “Mr. Speaker, it is very apt that my honourable friend spoke of the national interest. I am indeed a Conservative MP, but first and foremost I am a patriot. My allegiance to the queen, the empire and the nation are paramount and supreme. I have looked upon this government’s conduct in muted horror and it is right that I should speak my mind. In a destructive and self-interested drive for survival this government has thrown national prestige and national honour by the wayside. It is why I must call upon the Prime Minister resign immediately, but before doing so beseech Her Majesty to dissolve Parliament in preparation for a general election. This shameful and destructive course is not worthy of Hardenburgh’s name!” Urquhart smiled coyly, such bare faced political opportunism would not go unnoticed! “Mr. Speaker, the honourable gentleman’s words are brave and noble, but I must question his underlying intentions. Did he not, but a few months ago, call for calm and restraint in this house? I fear that raw ambition may underly his words- not the national interest as he doth profess!” However it was the comments of his recently resigned foreign minister that drove home the severity of the crisis. “Mr. Speaker, the crisis we now face is a moral crisis as much as it is a political or international one. Those institutions and structures, tasked with defending that which we cherish have failed utterly. Mr. Speaker, the Prime Minister has left the nation broken and bruised. The only way we can regain our honour is through the immediate dissolution of Parliament and a general election. It is why I shall support this vote!” |
![]() |
|
| Hardenburgh | Aug 4 2016, 01:51 PM Post #2 |
|
Page last updated at 20:28 LMT, 9.6.15 Printable Version | Email to a Friend![]() ![]() Lewellyn Jenkins, seen at Wilmthrop Street earlier this year, has lead the SDP to victory in the general election Breaking News: Social Democratic Party Win General Election
Asguard, Hardenburgh- The Social Democratic Party, led by Lewellyn Jenkins have defied polls and won the general election. The Social Democratic Party made significant gains in Aurland and Cumbria, simultaneously seizing a number of urban constituencies from the Tory Coalition Albion. In total, the Social Democratic Party have secured 342 seats giving them a slim but workable majority. The result of yesterday’s election, which was triggered after Mr. Jenkin’s Party launched a vote of no confidence in the government last month is widely believed to be an expression of widespread discontentment with the Tory Coalition. The Coalition dominated national politics since 1985 with current Prime Minister Francis Urquhart serving three consecutive terms as Prime Minister. However, his administration began to loose public support after it embarked on a combative foreign policy, aligning itself with non-Communist nations in Valoria much to the annoyance of the Federative government in Novgorod. The economic turbulence of recent years weakened these regimes significantly, in particular the Zubrowkan Republic and Kingdom of Aegeania, causing widespread internal unrest which the Federative government exploited and used as a pretext for military occupation. Mr. Urquhart’s response was widely perceived as being ineffective and weak, diminishing the popularity of the Tory Coalition. Moreover, the government’s handling of the recent Holstinian Crisis in Western Valoria also diminished the government’s credibility, and provoked widespread calls for Hardenburgh to adopt a more isolationist foreign policy tailored to prohibit it from becoming entangled in future Valorian conflicts. The question of Foreign Policy featured heavily in the General Election campaign. Mr. Urquhart defended his government’s record, arguing that Hardenburghian military involvement across the world was a necessary measure which contained the Federative Union, preventing it from expanding into Western Valoria and Hydatia whilst guaranteeing economic stability. Mr. Jenkins countered this line of argument, arguing that Hardenburgh should scale back the extent of its overseas commitments and pursue an isolationist foreign policy backed by strong imperial defence. Mr. Jenkins proposed that monetary savings obtained from the withdrawal of large Army and Air Force formations based in Western Valoria could be channelled into domestic social and economic reform. The victory of the Social Democratic Party comes as a surprise to pollsters and observers alike. It had been widely anticipated that the Tories would loose seats, but retain a slim majority which would allow them to form a government. However, the Liberal Party made significant gains in Aurland and Albion, depriving the Tories of swing seats which, if retained, would have nullified the consequences of SDP gains. Notably the Aurish Nationalist Party seized the key constituency of Ranorkshire from incumbent Tory MP David McHamish. By 3am, having lost a third of their seats, it was clear that the Tories had failed to win the general election. The outgoing Prime Minister, Mr. Urquhart spent election night at his Wittleshire constituency and is not expected to return to Asguard before Parliament reconvenes. His successor, Mr. Jenkins, is expected to travel to the capital this afternoon whereupon he will meet with the Queen and request permission to form a government after which he is expected to take possession of Wilmthrop Street. Further updates will follow in due course. MORE IN TOP STORIES
For more information, tune into HBC. Check your local listings for more information. Printable Version | Email to a Friend© Hardenburghian Broadcasting Corporation 2010 Edited by Hardenburgh, Aug 4 2016, 02:05 PM.
|
![]() |
|
| Hardenburgh | Aug 5 2016, 02:14 AM Post #3 |
|
Wilmthrop Street, 20th of December 2015 6pm Journalists and newscasters lined the thin, cobbled pavements of Wilmthrop Street overshadowed by the elegant regency terrace that formulated the nerve centre of Hardenburghian government. Behind them towered the imposing cabinet office. There was little space to move and a nervous, even frantic atmosphere seemed to levitate in the air. The arrival of the new prime minister was anticipated. A podium had been set up at the foot of the steps leading to the Prime Ministerial residence. Lewellyn Jenkin’s anticipated words would be scrutinised by citizens in Hardenburgh and diplomats across the world. After an age, the Prime Ministerial car, flanked by police escorts swung into the narrow street. Immediately, photographers burst into a flurry of activity. The intensity of camera flashes, which made the car’s paint work sparkle, would have blinded an observer. The vehicle came to a halt directly in front of the steps. A Police Officer who guarded the front door of Wilmthrop Street moved towards the car and opened the door so that Jenkins could step out, which he did directly. Raising his hand in a semi-wave at the massed journalists and photographers he made his way to the podium, whereupon he began to speak: “Her Majesty the Queen has asked me to form a new government and I have accepted. Before I talk about that new government, I wish to say something about the one that has just passed. The Tory Coalition took power three decades ago. At this time, the United Kingdom and its Empire-Commonwealth had been severely weakened by numerous financial and industrial crises. During their tenure, the Tory Coalition rebuilt the national economy and strengthened our armed forces. I would also like to pay tribute to the outgoing prime minister for his long record of dedicated public service. I came into politics because I love this country and I think its best days lie ahead. However, to ensure that the United Kingdom and its Empire-Commonwealth remain strong and prosperous, capable of overcoming the challenges of an increasingly adverse international landscape, sweeping reform is necessary. The fruits of this economic prosperity have been shared amongst too small a group of citizens. By doing this, are we not condemning large numbers of our fellow citizens to deprivation and disaffection, a marginalised life on the fringes of our increasingly prosperous economy? Surely it is not too late to seek a better way, to temper economic rigour with a little more respect for human values. And isn’t it time to say now- now, not tomorrow - now that something must be done? However, political change at home in itself is not a sufficient remedy to this country’s problems. For three decades, the Tory Coalition have attempted to police the world in pursuit of an aggressive containment of the Federative Union. Reflecting on this policy, it is indeed difficult to identify its merits. Rather than attempting to resolve its differences with the Federative Union through constructive dialogue, the previous government regularly resorted to crude threats and confrontation. The consequences of such a policy, aptly demonstrated by recent events in Zubrowka and Aegeania were decidedly unfavourable to Hardenburghian interests. During the election campaign, the Tory Coalition claimed that this country’s essential economic interests are maintained through the deployment of its armed forces throughout Valoria. This is a claim I must contest. It is the great Empire-Commonwealth, united behind this Island nation from which we derive our strength and power. It is for this reason that the defence of this aggregate will be the foremost priority of the new government. Only with a secure and united Empire-Commonwealth can our influence be felt globally. The emphasis which the previous government placed on the defence of Western Valoria means that vast regions of the Empire-Commonwealth have are insufficiently defended. More to the point, it is unclear whether the extensive forces which we deploy into Valoria have any impact on the strategic situation. Tomorrow, this government will notify its Valorian partners of its intention to withdraw Hardenburghian forces from the continent. I should like to emphasise that this is not our country disengaging and retreating from its role in global affairs. To the contrary! A stronger and better defended Empire will mean a stronger Hardenburgh. Thank you very much.” With that, Jenkins turned sharply and walked up the short flight of stairs to the door of Wilmthrop Street, ignoring the questions shouted at him by journalists. After turning briefly and waving again, he disappeared inside, as the imposing black front door slammed shut behind him. |
![]() |
|
| Greater Helvany | Aug 7 2016, 06:36 PM Post #4 |
|
The bad guy
|
Reichstag - Rätzin, Reichstaat Elfischland; Helvanic Reich - 0031 Hours 22 December 2015 The Reichstag, almost completely empty of politicians, was a symbol of beauty. Being rebuilt several times in the Reich’s history or before the Reich came to be in its own right. The sole humans were the Schutzstaffel (or the SS) guards, either patrolling the building and its grounds or standing guard at doors. The lights were bright. The marble walls shined and the floors were freshly mopped for the new day of politiking. A couple hours later, the first Reichstag MPs arrived and began to file into the Delegate’s Chambers. Although, the regime was officially a National Socialist one-party state in the national arena, other parties were allowed to be elected to the various Gaustags and Reichstaatstags and to be represented in the Reichstag. The politicians taking their seats, while the Reichsrat took the front seats or the “boards’ seats” facing the MPs. Führer-und-Reichspraesident Amadeus Stranzsky, Reichskanzler Ansel Nygaard and several top ministers a few minutes after Reichstag was filled. SS aides to various politicians and several squads of SS guards entered the room to either assist with paperwork or maintaining order while the Reich’s legislative body was in session. Stranzsky stood, then the Councilors and the Parliamentarians all rose after him. The SS aides stopped what they were doing and came to attention and the Guards also snapped to attention with their ceremonial rifles coming to the present arms. Over the PA system came the Reich’s anthem: “Wir sind Anfang nicht das Ende!" The soldiers and politicians, if they right arm was free, raised it in the Reich salute and sang with the anthem till the very end. At which, Führer Stranzsky lifted the microphone of his podium to his lips and said, “Diese Sitzung des Reichstags hat begonnen. Sie können sitzen.” [This Session of the Reichstag has begun. You may/can be seated.] “Vielen Dank, unser Führer,” replied the MPs and then came the loud noise of seats being moved and then being moved again. Then came the silence. Stranzsky was an elderly man, he had led the Reich through 2001 to now, he led them through the successful Zubrowkan Wars and the failed Holstein and West Valorian campaigns. He began his speech: [Thank you, our Fuhrer] “Meine Schwestern und Brüder, Söhne und Töchter von Helfanischa, meine Kameraden. Wir sind am Gate auf einen Neubeginn. Die Weltdiplomatie liegt in Trümmern, weil entweder die jüdischen Kapitalisten oder jüdisch-Bolschewiki. Ich bin genug von unseres Nachbarn in Kriege auf dem Kontinent von Valora gezogen werden! Diese Nationen suchen nur ihre eigenen Grenzen zu erweitern! Unsere größte Sorge ist die Aufstände in Dahemland und anderer Länder und damit die empfindliche friedlichen Ausgleich zwischen der Achse und dem Pakt verärgert!” [My sisters and brothers, sons and daughters of Helvanica, my comrades. We are at the gate of a new beginning. The World Diplomacy lies in ruins, because either the Judeo-Capitalists or the Judeo-Bolsheviks. I am tired of our neighbors drawing the Reich into their wars on the continent of Valoria! These nations only seek to expand their own borders! And our main concern is the uprisings in Dahomey and other countries that upset the delicate balance of peace between the Axis and the Pact!] Stranzsky paused for a bit, a thunderous applause erupted before he silenced them with a wave of his hand then continuing: “Unsere Kameraden in Tranvea und Roderika wollen uns in Brech ihre kommunistischen Aufstände zu unterstützen! Halmdan-Rodesien und Ödland wollen dies auch von uns. Werden wir der Roten Bestien weiterhin in diesen Bereichen zu lassen ?!” [Our comrades in Tranvea and Rodarika wish us to crush their Communist rebellions! Halmdan-Rodarsie and Ödland wish the same. Are we going to let the Red Beasts continue in these areas?!] Then all of a sudden, the Reichstag stood and shouted: “Nein, wir werden nicht!” [OOC: Since I don’t feel like doing it in German any further] “Very good, my fellow Helvanics! What is it that you desire the most, brothers?!” The parliamentarians all stood and shouted, “Defense of the Reich!” "Excellent, comrades!" replied Stranzsky. "We can no longer ask the Ceroulian Empire and the Empire-Commonwealth to assist us in pushing out Communist Insurgencies from our colonies. But we have and will always triumph! Sieg Heil!" Stranzsky stepped away from the podium as the entire arena rose and a series of thunderous 'Sieg Heils' filled the air. Edited by Greater Helvany, Aug 7 2016, 06:39 PM.
|
![]() |
|
| Ceroulia | Aug 10 2016, 03:30 PM Post #5 |
|
Administrator
|
Palace of Cadaques, Borjes-Cadaques 12 PM - 7 January 2015 Julian looked over the documents from the Clandestine Intelligence Secretariat (SIC). It was merely a week since the election of the new Hardenburgian Prime Minister, and the Ceroulian government found itself immensely displeased over the new PM. The chances of success for this assassination were high. It hinges on something so natural as the weather, and something so innocent as electrical tape. While the PM’s plane landed, it would be pulled into maintenance. A handpicked team of Air Force mechanics, sworn to secrecy, would carry out the general checkup. A required part this checkup was of the waxing of the aircraft, which required the crew to apply electrical tape over the static ports to protect it from the waxing material – It had a tendency to collect in the tubes if it wasn’t covered. This tape covering wouldn’t be an issue on the ground, but in flight, this piece of tape disables the plane’s ability capture basic readings of speed, altitude, altitude trend and air pressure. The pilots would be blind, exacerbated by the night sky covered with overcast, giving the moon no chance to reflect the dim light off the surface of the ocean. The overcast was part of a larger system of storms off the Ceroulian Coast, which would add another layer of difficultly for the pilots – to maneuver the plane in catastrophic weather with instruments that would give them contradictory readings. This was not the first time that an accident would be caused like this. In 1992 a commercial jetliner crashed off the coast of Extremadura due to a faulty maintenance check, and in 1996 a commercial jetliner went down over Jonkheers in New Hallevel, crashing into a residential neighbourhood due to static ports that were frosted over in the winter weather. The Hardenburghian plane would crash in a similar manner to all these previous cases. The difference would be that none of the evidence will be brought to light by the investigators. The orders were signed off by the Secretariat of the SIC below and presented to the emperor as a gesture of goodwill, and if not, a possible imperial blessing just by the mere contact of his hands. Julian fully trusted the abilities of the SIC, and felt this assassination would be carried out to the letter. It was probably around midday when the guards told him that the PM had landed in Guadalix Air Base, an hour or so away from the imperial palace. Edited by Ceroulia, Aug 15 2016, 07:25 AM.
|
![]() |
|
| Federative Union | Aug 15 2016, 12:25 AM Post #6 |
|
Ye Olde Arse & Faggot 32 Rose Street Covent Garden, Asguard, United Kingdom Christmas Eve, 2015 11:45pm 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, when all through the pub, not a creature was stirring, save for Domhnall MacDubh. He sat at his usual spot at the far end of the ancient establishment, gazing out onto the dimly lit Asguardian street where a light snow had begun to fall. Staring back at him was the reflection of an aged and weathered man; the sort of man who spent many a Christmas Eve drinking alone in some dark corner of the Empire-Commonwealth. He had never taken a wife, nor had he fathered any children—at least any that he knew of. He had instead chose to forge a long and distinguished career as one of the country's premier investigative journalists (one of the "last true journalists" as he liked to think himself); an adventurous career that had taken him across the globe, dealing with all manner of political intrigue. Such a career had certainly left no time for him to lead the trite existence of a "family man". He glanced anxiously at his watch. A quarter to twelve. With a deep sigh, he finished off the last of his stout and brought the glass down with a heavy thud, a tad louder than he had intended. On cue, the middle-aged barkeep by the name of Lloyd strode over to Domhnall's booth. For the past hour the two men had been the only souls to inhabit the pub, though save for when Domhnall's stout needed refilling, they had not spoken at length. Lloyd approached with his famously courtly demeanor and Domhnall returned a smile in kind. "Will that be all Mr. MacDubh? We are closing shortly." Domhnall sighed, glancing once more at his watch before putting out his cigarette. A veil of smoke filled the air between the two men. "Aye, I believe it is." Lloyd nodded sympathetically and reached for the empty stout glass. "Very good Mr. MacDubh..." The man paused before continuing. "Forgive my observation, but you look like a man who's been stood up" Domhnall laughed weakly before getting to his feet. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose that's the case." He said, while reaching for his coat. "It certainly wouldn't be the first time." Though this time was by far the most disappointing. He had dedicated the past five years of his life to investigating what on its face could be considered little more than a right-wing conspiracy theory. His closest colleagues, men whom he had the utmost respect for, men like himself, real journalists, had told him it was a wild-goose chase. And had it been anyone but himself who began to put the pieces together, who suddenly began to see the forest through the trees—had it been anyone else who told him the fantastical tale of Federative oligarchs bankrolling the most powerful trade unions in the country, or that the KGB had successfully infiltrated and influenced the highest levels of Hardenburghian government, or even still that the entire Social Democrat Party had been compromised by foreign agents—had it been anyone else, he would have had to admit to holding a similar opinion to that of his colleagues—that it was all likely just the fanciful plot of a best-selling Caranthian political thriller. But it wasn't fiction; Domhnall knew it in his heart that it was all true. There were too many patterns, too many reoccurring names of individuals and companies. There were too many coincidences, and he had been an investigative journalist long enough to know there were no such thing. Nonetheless, something was missing. Something that could link everything together. A machine to break the Enigma code. An equation to solve the Grand Theory of Everything. Without this, every lead and every trail he followed would result in a dead end. He had nearly given up hope when little more than three weeks ago he received a mysterious message from an individual known only as "Z.M." Mr. MacDubh, It is my sincere hope that this correspondence finds you in good health. You may think of me as an admirer of your work, and if I may be so bold, a dear friend. We share a mutual acquaintance in the late William Melhuish (God rest his soul), and just prior to his passing he informed me of your work as it relates to "Shadow Rising." I have taken a keen interest in what you have discovered, and believe I hold information which will be of considerable assistance. If you would meet me at the following coordinates on the 24th of December at 10 pm, It would be my pleasure to share this information with you. 51.514339, -0.107201 I beg to remain your most humble and obedient servant, Z.M. This "Z.M.", as Lloyd had so eloquently put it, had stood him up. Perhaps the whole thing was a setup by someone on his rather short list of colleagues in the know. Few knew just how devoted Domhnall had been to "Shadow Rising," as he so poetically called his investigation. Even fewer knew that it was his mentor, the late veteran investigative journalist William Melhuish, who told him he was on to something big. He began to run through the list of candidates who would entertain such a cruel jest, but complicating this was the fact that he had nothing better to do on Christmas Eve than to drink himself into a stupor was likely common knowledge. As Domhnall stood to leave, he noticed movement towards the entrance of the pub where a hunched over figure had stumbled in from the cold. The man straightened up and removed his hat and coat, both of which were lightly powdered with snow. The man began to walk to where Domhnall and Lloyd stood at the rear of the pub. As he drew closer, Domhnall was able to make measure of the man's appearance—an elderly and frail man of what appeared to be North Cedarian descent. He had a salt and pepper beard that was cut short, and his friendly, if weary, eyes stared intently at Domhnall. He held a handkerchief to his mouth and began to cough rather severely. Despite his physicality, the man was dressed in a refined manner that denoted great wealth, and he carried himself like a lord. Domhnall had the distinct feeling that he had seen this man before. As the man approached Domhnall's booth, he was intercepted by the barkeep. "My apologies sir, but we were just about to close for the evening..." "That is quite alright." The man interjected, with a surprisingly commanding voice given his frail demeanor. "This will not take but a few minutes." He added, glancing at Domhnall. Lloyd hesitated, but relented to the man's wishes. Smiling, he returned to his duties at the bar. The man turned to Domhnall, gesturing for him to take a seat. He removed a large envelope from his folded jacket, placing it delicately on the table before them. "I apologize profusely for my tardiness, Mr. MacDubh. I had to ensure that I was not being followed. I am both grateful and quite relieved that you have chosen to stay well past the time of our scheduled rendezvous." The man coughed once more into his handkerchief. Domhnall nodded at the man, his mind more focused on the contents of the envelope. "That's quite alright ah...mister?" "Ah yes, forgive me. Allow me to introduce myself—my name is Zero Moustafa." Domhnall thought he had misheard the man, but suddenly realized why he had seemed so familiar. "The Zero Moustafa?" Domhnall asked incredulously. Zero Moustafa was once among the most renowned and powerful names in Valoria. The story of his life was well known throughout the West—the immigrant boy who came into great wealth and built an empire. The owner of the famous Grand Budapest Hotel in Zubrowka that hosted some of the most important incidents of geopolitical intrigue and espionage during the 20th century. A liaison between East and West, it was said Moustafa himself maintained the balance of power in Valoria after the Great War, preventing many a crises from spiraling into all out war. The man's personal life however was shrouded in mystery, and following the Communist takeover of Zubrowka in 2014, Moustafa vanished from the public sphere. And yet here he was now, speaking face to face with Domhnall. "The very same." Moustafa said with a warm chuckle. He began to cough again, this time soiling his handkerchief with blood. "Are you all right? That cough doesn't sound too good." Domhnall inquired. "Yes, yes. I'm afraid there is nothing that can be done. But there are more important matters at hand." He said, indicating the envelope. "Firstly, my condolences to you for the loss of your mentor, Mr. Melhuish. He was a close friend and trusted confidant." Moustafa said solemnly. "Well I thank you sir, in many ways he was like a father to me. Taught me everything I know...though he never mentioned his relationship with you." Domhnall replied. he leaned in closer "So the legends about you...are they true?" He asked rather frankly. Moustafa smiled. "I have...facilitated certain events that are well known to you, however I consider myself first and foremost an information broker. As you are well aware, there is a clandestine war being waged between the great nations of this world, and the weapon of the day is information. He who knows the most, wins...to put it bluntly." Moustafa cleared his throat before continuing. "I saw first hand the devastation that the Great War wrought, and since then my singular goal has been to prevent another, to help maintain a peaceful balance between East and West. To this end, I entrusted William with many secrets; delicate information that required the utmost care in disseminating. In return, he entrusted in me quite a few of his own—one of which being your investigation. I found myself enthralled by what you had begun to discover. I used the full extent of the resources I had at my disposal to find whatever bit of information I could. What I ultimately discovered was...disturbing." Moustafa pushed the envelope towards Domhnall. "In this you will find what you currently lack. Proof. Correspondences between high level officials within the Federative party-state apparatus and the KGB, digital paper trails, money transfers, everything you need to bring the truth to light, and I believe you are the only one capable of the delicacy that this kind of information requires. It will take some time to sift through, but I know you're up to task." Domhnall took the envelope and placed it into his coat. It was much heavier than he anticipated, and it contained what was likely flash storage. He felt both exhilarated and overwhelmed as the implications of what he had just been entrusted to do sank in. The moment he leaked this information, the country, hell the entire Empire-Commonwealth, would be thrown into chaos. But that was irrelevant in the grand scheme—the balance of power—as Moustafa had said. In the information war, as long as neither side had the upper hand, the balance of power was maintained. To that end, this leak would neutralize the upper hand the Federatives had achieved. "A word of warning." Moustafa said with a cough. "Be careful who you choose to share the contents of that envelope with. During my own investigation I came across something greatly troubling. Despite all that I was able to uncover, I found only mere glimpses of its true nature. I believe it is a shadow organization deeply rooted within the Federative Union. It has been referred to as Directorate S, in reference to a former branch of the KGB that was disbanded after Ivanov's death. There is no way of knowing just how far its influence spreads, but it says something that even the KGB is fearful of it." Moustafa began to rise from the booth. "It's been a pleasant evening Mr. MacDubh, but I'm afraid we've overstayed our welcome." He said, glancing at the barkeep. Domhnall nodded with slight disappointment before helping Moustafa to his feet. He had a million questions he wanted to ask. Another coughing fit overtook the man, with blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with his handkerchief and gently shook Domhnall's hand. "How can I reach you sir, if I have questions?" Domhnall inquired. "I'm afraid this is the last time we'll be seeing each other." Moustafa said, indicating his blood soaked handkerchief. He began to walk towards the entrance of the pub. A grandfather clock began to chime and the man glanced back at Domhnall. "Merry Christmas, Mr. MacDubh." Moustafa turned and lumbered out into the cold. |
![]() |
|
| Hardenburgh | Aug 20 2016, 02:25 PM Post #7 |
|
Witley Court, Country residence of the Hardenburghian Prime Minister. 26th of December Jenkins woke up early. As he opened his eyes, he took in the unfamiliar and plush surrounds of the master suit at Whitely Court- the chaise lounge and bouji chairs, the oak dresser and numerous paintings. Drawing back the feather duvet, he was exposed to the chill of the country air. Such a large residence was difficult to heat. He reached for his dressing gown and, after briefly glancing the sleeping form of his wife, made his way to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea. Although it would have been entirely possible for him to order tea to his room, he felt uncomfortable imposing himself on the numerous hands who kept Witley Court ticking over. Indeed, it was these people who Jenkins identified with readily, not the technocrats and civil servants who kept the cogs of Hardenburghian government oiled. The decision to spend Christmas at Witley court was one Jenkins made with great reluctance. Under usual circumstances, the festivities were spent with his mother and wife in the comfort of his small terraced house in Llanfair Pwllgwyngyll, however this year these arrangements had been too impractical. A large entourage followed the Prime Minister wherever he went and Witley Court seemed preferable to the cramped and winding corridors of Whitehall. A change of scenery was healthy Jenkins had said to his wife and so, in the company of his ageing mother, they had arrived outside the imposing steps of the country house early on Christmas Eve, only to be greeted by a rather disdainful look from the head butler. Upon reaching the kitchen, Jenkins found that he was not alone. The house staff were already in the midst of preparing breakfast. Preferring to be alone in the early hours, he quickly brewed me tea before retreating to the study where he reclined in one of the armchairs, intending to read quietly for a while. However, the peace was quickly shattered by a frantic knocking. A few moments silence were a luxury that could never be afforded to a prime minister. “Enter”, he said casually. Promptly the door was flung wide open, and his personal secretary Bernard McMillan entered the room. In the world of politics, McMillan was one of the few people Jenkins truly trusted. A young, bourgeois idealist McMilan had begun working for Jenkins five years ago when he was a mere constituency MP. Although the young man had parliamentary ambitions, he had devoted himself to Jenkins. Both were idealists, passionate about the Social Democratic movement. In the heady days following Jenkins’ elevation to the highest office, McMillan stood by him- a dependable and loyal constant. Putting his book down on the small table beside his armchair, Jenkins looked upwards. McMillan was flustered, he’d obviously been into the nearby village. His glasses dropping down his nose, hair dishevelled, face red from being out in the cold and coat unbuttoned, with his scarf trailing behind. “Mr. Jenkins, Sir” he panted… “you better look at the Times”. McMillan handed Jenkins a crisp copy of the broadsheet. _________________ Leaked documents reveal Federative funding of SDP Documents obtained by The Hardenburghian Times reveal that the Social Democratic Party as well as its affiliated Trade Unions have been receiving undeclared funds and donations from sources within the Federative Union. Although SDP sources refused to provide comment, evidence points towards the fact that the Party and its affiliated organisations have been operating in defiance of the Political Funding Act which forbids parties from receiving foreign funds. Links between the Hardenburghian left and Federative Union have been long acknowledged. Prior to the collapse of the Transnistrian Empire, radicals exiled by the Tsarist regime sought exile in the United Kingdom where they formed close links with the Labour movement in Hardenburgh. Following the formation of the UFSR these relationships were nurtured and advanced through Comintern, a Federative-funded organisation committed to spreading Communism globally. Allegedly, Federative agents operating through Hardenburghian Trade Unions played an instrumental role in orchestrating the industrial unrest that followed the Great War, in particular the General Strike of 1954. Following the election of the Hawthorne Ministry in 1975, the Hardenburghian government cracked down on Federative-funded organisations operating within the United Kingdom, following the passage of the Insurrection Act of 1976. The Hardenburghian Communist Party, a member of Comintern, was outlawed whilst leftwing organisations across the United Kingdom came under close surveillance. Trade Unions also found themselves under intense scrutiny. Leading unionists who had proven links with the Federative Union were put on trial for high treason. Most notably Arthur Scargill, then-president of the National Mineworkers Union, was sentenced to death for colluding with Federative agents to destabilise the United Kingdom. It was widely believed that the actions of the Hawthorne Ministry eliminated the Federative Union’s ability to influence Hardenburghian politics, however evidence contained within the documents obtained by The Hardenburghian Times prove the contrary. The lack of financial regulation in Hardenburghian colonies has allowed Federative funds to be channelled into Trade Unions, the Social Democratic Party as well as the campaigns of individual MPs, with known communist affiliations. Following Prime Minister Godolphin Hawthorne’s purge of the Hardenburghian Labour movement, the Federative Union lost the avenue through which it traditionally influenced Hardenburghian politics. Agencies such as the KGB struggled to re-establish influence within the United Kingdom’s political system, however the economic liberalisation pioneered by Premier Nikolai Kosygin allowed Federative oligarchs to invest extensively in international stock markets. Exploiting the laissez faire economic policies pursued by successive Tory administrations, the Federative Union was able to re-establish its foothold, this time within the Social Democratic Party. The Federative Union’s decision to support the Social Democratic Party which its Pravda newspaper has repeatedly criticised for being “bourgeois, revisionist and counter-revolutionary” may seem unusual at face value. However, following the elimination of the Hardenburghian Communist Party, its core membership joined the Social Democratic Party forming the organisation ‘Militant’ in the hope that they could influence the party’s policy-making organs from within. The existence of this caucus presented the UFSR with an opportunity to establish influence within the SDP. However due to the passage of the Political Funding Act, Federative agencies such as the KGB initially struggled to extend their influence. The emergence of a new, oligarchical elite within the Federative Union- a result of Premier Kosygin’s economic reforms- provided an unrivalled opportunity to channel funds to leftwing groups in the United Kingdom. For Federative capital to successfully enter the Hardenburghian party-political system, it needs to be processed through a web of shell companies and offshore accounts before entering the United Kingdom. It is for this reason that the Lütz, an important financial centre and economic bridge between East and West, provides an ideal location for the monetary trail to start. Prominent Federative billionaires including Iram Avonovich and Viktor Usmanov established a series of hedge funds including the Trans-Valorian Capital Management Group, Bridgewater Associates and Kwoolon Capital Management, predominately based out of Weihaiwei and the Lucayan Islands. These territories are notable for their lack of business regulations, meaning that corporations are not required to publish their accounts or disclose information about shareholders, directors and employees. As such, Mr. Avonovich and Mr Usmanov amongst others have been able to invest millions of pounds into their outfits via Lütz, with little to no scrutiny. Piggybacking on this system, the KGB have channelled almost a billion pounds into these outfits via an individual named Mr. John Arthur. The Trans-Valorian Capital Management Group, Bridgewater Associates and Kwoolon Capital management have followed a uniform investment strategy. Funds have been channelled into areas of the Hardenburghian economy that are heavily unionised; most notably the industrial, mining and manufacturing sectors. Trans-Valorian Capital Management and Bridgewater Associates in particular have brought controlling stakes in a number of well-known firms including Hardenburghian Steel, the automobile manufacturers Leyland as well as the Hardenburghian Coal, Oil and Gas Corporation (HCOG). All these corporations are backed by strong workers’ unions. In recent years, the unions have found themselves in confrontation with the Hardenburghian government as it attempts to erode their monopolies, conferred by the SDP government of the early 1990s. This discord, actively encouraged by the KGB, has provided the boards of Hardenburghian Steel, Leyland and HCOG with grounds to channel substantial funds into both the Social Democratic Party and affiliated Unions, in an attempt to thwart governmental policy. The money which has facilitated this has been directed into organisational coffers via offshore hedge funds and is traceable to Mr. John Arthur then, ultimately, the KGB. Over the years, millions of pounds have been donated to Militant, allowing the movement to operation on a national scale, campaigning across the United Kingdom. Officials within the Social Democratic Party including treasurer Sir Arthur Henderson and Chairperson James McCluskey are also implicated, knowingly receiving large sums of money which were used to guarantee the complicity of key figures within the party. Leftwing MP’s and Ministers including Jeremy Corbyn, John Cryer, the Secretary of State for Education Ed Horowitz and Ernie Roberts, now Home Secretary also received large sums of money to cover the cost of their campaigning. The Trade Unions have also received tens of millions of pounds so as to cover the cost of industrial action against the government. The Times contacted the Social Democratic Party’s central office earlier today, however comment on these revelations was refused. Nevertheless, they will surely prove damaging to the government which only won the recent general election with a slim majority… _________________ May 20th 1995, the day after the General Election Ye Olde Chesire Cheese, Central Asguard 2 Jenkins took a deep sip from the pint of ale that the barman set down in front of him, then delicately placed it on the polished wooden counter. Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese was something of an institution for Social Democratic MPs. Located close to the Houses of Parliament, it was where they congregated to drink and smoke, however this afternoon it was decidedly empty. Jenkins exhaled mournfully and glanced at his reflection in the large mirror which hung behind the bar. The face which stared back at him was pale, its eyes bloodshot. His hair, carefully groomed under usual circumstances, seemed completely dishevelled whilst the newly pressed suit which he had put on the day before was creased. He had removed his tie long ago. The exhaustion began to creep in. Jenkins had passed through the previous forty-eight hours, barely grabbing a wink of sleep. In the final drive for votes in the General Election he had toured the length and breadth of Cumbria, taking the Social Democratic cause to the grassroots. However, the first SDP government elected since 1975 had a track record complicated by the economic turbulence that had recently swept the United Commonwealth and the Tory Coalition- widely perceived as the party of stability- had regained power, virtually eliminating the SDP in all areas but its heartlands. Broken and dejected, Jenkins returned to Asguard so that he could await the resumption of Parliament and the inevitable leadership race that would ensue shortly. Five years to the day, Jenkins had been elected to Parliament for the first time. He remembered the outpouring of goodwill and enthusiasm which had accompanied the new government into office. Today, this was a faint memory. Lost in his thoughts, Jenkins barely took note of the figure who entered the pub, walked to the bar, ordered a drink then drew out a chair beside him. It took Jenkins a while to register the presence of his new companion and when he did, he glanced at him dismissively. Dressed in a well-tailored suit, with a cream anorak draped over his arm and a copy of The Hardenburghian Times spread out across the bar, he seemed quite out of place in a pub that was normally populated by SDP parliamentarians many of whom were noted for their lax approach to sartorial standards. Casting an eye over him a second time, Jenkins was sure he had met him somewhere before. At some point, the man became aware that he had caught Jenkins’ attention. He turned around. “Lewellyn Jenkins I suppose… pleasure to meet you finally. I’ve heard much about you.” Caught off guard, Jenkins stuttered out a response, “I.. I am.. have we met before, you seem very familiar.” The man smiled “That doesn’t matter, however you were just the person I was looking for.” “Me?” “Yes, you…” Jenkins was genuinely startled that he had been sought out. A backbench MP, representing a Cumbrian safe seat, there was little reason for him to be one of the stars of Parliament. “Why?” he enquired. “I represent people… powerful people who, like you and me, are concerned with the direction in which the SDP is headed.” Jenkin’s attention was piqued as the man continued. “This party… our party was born out of class struggle, and it claims to be the defender of the working class, yet the evidence doesn’t stack up. Over the past decade, the party-political apparatus has been hijacked by… well, what best can be described as a bourgeois elite from Asguard. They tell us that ideological revisionism will win us votes… make us palatable to the Hardenburghian middle class, but does it? Really? Well, the result of yesterday’s election is all the evidence you need to rubbish that claim! Our defeat underscores the need for change. We entered the election with a large majority and now we have been reduced to an effective rump.” Pausing briefly to take a sip from the gin and tonic that had been placed in front of him by the ever present bar tender, he continued. “However, there are those who are extremely dissatisfied with the course of current events. I represent certain interests who… agree with us. Agree that the Social Democratic Party is and should remain the sole representative of the worker. Those who I work for want to fund likeminded individuals like yourself. Slowly, but surely, we can rebuild the Social Democratic Party together- make it an effective force which represents those who it was founded to represent. This process may take years, but it will guarantee the future. Would you be interested in joining us?” Jenkins heart warmed. Here was someone speaking his language, committed to his principles and ideals. He nodded enthusiastically. “Good. I will be in contact.” With that, the man drained his glass, folded his newspaper and put his coat on, turning to walk out of the pub into the torrential spring rains. Jenkins called out to him. “Sorry… I didn’t get your name.” “Oh” he smiled, “my apologies… I’m John Arthur, pleasure to meet you” he said offering his hand to Jenkins. As he took it, Jenkins remembered where he’d first seen the man. At the 1960 Festival of Youth and Students in Novgorod… _________________ The residence of Jeremy Corbyn MP, Asguard, 26th of December 2016 A loud, continuous knocking on the door of his Asguard townhouse roused an irritated Jeremy Corbyn from his slumber. Despite his staunch atheism, the Christmas period was sacred to him. The only time of year that he could truly clock off; enjoying lie ins, long lunches and the films broadcasted on television. The knocking had continued for five minutes. He had tried to ignore it initially, convincing himself that it was the cat… or his son, returning from the Party which he had disappeared to late the previous night. Nevertheless, it cut through his sleep and he decided that it would be better to deal with whoever it was then return to bed. Reluctantly, he drew back the covers, reached for his dressing gown and glanced at the lock. It was 8:30am. Outrageous that someone thought fit to disturb him at this time on Boxing Day! He quickly descended the stairs and then walked to the front door. The knocking continued. “I’m coming!” he snapped. Fiddling with the latch, he swung the door open and was shocked at the sight which met his eyes. A detective, dressed in a dark suit and crombie was accompanied by two uniformed police officers. “Can I help…” Corbyn stumbled, thinking his son must have got himself into some sort of trouble. “Is it about my son?” The detective, shook his head. “It’s you we’re looking for Mr. Corbyn” he said in a thick Aurish accent. “Why?” “Mr. Corbyn” the detective said in a calm and collected voice. “I am arresting you on suspicion of High Treason and you do not have to say anything; but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” The two bobbies stepped forward and handcuffed him, before leading him down the path and to their parked car. Edited by Hardenburgh, Aug 20 2016, 02:26 PM.
|
![]() |
|
| Ceroulia | Sep 1 2016, 11:38 PM Post #8 |
|
Administrator
|
Macean Embassy Asgard, Hardenburgh quarter to 9PM, December 30th, 2015 “We cannot…” The newspaper slipped from Busleyden’s hand onto the desk as he spoke. McLaird’s face scrounged up as the newspaper fell. “…officially support you…” His eyes skimmed the print of the falling newspaper, the realization instantaneous. He was finished. "…or any of your favorites ever again.” There was silence, as the priest stared down at McLaird. McLaird held his head low, before speaking. “I knew nothing about this.” Busleyden’s eyebrows raised far above his eyes. “Oh you knew nothing? Then what is this!?” He forcefully his opened his desk drawer to reveal a stapled packet of papers of bank transactions, letters and emails, shoving them into McLaird’s face. They crashed into his face, falling into his lap and dispersing. “Hmm!? I have bank transactions from the Treasurer and Chairman of the SDP, both incriminated in this paper report, you receiving money from these accounts that the Federatives deposited the money into. You bought properties in Ovisa and Hardenburgh for absentee landlord rent schemes, also buying estates for your own personal use in Macea. You knew of all of this, as shown by these emails and letters. You made a mockery of our gracious King’s assistance.” Mclaird, bleeding from a little paper cut on his cheek, said, “Does your King know?” “He certainly does. Because of this, he has launched an investigation into the cadre that I have assembled. He’s ordered your property in Macea to be placed under royal scrutiny. He will certainly push the Ovisans to do the same.” “I do not merit this treatment.” “Traitors to our cause will not be tolerated. No matter how intensely you long for this position in your miserable life, your nation has abandoned you – there is intense displeasure in the streets, I am sure you have seen the reports of Social Democrat MP’s residences vandalized by Conservative voters. Some have suffered severe injuries, some of which have probably died by this point. If my King doesn’t get you, then your Government or your constituency will.” "Tell me, I have been the most supportive member of this cadre that you have assembled to keep this Empire in your King’s good favor. Who is there now, in this grim hour of Hardenburghian politics to promote your goals? The Queen could – or might disband Parliament for this exposure.” “Do not try to make this about me or my nation. Regardless, we have someone in mind. In fact, you may know him well. But that is all I am going to say.” “What about Jenkins?” "I think his plight will depose of him soon. I hope. There may not be another election after this mess, which gives us ample time to prepare our candidate for general election. “How well do I know your candidate?” "Oh very well. He’s walked the halls of power at home and has met many dignitaries and heads of state, like you." There were a few moments of silence again. The bells of the local church rang again, indicating 9 PM. “It’s getting late Mr. Mclaird.” “Yes, I should be getting home.” They rose from the desk. Mclaird felt uneasy. All this arguing, but no consequences? Truly a bizarre state of affiars, but he did not have the courage to ask this man his fate. He had taken the one of the most powerful men in the world for a fool, and here he was walking off into the courtyard into one of the Julian’s own limousine. But the car wasn’t turned on, nor was there a chauffeur. “Where’s the- “ A great burning sensation was felt in his chest, and blood emerged from his wounds. He looked down to see a bullet wound in his exposed dress shirt, with small amount of steam emerging from the warm blood. He stumbled towards the car, and was shot again from a guard armed with a silenced pistol. After the second shot, he finally fell to the ground, dying before Busleyden, who looked from a second story window. He was accompanied with two attaches. One of the attaches asked, “What do we do with the body?” “Burn it in the incinerator.” He turned to them and said, “The King has decided to choose Lord Salisbury, the former Foreign Secretary under the Urquhart Government, as his candidate for the premiership of the Commonwealth.” “When do we inform him?” “Let the media announce that Mclaird has gone missing. We will approach him in two weeks or so. Definitely after the Christmas season.” Edited by Ceroulia, Sep 1 2016, 11:50 PM.
|
![]() |
|
| Hardenburgh | Sep 2 2016, 05:05 PM Post #9 |
|
Wilmthrop Street, Asguard 7th of January Lewellyn Jenkins lit a smoking pipe and reclined into the comfy arm chair that had been drawn up close to the crackling fire in the Prime minister’s study. Following the revelations about SDP funding, Jenkins felt as if his entire world had imploded around him. Public opinion was in uproar, enraged that a Party supposedly committed to Parliamentary democracy was supported by a ruthless dictatorship. Moderate MPs and the Party’s peers- enraged at the disregard for national security that was aptly demonstrated by the militant tendency in Parliament and unionists- had seceded from the ranks of the SDP and created an independent Democratic Party. Over one hundred and ten MP’s had defected, meaning that the government no longer commanded a majority. Many of those who chose not to defect did so out of loyalty to the Social Democratic Party, however their support for the government was strained. A leftist core remained doggedly loyal to Jenkins, however- in spite frantic negotiations with the Democratic Party- he had been unable to retrieve his parliamentary majority. To make matters worse, thirty MPs had been arrested. Gazing out of the large French windows, he could see journalists massing outside. Jostling for a prime position overlooking the entrance of Wilmthrop Street, they waited eagerly- like crows circling over a battlefield- for the next revelation in the unfolding political drama. Rumours were now the main currency of Hardenburghian politics. Supposedly, the Democratic Party had been in lengthy talks with the Tory Coalition. A vote of no Confidence was imminent. Jenkins knew his days as Prime Minister were severely numbered. Outside, the leaden heavens opened up, dispensing a fresh blanket of snow upon the frozen streets of Asguard. For Jenkins, the last few days had become an indistinguishable blur. Parliament was in the middle of its winter recess whilst government had been reduced to an inoperable rump. After a frantic return to Wilmthrop Street from the countryside, he had spent the past few days locked away in his study smoking, drinking and occasionally meeting with those ministers who hadn’t resigned from post. They continued to discuss policy proposals as if business was as usual, oblivious to the spectacular events that unfolded outside. He was glad that the grey civil servants, who doggedly ensured that government continued its day-to-day functions ignored him. It was clear to Jenkins that he was regarded as an outgoing Prime Minister. All talk and preparations were intended to facilitate the speedy accession of his successor, whoever that may be. Jenkins gazed into the flickering flames of the fire morosely. The enthusiasm and optimism with which he assumed the Premiership had been vanquished. His wife had noted that he was becoming increasingly tired, gaunt and ill-tempered. He ate little and slept even less. His hands seemed to shake ever so slightly and an aching pain pervaded his entire body. A small, much repressed part of him was glad that he would soon be forced to relinquish his Premiership. He could return to his beloved constituency and continue the work at which he excelled. Momentarily he was retrieved from the depths of his thoughts by a short, rapping knock. “Enter” he muttered and promptly a suited figure did, gently closing the door behind him. Looking up, he was surprised to see a face he simply didn’t know. “You are?” he required. “Mr. Prime Minister, the pleasure is all mine”. Jenkins repeated himself. “Who are you?” The man, dressed simply in a grey suit, his silver hair neatly groomed smiled cooly and took the seat adjacent to his. “That, Mr. Prime Minister, is irrelevant. I am a non-person. I do not exist now or ever. Think of me as that ever-present force committed solely to the defence of the Hardenburghian state. “What do you want?” Jenkins enquired. “As you might imagine, Sir, the services of those whom I represent are seldom called upon. However, over the past few weeks we have been forced into something of an overdrive. We had hoped to clean this business up and put it away quietly, but that’s no longer possible. Disturbing revelations have come to light.” “Disturbing revelations?” Jenkins retorted. “Yes, unfortunately. Specifically that you are, or have been, acquainted with a man by the name of John Arthur.” The look in Jenkins eyes betrayed everything. Since their first meeting on that gloomy spring day, Jenkins had maintained a close relationship with John Arthur. Up until the General Election the two men met regularly: socialised with each other’s families, met in Asguard for dinner, attended the football together. Arthur had donated generously to the Social Democratic Party, a result of his successful hedge fund or so Jenkins thought. “Sir, it is my duty to inform you that John Arthur is an agent of the Federative Union.” Jenkins almost choked with shock. “i… I didn’t know.” The man continued “Mr. Arthur’s hedge fund is merely a front through which Federative funds have been poured into your party. It goes without saying that we have extensive evidence of your relationship with this individual. This compromises the stability of the Hardenburghian state and your position as Prime Minister.” Everything became clear to Jenkins. “You’ve… you’ve known about this?” The man remained expressionless. “You’ve known about this and withheld the evidence to use against a Social Democratic government? This… this is undemocratic, it’s a coup… “ The man shook his head. “No, Mr. Jenkins, I only act with the best interests of the Hardenburghian state at heart. Your actions fit the aforesaid criteria. However, you have a choice.” Reaching into his breast pocket he retracted an unsealed envelope which he handed to Jenkins. “This is a letter announcing your resignation as Prime Minister, for reasons of ill health. You will sign it and then come with me. We will convey you to a retreat in the Aurish Highlands where you will remain until further notice.” Jenkins felt his forehead beginning to twitch. “I refuse… you… you can’t do this, I am the democratically elected Prime Minister of the United Kingdom… I have a mandate.” The man smiled. “I thought this might be your response. Allow me to outline the alternate course of action. Your association with Mr. Arthur has annulled your mandate. The information we have, with full supporting evidence, will be handed to the police. You will be arrested and tried for High Treason, the penalty for which you’re very aware of. Your party will be dismantled and illegalised under the Defence of the Realm Act. Everyone you know and love will be rigorously investigated… is this what you want?” “You bastard” snarled Jenkins. Removing the letter from its envelope, unfolding it then placing it on the coffee table he retracted a pen from his blazer pocket and signed it. “Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister. You will now come with me.” Shocked and desensitised, Jenkins nodded dumbly and stood up. Retrieving his Crombie from the coat hanger in the corner of the study, he followed the man down the servants staircase to the rear exit of Wilmthrop Street, away from the prying eyes of the press. There waited a black car which he was directed to climb into. After strapping himself in, the unassuming vehicle swung out onto Whitehall, failing to attract the attention of the journalists it was in plain sight of. Thus passed the Jenkins ministry. |
![]() |
|
| Greater Helvany | Sep 3 2016, 03:46 AM Post #10 |
|
The bad guy
|
Foreword Border 22 was identical to the other 43 border posts that line the border between the State of Krisburg and the Empire of Dahomey. The latter an Empire of native Cedarians riddled with corruption and nationalist and communist sentiment and once the site of a Helvanic conquest attempt back in the 1910s. Dahomia since 2015 was in reality largely fighting a civil war. In the north were the Communists and in the deep south stood the Nationalist faction. The Imperial government still had control of the central, western and eastern portions of the country. However, Dahomey since 1963, was the springboard for many communist insurgencies aimed at Krisburg, Norboland and Sudboland (the other two states of Helvanic Southwest Cedaris) that resulted in the 31 year long struggle known as the Border Wars of Southern Cedarian Nations. The communist forces in the Krisburg Bush Wars were known as the Bantu Organisation for the People’s Liberation Army (BOPLA), which had become the most powerful communist insurgency in southern Cedaris. But thankfully since the end of the conflict, the BOPLA had lost much of its forces in Dahomey and the surrounding areas up until 2013. Beginning in that year, the winds of fortune were changing hands once more. BOPLA and there Nationalist rival (the Dahomian Front for National Sovereignty; DAFNAS) were either regaining strength through increased black market activity or gaining allies within the Government and military’s corrupt arenas. This resulted in the highly mobile Krisburger Defence Force (KDF) and the Colonial Forces of Southwest Cedaris to revamp their military planning. 2014 passed as a quiet year along the border. However, in Dahomey 2015, BOPLA forces under the command of Samuel Savimbi had succeeded in defeating Julius Nandela’s Army of the Nationalist Coalition (ANC) and Charles Terbambo’s Dahomian Force for National Liberation (DAFNAL). The BOPLA therefore held controlled over 37% of Dahomey and was growing in arms and numbers, putting much worry within the hearts of the Helvanic South Cedarian colonial administration. In response, the summer of 2015 saw the deployment of an extra 3,000 personnel of the Colonial Forces of the Southwest Cedarian Colonies and the deployment of 8,500 Nordboland Defence Force (NDF) personnel along the border. November 2015, saw five air strikes against BOPLA arms depots in northern Dahomey, though BOPLA responded with rocket and mortar strikes on border towns, peace returned by early December. BOPLA and DAFNAS quickly joined forces in mid-December to defeat the Royal Dahomian Army in several final battles. No one in the Helvanic Reich foresaw what was to come next. 12 Battalion, 2 KDF Infantry Brigade, 1 KDF Mech. Division, Border Post 22, Krisburg, 09 January 2016 Corporal Steyn Joubert, the second son of the Governor of Krisburg (Henrikus Joubert) and a member of 12 Battalion, sat there in the typical KDF light tan uniform with a product Alebcain-Helvanic cooperative weapon manufacturing, the FN FAL. His father and uncle had also served in the KDF, and were uniformed and equipped with much of the same gear as he was. However, his FN FAL (now known as the FN FNC; Helvanic forms of this firearm still used 8 mm rifle rounds) was slightly different and Steyn also was given bullet proof vests. He, along with the men of his battalion, were awaiting to be relieved two days from now. Post 22 was manned by 302 soldiers mostly from the KDF, both white and black men in the same uniform, under the same flag, under the same symbol. Joubert, along with a white private (Johan Vyyks) and a black private (Simon Mamba), were tasked with the HMG post for the night shift’s Machine Gunner support sector. They sat in the post silently trying to keep from falling asleep, or from smoking a cigarette to pass the time or struggled to maintain focus as the moonlight did little to illuminate the plains before them. At 0030 am the night was as a silent as the dead, the wind was weak and the heat was comfortable, but it was silent. At 00.40 this all changed, a whistling sound went straight over the trio’s heads and ended in a sudden explosion near the front gate of the outpost. The three were taken aback as they could see flames roll up and wither way, seconds later the whistling returned as did the explosions. Joubert looked out onto the savannah to see the glistening of AKs. Before he could scream out, another voiced shouted, “ALARM! BOPLA, north!” As the alarm was repeated, Mamba opened up on the glistening guns with the MG-76. Screams echoed back, and three flares went up into the night sky to reveal hundreds of Dahomian fighters rushing towards the post. Suddenly all troops of the post rushed to sandbag wall and opened fire onto the Dahomians, while Joubert and the two privates continued to spit rounds into the Dahomian bodies, when suddenly a mortar round flew over and vaporised the command centre, burning Krisburgers rolled out of the ruins and screamed as their lives were roasted out of them. Joubert quickly looked eastward to see Post 23 flash up with gunfire and explosions, Post 24 in the very distance did the same, this wasn’t any attack, this was an invasion. As the trio continued to fire hundreds of rounds into the BOPLA, several RPGs flew over them, killing 3 men in the process, rounds began to hit the sandbag walls at a growing rate, four men were killed instantly when rounds struck their heads. The Dahomians were never ending, eventually despite the growing loss of life they reached the wall, bayonets were drawn and the bitter fight began. Joubert and his men, now joined with four others, carried on shooting and didn’t stop, suddenly nine BOPLA fighters jumped in front of them, Mamba was shot twice in the chest, while Vyyks, enraged, sprayed the MG-76, killing 3. Vyyks however was bayoneted shortly thereafter, Joubert continued the fight till he saw his comrades all dead, he swiftly withdrew his Five-Seven pistol along with a E-Tool and shot two more fighters before beating a third to the ground. A whistling sound grew closer and closer, then a flash. Corporal Steyn Joubert was no more. |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| Go to Next Page | |
| « Previous Topic · International Incidents · Next Topic » |
- Pages:
- 1
- 2





Printable Version |
Email to a Friend

[tab=3][/tab] 
3:24 PM Jul 11