This would be the 48 hour warning
A Brave New World Part 2
- Thread starter EQandcivfanatic
- Start date
Jason The King
Deity
To France
From Virginia
While we would greatly appreciate French intervention, we do wish to know of the nature of French plans?
From Virginia
While we would greatly appreciate French intervention, we do wish to know of the nature of French plans?
@flyingchicken This is a bit off topic, but could you send me whatever map you were working on for this? I'll place the cities myself if you do. May be nice to have it up for the next update.
Crezth
i knew you were a real man of the left
To: Virginia
From: France
Due to the Treaty of Rome, we cannot commit ground forces. We will, however, commit naval forces which will be jointly commanded by New England and Virginian authorities when operating on the eastern seaboard. We will furthermore cooperate with our European comrades in naval operations against Communist targets (to be decided upon by them) and assist in establishing of beach heads, protecting trans-Atlantic shipping, and increasing the naval bulwark against the Communist tide.
D'Artagnan59
The Gascon
To: France
From: PRC
And you support a government that supports a government calling for the genocide of Francophones. You should be ashamed.
From: PRC
And you support a government that supports a government calling for the genocide of Francophones. You should be ashamed.
Crezth
i knew you were a real man of the left
To: PRC
From: France
Enclosed is the severed head of your diplomat, lightly sauteed in a style which should befit you.
From: France
Enclosed is the severed head of your diplomat, lightly sauteed in a style which should befit you.
D'Artagnan59
The Gascon
Circuit
Writing Letters
The heavy iron door reluctantly opened, allowing a single flashlight beam into the darkness. Two of the guards entered and prodded the snoozing prisoner, roughly but not too rough. He gave a couple raspy coughs, then looked up to see who had waken him and, more importantly, what for? The bloodshot whites of his eyes switched back and forth between the guards faces. He knew. They didn't have the scowls that they normally wore when dealing with political prisoners. Today, their faces were expressionless. From the tales he had heard from the other prisoners, he knew what that meant.
"Get up," one said; not shouted, said. He rolled over from the wall and slowly swung his feet from the concrete "bed" to the floor. Normally, he would have heard a hollar of "Faster! Hurry up, you swine!" Not now, though. He had no shoes, and he had no need to dress; he was wearing the same tattered clothing he had since the day he was arrested, caked in dirt, blood, and urine from the entire period he had been a prisoner. He stood up, though he was weak at the knees. One of the guards turned him around by the shoulders, gently but firmly. A pair of handcuffs were attached to his wrists.
"Let's go," the guard at the door said. The prisoner was lead out, flanked at both sides by the two guards. They entered the hallway, as dark and as lonely as the cell. The prisoner had no idea what time it was. Night? Day? Did it matter at this point? Well, maybe a little. In his own mind, if it were night, it meant that they were cowards who wanted to keep their repression a secret. If it were day...they were still cowards. Unfortunately, though, as he walked down the corridor, he realized that all those behind the steel doors were brave men; cowards were winners, though. In this day and age, the world was ruled by cowards.
He asked himself if he would be any different, though. Would he send men to their deaths like this? Would he have repressed his people like they do? Would he have assumed all the power for himself like them? He thought about it as they reached the iron doors that lead to the outside world. Would he have arrested men merely for different politics? He doubted it.
The doors swung open. The fury of daylight blinded his weakened eyes. He squinted against the oppressive sun, trying to block out its rays. The guards lead him out, turned and came up the steps to the courtyard. Soon, his eyes adapted. Within the great walls and towers of the courtyard, a line of men in green uniforms with red armbands faced the wall from a distance of about ten feet, each holding a rifle at ease. They were all so well groomed; they didn't miss a trick. At death, they were the clean, beautiful, noble victors, and he was a grizzly, unshaven, dirty leader of the opposition. Cowards earned pretty uniforms; brave men earned ragged clothing.
The ground of the courtyard was rough dirt. His feet, sensitive from extended periods of time on hard concrete, complained as he walked onto the rough terrain. The guards did not slow. They wanted to get this done quick, he could tell. All he could do was ignore the cries of his feet. They wouldn't hurt soon.
They took him to the center of the wall, directly in fron of the line of soldiers. A chain was attached to the concrete wall behind him, well above his head. The guards took the chain and attached it to the handcuffs, lifting his arms up above his head as they did so that he wouldn't be able to duck. Why would he? If he squirmed too much, they might miss a vital point, and he'd be left to die slowly.
"Blindfold?" one of the guards asked. The prisoner smirked. "No," he said. The blindfold wasn't a favor to him. It was so that the firing squad didn't have to look into the bloodshot eyes of a human when they fired. Undoubtedly, only one of those soldiers had a bullet in his gun; the rest were blanks, and the soldiers knew it. They could sleep well at night, knowing that odds are it wasn't me who fired the lethal bullet. They couldn't consciously kill the one that had supposedly was far worse than any of them. But they all could agree that he wasn't fit to live.
The guards turned and walked out of the line of fire, then stopped and turned on their heals to watch. A desensitization practice. Smooth thinking by those on top. A soldier, who the prisoner presumed to be the commanding officer, took two broad steps from the rear of the quad to in front of them. He took out a letter and read it aloud:
"Getulio Vargas, you are found guilty of committing crimes detrimental to the security of the Socialist Union of South America. You have attempted to depose the Government of the People, attempting to instigate a reactionary capitalist movement and installing an oppressive bourgeois government. You have fraternized with political parties counter to the Socialist Party. You have served the enemies of the Party, our Leader, Chairman Ordonez, and the State, including espionage and sabotage during war time. All these are crimes punishable by death. You are therefore hereby sentenced to death." The officer folded the paper and looked at Vargas strait in the eyes. "Do you have any last words?"
Undoubtedly, no one would ever here his last words. But what should he say, for the record? Tell them to take care of his wife and children? Who's to say that they aren't next on the list for fraternizing with him? No, he only had one audience; the squad here. With all the purpose he had left in him, he said, "The world will be ruled by brave men; not by cowards such as yourselves."
The officer didn't laugh in his face. Instead, the corner of his mouth lifted. "We'll see, won't we?" With that, he turned and resumed his position behind the line of soldiers.
"At the ready!" he hollered. The soldiers lifted their guns.
"Take aim!" Vargas did his best to look them in the eyes. Look at who you are killing. For once, look your enemy in the eyes as you prepare to kill him.
"Fire!" The guns discharged in a loud chorus.
And thus Vargas died.
OOC: My shot at EQ's challenge. Vargas was the president/dictator of Brazil during World War II OTL. In case you wonder, he is not affiliated with the Uruguayans. He is a capitalist.
"Get up," one said; not shouted, said. He rolled over from the wall and slowly swung his feet from the concrete "bed" to the floor. Normally, he would have heard a hollar of "Faster! Hurry up, you swine!" Not now, though. He had no shoes, and he had no need to dress; he was wearing the same tattered clothing he had since the day he was arrested, caked in dirt, blood, and urine from the entire period he had been a prisoner. He stood up, though he was weak at the knees. One of the guards turned him around by the shoulders, gently but firmly. A pair of handcuffs were attached to his wrists.
"Let's go," the guard at the door said. The prisoner was lead out, flanked at both sides by the two guards. They entered the hallway, as dark and as lonely as the cell. The prisoner had no idea what time it was. Night? Day? Did it matter at this point? Well, maybe a little. In his own mind, if it were night, it meant that they were cowards who wanted to keep their repression a secret. If it were day...they were still cowards. Unfortunately, though, as he walked down the corridor, he realized that all those behind the steel doors were brave men; cowards were winners, though. In this day and age, the world was ruled by cowards.
He asked himself if he would be any different, though. Would he send men to their deaths like this? Would he have repressed his people like they do? Would he have assumed all the power for himself like them? He thought about it as they reached the iron doors that lead to the outside world. Would he have arrested men merely for different politics? He doubted it.
The doors swung open. The fury of daylight blinded his weakened eyes. He squinted against the oppressive sun, trying to block out its rays. The guards lead him out, turned and came up the steps to the courtyard. Soon, his eyes adapted. Within the great walls and towers of the courtyard, a line of men in green uniforms with red armbands faced the wall from a distance of about ten feet, each holding a rifle at ease. They were all so well groomed; they didn't miss a trick. At death, they were the clean, beautiful, noble victors, and he was a grizzly, unshaven, dirty leader of the opposition. Cowards earned pretty uniforms; brave men earned ragged clothing.
The ground of the courtyard was rough dirt. His feet, sensitive from extended periods of time on hard concrete, complained as he walked onto the rough terrain. The guards did not slow. They wanted to get this done quick, he could tell. All he could do was ignore the cries of his feet. They wouldn't hurt soon.
They took him to the center of the wall, directly in fron of the line of soldiers. A chain was attached to the concrete wall behind him, well above his head. The guards took the chain and attached it to the handcuffs, lifting his arms up above his head as they did so that he wouldn't be able to duck. Why would he? If he squirmed too much, they might miss a vital point, and he'd be left to die slowly.
"Blindfold?" one of the guards asked. The prisoner smirked. "No," he said. The blindfold wasn't a favor to him. It was so that the firing squad didn't have to look into the bloodshot eyes of a human when they fired. Undoubtedly, only one of those soldiers had a bullet in his gun; the rest were blanks, and the soldiers knew it. They could sleep well at night, knowing that odds are it wasn't me who fired the lethal bullet. They couldn't consciously kill the one that had supposedly was far worse than any of them. But they all could agree that he wasn't fit to live.
The guards turned and walked out of the line of fire, then stopped and turned on their heals to watch. A desensitization practice. Smooth thinking by those on top. A soldier, who the prisoner presumed to be the commanding officer, took two broad steps from the rear of the quad to in front of them. He took out a letter and read it aloud:
"Getulio Vargas, you are found guilty of committing crimes detrimental to the security of the Socialist Union of South America. You have attempted to depose the Government of the People, attempting to instigate a reactionary capitalist movement and installing an oppressive bourgeois government. You have fraternized with political parties counter to the Socialist Party. You have served the enemies of the Party, our Leader, Chairman Ordonez, and the State, including espionage and sabotage during war time. All these are crimes punishable by death. You are therefore hereby sentenced to death." The officer folded the paper and looked at Vargas strait in the eyes. "Do you have any last words?"
Undoubtedly, no one would ever here his last words. But what should he say, for the record? Tell them to take care of his wife and children? Who's to say that they aren't next on the list for fraternizing with him? No, he only had one audience; the squad here. With all the purpose he had left in him, he said, "The world will be ruled by brave men; not by cowards such as yourselves."
The officer didn't laugh in his face. Instead, the corner of his mouth lifted. "We'll see, won't we?" With that, he turned and resumed his position behind the line of soldiers.
"At the ready!" he hollered. The soldiers lifted their guns.
"Take aim!" Vargas did his best to look them in the eyes. Look at who you are killing. For once, look your enemy in the eyes as you prepare to kill him.
"Fire!" The guns discharged in a loud chorus.
And thus Vargas died.
OOC: My shot at EQ's challenge. Vargas was the president/dictator of Brazil during World War II OTL. In case you wonder, he is not affiliated with the Uruguayans. He is a capitalist.
Circuit
Writing Letters
Orders sent. Let's hope things run smoothly. 
Question: does the story offer a bonus, or is it just for fun?
Question: does the story offer a bonus, or is it just for fun?
I feel that I should state that this is the 24 hour warning.
Crezth
i knew you were a real man of the left
To: England, Denmark, Germany
From: France
We are sending naval forces to fight the communists. What assistance can we expect?
From: France
We are sending naval forces to fight the communists. What assistance can we expect?
SoldierChild
Anarchist
To France
From Netherlands
You can expect naval support from us as well
From Netherlands
You can expect naval support from us as well
D'Artagnan59
The Gascon
To: France
From: PRC
So much for supporting your Francophone "poster child".
From: PRC
So much for supporting your Francophone "poster child".
Crezth
i knew you were a real man of the left
To: England, Netherlands
From: France
This is excellent news. May the West be purged forever of the Communist scourge!
From: France
This is excellent news. May the West be purged forever of the Communist scourge!
Cynovolans
Not in my dimension.
Orders sent.
Circuit
Writing Letters
OOC: I love the irony; in this NES, the East is the bastion of capitalism, the West the bastion of Communism.
Luckymoose
The World is Mine
OOC: I love the irony; in this NES, the East is the bastion of capitalism, the West the bastion of Communism.
Speak for yourself you damn dirty commie apes!
