Norseone
Emperor
This is very good. You obviously are a very good story teller.
Deutschland, Erwache!
- Thread starter SKILORD
- Start date
Specialist290
Terracotta Statue Man
- Joined
- Jul 1, 2003
- Messages
- 1,335
I read this somewhere else (not 'Poly, think it was over at the old Stategic Command) and thought it was quite good.
SKILORD
Insurgent
Thanks, glad you're enjoying it, I'm working on another chapter for this, in addition to a story specifically for the new SCC in order to get some more activity there.
Comrade_YORI
Chieftain
Very nice reading, I hope you keep updating, must congratulate you on a very nice story 
Been clued 2 the computer screen for more or less an hour, Can't wait for the next chapter.
Been clued 2 the computer screen for more or less an hour, Can't wait for the next chapter.SKILORD
Insurgent
Well, I'm trying to find a next chapter in me somewhere, but I'm on my way to college and I'm not finding a lot of time lately.
[/shame]If you're interested, I'm doing a SCC specific Epic Poem there (To get the site owner off of my back).[shame]
[/shame]If you're interested, I'm doing a SCC specific Epic Poem there (To get the site owner off of my back).[shame]
SKILORD
Insurgent
N.B.: The writing is substandard. The plot twist might potentially seem forced to grab attention back, but if you look to the start of the story I've been planning this all along so... yeah. Sorry about the writing quality.
-
The popping of gunfire filtered into the cement walls of the headquarters, Edward poured wine into the glass.
How are things in London, my liege.
They progress, my mother grows weaker each day, the poisons eat her away, but she still puts on a string face in public, there are few who know her condition.
Excellent, Rhodes smiled, I assume that your coronation will be soon?
Richard tilted his glass back, fully drinking from the wineglass, Ever so soon. There is no pleasure like watching a plan blossom so perfectly.
Of course not, Edward smiled, But we can never be sure, can we?
Richard put the glass down, Sure of what?
Edward smiled, The best laid schemes o mice and men gang aft agley, Robert Burns wrote that once and Im confident that he was right.
In what way?
There is never only one plotter, Richard. You poor child, I brought you under my wing, I taught you everything, this plan was as much mine as it is yours why should I settle for second when your glorious coup is committed?
The people will never follow you, Edward, Richard laughed, you know that as well as I.
True, Edward smiled cruelly, But the people will follow the army, and for the most part that seems to be under my control at present.
Richard, a child who had betrayed his mother for the sake of a power he would never hold, stared bleakly for a moment before his eyes rolled back into his head, his glass shattering on the cold concrete of the floor.
-
Johan von Bismarck stood next to the catapult, watching it tilt downward.
Quite impressive, isnt it, mein Kaiser?
Johan looked balefully at von Holtz, Not at all. Well simply hope that it surprises them.
The rocks took to the sky with terrifying force, hurling themselves quickly towards the British refueling station, where tanks sat in ordered rows, filling with diesel.
The rocks hit hard, throwing disarray into the air with asphalt, splashing panic against the sides of the tanks.
The enemy was nowhere to be seen, the slabs of concrete salvaged from destroyed buildings kept raining down as tankers tried futilely to hide, there was no haven.
Fire flashed up from one tank, spreading slowly and ominously as the fuel seeped across the ground.
The Germans fired until there wasnt any concrete left and, blind to their successes, turned away.
-
The soldiers at the refueling station peered anxiously around as the rocks stopped falling from the cruel gray sky. Fire extinguishers lashed out against the flames, cutting them back. Two tanks lay shattered, twenty men dead and twice that many wounded, burns coating their bodies.
As the British realized that there were no more rocks coming and as they realized the terrible destruction that had been visited to them, the more profound realized that it might have been far worse.
The British picked up pieces and cleared the refueling station as the Germans retreated.
-
The Stewards phone shuddered in his pocket, startling him. It could only be one thing, only one call. The call he had been waiting for with so much loathing for so long.
He picked up his phone and looked into it, the text read clearly:
Tempus Fugit.
Thats what he had been waiting for, what they had decided when they had planned this out. The steward pulled the vial out of his pocket.
He looked to the waiter who held the queens entrée in his hand and motioned to him. It was not uncommon for the steward to deliver that dish himself if there was a matter of some urgency that the queen needed to know of.
He slipped the faint powder over the food, it spread silently, tasteless and scentless. A perfect poison that the queen had been dining on for months in much smaller doses.
But none of those had been as ambitious as this dosage.
The steward carried the plate carefully lowering it in front of the queen.
Your son sends his love, the steward whispered into her ear.
Hes such a dear boy, she beamed back to him.
He smiled back at her and left for his room.
-
The steward shuddered back in his room, snubbing out the last cigarette in his pack nervously. He opened up another pack, shoving the cigarette into his mouth and lighting it nervously.
He smiled at the package, Monarchs, the prince had given them to him before he had left for Germany.
He inhaled deeply, eliciting a cough. He coughed again.
The steward fell to the floor in a coughing fit, the cigarette going out on the floor as the corpse began to spasm.
-
The anchor looked solemnly at the camera, My fellow Britons such tragedy as now befalls our nation has never been seen in spotted and cruel history of man. What cruel force could look to deprive a nation of all of her leaders in the midst of her greatest tragedy? Prince Richard lies dead by German bullets as he inspected the front lines and the Queen lays dead in her bedchambers from an illness that ravaged her in secret for months. Truly this is a day that will live on in .
-
The orders have just arrived, The general sat at the table with his lieutenants, We are to leave Leipzig to its own devices, General Rhodes feels, and I concur, that our presence would best be used in England where we can keep the people aware that the government is still around. We leave tomorrow morning so have all of your forces prepare tonight.
The lieutenants nodded in assent.
General Rhodes is a fine man, one ventured.
The General nodded, He has a fine head on his shoulders.
-
The popping of gunfire filtered into the cement walls of the headquarters, Edward poured wine into the glass.
How are things in London, my liege.
They progress, my mother grows weaker each day, the poisons eat her away, but she still puts on a string face in public, there are few who know her condition.
Excellent, Rhodes smiled, I assume that your coronation will be soon?
Richard tilted his glass back, fully drinking from the wineglass, Ever so soon. There is no pleasure like watching a plan blossom so perfectly.
Of course not, Edward smiled, But we can never be sure, can we?
Richard put the glass down, Sure of what?
Edward smiled, The best laid schemes o mice and men gang aft agley, Robert Burns wrote that once and Im confident that he was right.
In what way?
There is never only one plotter, Richard. You poor child, I brought you under my wing, I taught you everything, this plan was as much mine as it is yours why should I settle for second when your glorious coup is committed?
The people will never follow you, Edward, Richard laughed, you know that as well as I.
True, Edward smiled cruelly, But the people will follow the army, and for the most part that seems to be under my control at present.
Richard, a child who had betrayed his mother for the sake of a power he would never hold, stared bleakly for a moment before his eyes rolled back into his head, his glass shattering on the cold concrete of the floor.
-
Johan von Bismarck stood next to the catapult, watching it tilt downward.
Quite impressive, isnt it, mein Kaiser?
Johan looked balefully at von Holtz, Not at all. Well simply hope that it surprises them.
The rocks took to the sky with terrifying force, hurling themselves quickly towards the British refueling station, where tanks sat in ordered rows, filling with diesel.
The rocks hit hard, throwing disarray into the air with asphalt, splashing panic against the sides of the tanks.
The enemy was nowhere to be seen, the slabs of concrete salvaged from destroyed buildings kept raining down as tankers tried futilely to hide, there was no haven.
Fire flashed up from one tank, spreading slowly and ominously as the fuel seeped across the ground.
The Germans fired until there wasnt any concrete left and, blind to their successes, turned away.
-
The soldiers at the refueling station peered anxiously around as the rocks stopped falling from the cruel gray sky. Fire extinguishers lashed out against the flames, cutting them back. Two tanks lay shattered, twenty men dead and twice that many wounded, burns coating their bodies.
As the British realized that there were no more rocks coming and as they realized the terrible destruction that had been visited to them, the more profound realized that it might have been far worse.
The British picked up pieces and cleared the refueling station as the Germans retreated.
-
The Stewards phone shuddered in his pocket, startling him. It could only be one thing, only one call. The call he had been waiting for with so much loathing for so long.
He picked up his phone and looked into it, the text read clearly:
Tempus Fugit.
Thats what he had been waiting for, what they had decided when they had planned this out. The steward pulled the vial out of his pocket.
He looked to the waiter who held the queens entrée in his hand and motioned to him. It was not uncommon for the steward to deliver that dish himself if there was a matter of some urgency that the queen needed to know of.
He slipped the faint powder over the food, it spread silently, tasteless and scentless. A perfect poison that the queen had been dining on for months in much smaller doses.
But none of those had been as ambitious as this dosage.
The steward carried the plate carefully lowering it in front of the queen.
Your son sends his love, the steward whispered into her ear.
Hes such a dear boy, she beamed back to him.
He smiled back at her and left for his room.
-
The steward shuddered back in his room, snubbing out the last cigarette in his pack nervously. He opened up another pack, shoving the cigarette into his mouth and lighting it nervously.
He smiled at the package, Monarchs, the prince had given them to him before he had left for Germany.
He inhaled deeply, eliciting a cough. He coughed again.
The steward fell to the floor in a coughing fit, the cigarette going out on the floor as the corpse began to spasm.
-
The anchor looked solemnly at the camera, My fellow Britons such tragedy as now befalls our nation has never been seen in spotted and cruel history of man. What cruel force could look to deprive a nation of all of her leaders in the midst of her greatest tragedy? Prince Richard lies dead by German bullets as he inspected the front lines and the Queen lays dead in her bedchambers from an illness that ravaged her in secret for months. Truly this is a day that will live on in .
-
The orders have just arrived, The general sat at the table with his lieutenants, We are to leave Leipzig to its own devices, General Rhodes feels, and I concur, that our presence would best be used in England where we can keep the people aware that the government is still around. We leave tomorrow morning so have all of your forces prepare tonight.
The lieutenants nodded in assent.
General Rhodes is a fine man, one ventured.
The General nodded, He has a fine head on his shoulders.
SKILORD
Insurgent
The last of the tanks was fading into the sunset as Johan von Bismarck searched through desk drawers in the abandoned headquarters.
I dont trust it, mein Kaiser, von Holtz frowned, They could be faking those broadcasts to get us to come out.
Im not leading my men in a victory parade, James. Were repositioning so that when they do come back well be more prepared.
They could have rigged this entire building with bombs, sir.
And if they did then congratulations because I am dead and the revolution is over.
I wouldnt say over, sir, theres still Rommel.
Exactly, James, whats the worst that could happen then?
Sir
Johan pulled a radio out of a desk drawer, smiling and showing it to Jacob, I want you to get some people together to broadcast messages from us on every frequency, find as many of these as you can and any amplifiers you can scrounge up.
Will this reach Leipzig, sir? Jacob held the handheld radio out for inspection.
With an amplifier it will.
-
Leipzig was rebuilding, men were pushing the shattered remnants of the town out, finding food and fires, the business of death attended to and settled as the British rode determinedly into the sunrise that morning.
That sunrise had bathed Leipzig in a clean orange, glowing past the broken glass on her streets and brushing aside the dusty and war torn air to embrace her as a lost daughter. It was a day to rebuild and Major Rommel watched his men pick up the shattered pieces of the town and try to make sense of them.
Sir, the radios talking to me, Karl opened the door to his commanders impromptu office, what might have been the last room left intact in Leipzig.
I recommend that you kick it, Karl.
Sir, its talking in German.
-
Edward Rhodes stood in London already, he had left the night before on a recon plane, My fellow Britons, now is our darkest hour.
What other nation is so ill fated as to loose her queen and prince in the same hellish night? The very thought, the sickening thought, that such a plan might have been put into place and performed sickens me. The Queens steward is suspected, but as he committed himself to poison there. Let me make it clear that it is my position that this was no coincidence, but that the murder of our line was planned and performed by a single group and their sympathizers, yes my friends, no group could wish less for our nation than the Germans and by their hand, and by the hand of the traitors who sympathize with them our Queen is dead. The darkest hour always heralds a sunrise, and let me make it clear that this sunrise will torch the wretched filth from our society and herald the victorious ascent of Britain over Germany, once and forever.
It will be necessary during this time to disband Parliament. The debates of wizened men have their place, but such a place is not when the threat is so immediate and vital, in such times it is necessary for an individual to direct the chords of a nation into a symphony of war. The generals and the Prime Minister have elected that I am such a person and it is my humble honor to accept their offer. My fellow Britons I would not take this offer lightly but only take it because I see no other alternative at present. Trust that I do not consider my power a common thing, but that I respect it and use it only to administer my responsibilities as your present Lord Protector.
It will be necessary at this time to purge the closer threat before we can stand united against the German treachery, and therefore the armies have returned to Britain to help us strike down the German sympathizers, men like the Queens steward, who would otherwise stab us in the back as we diffuse the misguided rebellion led by the treacherous Bismarck. At these times certain liberties must, and I emphasize that they must be, suspended. Habeas corpus will not be recognized, bills of attainder will be issued and certain privacies will be exposed to our careful and benign eyes, have no fear as soon as the struggle is lifted they will be restored. I would not suspend these things, but I fear that there is little alternative, and that alternative is so sickening to me that I shudder to relate it here, because that alternative is total defeat by the British army by the German menace.
Yes, without these measures Germany will be confident to place her spies throughout Britain and to sabotage and to steal our stockpiles, such a thing cannot be allowed, nor should it. I will not stand for such things happening in the Britannia that we all know and love.
Friends, Britons, Countrymen, I beg you to forgive your humble servant in these hours of great distress, the cameras seemed to move backwards in awe, heads bobbed agreeably throughout the massive audience that swarmed in front of Windsor. A chant began slowly, unsure of itself, few public figures had won such blatant praise from Britons in their history. The chant rose, the heads bobbed more securely, up and down, down and up, with the pulsating rhythm of the crowd, shaking the stones of Windsor.
Atop it all the Lord Protector looked down, a friendly smile on his lips. A friendly smile that the television cameras brought to millions of households throughout Britain.
I dont trust it, mein Kaiser, von Holtz frowned, They could be faking those broadcasts to get us to come out.
Im not leading my men in a victory parade, James. Were repositioning so that when they do come back well be more prepared.
They could have rigged this entire building with bombs, sir.
And if they did then congratulations because I am dead and the revolution is over.
I wouldnt say over, sir, theres still Rommel.
Exactly, James, whats the worst that could happen then?
Sir
Johan pulled a radio out of a desk drawer, smiling and showing it to Jacob, I want you to get some people together to broadcast messages from us on every frequency, find as many of these as you can and any amplifiers you can scrounge up.
Will this reach Leipzig, sir? Jacob held the handheld radio out for inspection.
With an amplifier it will.
-
Leipzig was rebuilding, men were pushing the shattered remnants of the town out, finding food and fires, the business of death attended to and settled as the British rode determinedly into the sunrise that morning.
That sunrise had bathed Leipzig in a clean orange, glowing past the broken glass on her streets and brushing aside the dusty and war torn air to embrace her as a lost daughter. It was a day to rebuild and Major Rommel watched his men pick up the shattered pieces of the town and try to make sense of them.
Sir, the radios talking to me, Karl opened the door to his commanders impromptu office, what might have been the last room left intact in Leipzig.
I recommend that you kick it, Karl.
Sir, its talking in German.
-
Edward Rhodes stood in London already, he had left the night before on a recon plane, My fellow Britons, now is our darkest hour.
What other nation is so ill fated as to loose her queen and prince in the same hellish night? The very thought, the sickening thought, that such a plan might have been put into place and performed sickens me. The Queens steward is suspected, but as he committed himself to poison there. Let me make it clear that it is my position that this was no coincidence, but that the murder of our line was planned and performed by a single group and their sympathizers, yes my friends, no group could wish less for our nation than the Germans and by their hand, and by the hand of the traitors who sympathize with them our Queen is dead. The darkest hour always heralds a sunrise, and let me make it clear that this sunrise will torch the wretched filth from our society and herald the victorious ascent of Britain over Germany, once and forever.
It will be necessary during this time to disband Parliament. The debates of wizened men have their place, but such a place is not when the threat is so immediate and vital, in such times it is necessary for an individual to direct the chords of a nation into a symphony of war. The generals and the Prime Minister have elected that I am such a person and it is my humble honor to accept their offer. My fellow Britons I would not take this offer lightly but only take it because I see no other alternative at present. Trust that I do not consider my power a common thing, but that I respect it and use it only to administer my responsibilities as your present Lord Protector.
It will be necessary at this time to purge the closer threat before we can stand united against the German treachery, and therefore the armies have returned to Britain to help us strike down the German sympathizers, men like the Queens steward, who would otherwise stab us in the back as we diffuse the misguided rebellion led by the treacherous Bismarck. At these times certain liberties must, and I emphasize that they must be, suspended. Habeas corpus will not be recognized, bills of attainder will be issued and certain privacies will be exposed to our careful and benign eyes, have no fear as soon as the struggle is lifted they will be restored. I would not suspend these things, but I fear that there is little alternative, and that alternative is so sickening to me that I shudder to relate it here, because that alternative is total defeat by the British army by the German menace.
Yes, without these measures Germany will be confident to place her spies throughout Britain and to sabotage and to steal our stockpiles, such a thing cannot be allowed, nor should it. I will not stand for such things happening in the Britannia that we all know and love.
Friends, Britons, Countrymen, I beg you to forgive your humble servant in these hours of great distress, the cameras seemed to move backwards in awe, heads bobbed agreeably throughout the massive audience that swarmed in front of Windsor. A chant began slowly, unsure of itself, few public figures had won such blatant praise from Britons in their history. The chant rose, the heads bobbed more securely, up and down, down and up, with the pulsating rhythm of the crowd, shaking the stones of Windsor.
Atop it all the Lord Protector looked down, a friendly smile on his lips. A friendly smile that the television cameras brought to millions of households throughout Britain.
SKILORD
Insurgent
The two men hurried into the alley, boots stomping past them.
One held his knees, bent over as his breaths filled his aching lungs.
The boots strode ominously on, ceaselessly on, there was not a soldier in the line not devoted to the task at hand, the protection of the British people.
They arent going away Jack.
A cigarette lit up ominously, gray smoke filtering into the sore lungs.
The last boots shuddered past them.
They didnt see us, Jack replied, forcing more smoke into his lungs.
We can still go back.
Jack smiled, We never had to come this far.
The other man shook his head, pulling himself up from his crouch.
Whyd these bastards have to break curfew anyways?
Were looking at more than that if we go through with this, Chris.
I dont know if its worth it, Jack.
Liberty or death, Chris.
Thats easier to say without a wife and kids, Jack.
But Jack had already flipped open the door and gone into the dimly lit room.
-
Rebuilding is harder than building. There are the remnants of buildings all about you, by all reasoning it should be easier as there is less work to be done when you repair. But building brings a sense of victory and conquest, rebuilding forces you to face the scars of former defeat.
There was a somber tone throughout Berlin.
Johan von Bismarck stood in the middle of the shattered glass and concrete, staring into the broken buildings, their souls screaming for repair. Bismarck paused to shake his head solemnly as others scurried around him before turning again to the tasks at hand.
Sir.
Bismarck looked up from the bricks that he was gathering from the rubble, Jacob stood there.
Theres a messenger here to see you.
From where?
Oxford, apparently.
-
The man was lying on a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling with an IV stuck into his arm, there werent any doctors around. The pillaging of British supplies had found many medical supplies, but no doctors and the handful of doctors who were left in Berlin were swarming through the battered town trying desperately to fulfill their Hippocratic oaths.
What made you come here?
The man frowned, We need an army, sir.
Britain has an army.
Our government has an army sir, and now we are faced with chains as Protector Rhodes forces bayonets down our throats.
It isnt my fight.
I thought you fought for freedom.
I fought for German freedom.
The man stared blankly at the Kaiser.
I never took you for a racist.
It was a sad expression that took the face of the Kaiser, his lips curled inwards and his eyes dropped to the floor.
It isnt our fight.
-
Chris and Jack stood at the back of the room as the leader of the BIA, the British Independent Army, stared into a small crowd, a handful of men packed into a small room.
There comes a time when the fire of liberty must be rekindled, when the blood of patriots and tyrants
-
The scars of cannon fire cut into the shadows that the building cast into Berlins streets as Johan walked alone through the streets.
-
must be mixed to bring freedom to future generations.
-
Scars and long since healed wounds ached and burned as the moonlight stared at the man who avoided the potholes of mortar fire left in Berlin.
-
I dont promise you that freedom is yours for the taking, what would be the worth of liberty if it were free for the taking? I do not promise you that it is within our reach.
-
Light beckoned from a bar and Johan slipped inside.
He asked for a beer, and cradled it in his scarred fingers; the front of the bar had no glass except for the shards that were left clinging to the sides.
-
I can promise you nothing but that it is worth any cost, and that I will live free or die. I know that it is not an easy thing to offer your life in exchange for Liberty, but I do not fight for myself so much as I fight for the future of Britain, for my children and for yours.
-
The beer was almost suddenly gone, he asked the bartender for another.
And another after that.
-
You who are here tonight want a glorious crusade. You want a taste of glory, I am not here for that, and if you are then I promise you that you are better served elsewhere. There is no glory here; there is nothing but a hunger.
-
Beer after beer was forced down the Kaisers throat, the bartender gave him a concerned glare before passing him another.
-
To those of you who are hungry for freedom, so hungry that they would stake their lives on the matter, I offer you a place at my side as we fight this tyrant. I offer struggle, an inglorious war that will bring little but death and hatred. I have a dream that there can be something good out of this. I do not ask you to come if you do not share my dream.
-
Its not my f***ing fight, Bismarck said again, even as his conscious screamed against him and as every instinct he possessed urged him otherwise.
One held his knees, bent over as his breaths filled his aching lungs.
The boots strode ominously on, ceaselessly on, there was not a soldier in the line not devoted to the task at hand, the protection of the British people.
They arent going away Jack.
A cigarette lit up ominously, gray smoke filtering into the sore lungs.
The last boots shuddered past them.
They didnt see us, Jack replied, forcing more smoke into his lungs.
We can still go back.
Jack smiled, We never had to come this far.
The other man shook his head, pulling himself up from his crouch.
Whyd these bastards have to break curfew anyways?
Were looking at more than that if we go through with this, Chris.
I dont know if its worth it, Jack.
Liberty or death, Chris.
Thats easier to say without a wife and kids, Jack.
But Jack had already flipped open the door and gone into the dimly lit room.
-
Rebuilding is harder than building. There are the remnants of buildings all about you, by all reasoning it should be easier as there is less work to be done when you repair. But building brings a sense of victory and conquest, rebuilding forces you to face the scars of former defeat.
There was a somber tone throughout Berlin.
Johan von Bismarck stood in the middle of the shattered glass and concrete, staring into the broken buildings, their souls screaming for repair. Bismarck paused to shake his head solemnly as others scurried around him before turning again to the tasks at hand.
Sir.
Bismarck looked up from the bricks that he was gathering from the rubble, Jacob stood there.
Theres a messenger here to see you.
From where?
Oxford, apparently.
-
The man was lying on a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling with an IV stuck into his arm, there werent any doctors around. The pillaging of British supplies had found many medical supplies, but no doctors and the handful of doctors who were left in Berlin were swarming through the battered town trying desperately to fulfill their Hippocratic oaths.
What made you come here?
The man frowned, We need an army, sir.
Britain has an army.
Our government has an army sir, and now we are faced with chains as Protector Rhodes forces bayonets down our throats.
It isnt my fight.
I thought you fought for freedom.
I fought for German freedom.
The man stared blankly at the Kaiser.
I never took you for a racist.
It was a sad expression that took the face of the Kaiser, his lips curled inwards and his eyes dropped to the floor.
It isnt our fight.
-
Chris and Jack stood at the back of the room as the leader of the BIA, the British Independent Army, stared into a small crowd, a handful of men packed into a small room.
There comes a time when the fire of liberty must be rekindled, when the blood of patriots and tyrants
-
The scars of cannon fire cut into the shadows that the building cast into Berlins streets as Johan walked alone through the streets.
-
must be mixed to bring freedom to future generations.
-
Scars and long since healed wounds ached and burned as the moonlight stared at the man who avoided the potholes of mortar fire left in Berlin.
-
I dont promise you that freedom is yours for the taking, what would be the worth of liberty if it were free for the taking? I do not promise you that it is within our reach.
-
Light beckoned from a bar and Johan slipped inside.
He asked for a beer, and cradled it in his scarred fingers; the front of the bar had no glass except for the shards that were left clinging to the sides.
-
I can promise you nothing but that it is worth any cost, and that I will live free or die. I know that it is not an easy thing to offer your life in exchange for Liberty, but I do not fight for myself so much as I fight for the future of Britain, for my children and for yours.
-
The beer was almost suddenly gone, he asked the bartender for another.
And another after that.
-
You who are here tonight want a glorious crusade. You want a taste of glory, I am not here for that, and if you are then I promise you that you are better served elsewhere. There is no glory here; there is nothing but a hunger.
-
Beer after beer was forced down the Kaisers throat, the bartender gave him a concerned glare before passing him another.
-
To those of you who are hungry for freedom, so hungry that they would stake their lives on the matter, I offer you a place at my side as we fight this tyrant. I offer struggle, an inglorious war that will bring little but death and hatred. I have a dream that there can be something good out of this. I do not ask you to come if you do not share my dream.
-
Its not my f***ing fight, Bismarck said again, even as his conscious screamed against him and as every instinct he possessed urged him otherwise.
SKILORD
Insurgent
The gun felt awkward in his hands. His stomach clenched and hurled as his breaths grew ever heavier in his lungs, his eyes blurred from time to time as he walked the streets.
The National Park of London was a mass of rolling hills and trees planted in the heart of London, it had been the scene of protests for decades, from the petty fears of the unthreatened to tonights stand of torchlight made by the dozens of marchers who walked with frightened eyes through the park.
He looked over to Chris, whose eyes darted from this to that like a frightened rabbit, looking for a place to hide from the foxes.
His ears started to ring, sweat greased his palms.
Citizens!
The British troops were there, across the park, the torchlight had finally become undeniable to even the most hopeful of soldiers who sent his prayers that there would be no questions, no affronts to the authority that they were there to protect.
Citizens!
The word was short, harsh falling like a rain of hammers on the crowd.
Citizens!
We are citizens, the leader was standing at the head of the army.
Why are you breaking curfew? The words were loud, spoken with the unquestionable authority of a drill sergeant. Jack wanted to run.
We are Britons, we are free.
Our nation is in a state of emergency, we must ask you to return to your homes.
Whats the emergency?
The Germans have planted agents throughout the nation.
We arent German Agents.
How do I know that?
How do you know we are?
I dont.
Then why is there a curfew?
The loud man of authority was silent for a moment.
We want our freedom back, The BIA leader spoke into the quiet darkness, lit only by the flickering torchlight in the massive park.
Just go home.
No.
The silence returned to the park as the torchlight flickered at the edge of the soldiers camp.
This could become something that we will both regret.
How so? Is martyrdom regretful?
Perhaps you should ask your army.
The BIA leader turned to the huddled mass of frightened men who stood behind him. Sons and Husbands, Young and Old eyes peered, frightened back, filled with the endless terror that the soldiers rifles inspired.
The silence was deafening, it tore at the eyes and drew thick tears from the frightened.
Live Free or Die, Jack shouted into the darkness.
The silence surrounded him, Jack was silent, hoping that none would notice.
Live Free or Die! Another shout.
Live Free or Die! Another.
It became a chant, a chorus sang by a white faced choir as they held their meager torches in the all encompassing darkness.
The commander turned to his troops.
Ready!
The soldiers could not believe their ears, their rifles hung slack at their sides, quivering hands brought them up.
Aim!
The rifles were aimed into the torchlight.
There were disconnected thuds throughout the soldiers mass as frightened hands could cling no longer to the rifles.
Deserters will be shot!
More rifles fell, impotent, to the grassy dirt.
A lighter was lifted in the midst of the army.
Live Free or Die!
Deserters will be shot!
The frightened crowd lifted their voices, Live Free or Die!
Fire!
The handful of men so obedient that their hands clung yet to rifles fired.
-
Johan von Bismarck stood at the front of his army.
Meine Guten Freunde, there is a battle that we all share; there is a dream that is common in the human heart. There is a fight that transcends the petty borders of nations, and this is the fight I ask you to fight.
I will not pretend that there is no advantage to our own army if we do this, the British are unsuspecting of any such thing and were we to defeat them at any given city our independence would be all but won. But this is not why we fight.
We fight for the sake of our brothers in Britain who yearn for freedom, we fight that common battle.
But it is not a battle that I will force upon you, I am asking now for volunteers to join me in this fight as we prepare the march to Oxford, I will force no man to join me, but if you find in your hearts any measure of compassion for our brothers in Britain and you would join me, then please do not let meager fear hold you in check.
Johan let that short speech sink into the crowd.
Meine Gefährtedeutschen, I bid you all to make this choice.
He turned from the podium with that, and a chorus of shouts let him know without even looking into his kingdom that his men would follow where he led.
What angel spoke to you last night?
Johan grinned at Jacob, One with a hammer, if this hangovers any judge.
I will, of course, be with you, you know.
Ahh, Jacob. Timothy is coming with me, hes getting his armor together today for the attack, I need a man to keep my kingdom as I battle.
Jacobs eyes were cut, and peered with pain at Johan.
You are a faithful man, Jacob, you alone do I trust with my kingdom.
Jacob smiled weakly, I know.
-
The tanks were of assorted design, molded together from remains or openly stolen from British armories the ancient German flag was painted across each of their sides.
It was an army, there was a mass of men who walked with thundering stride among the hodgepodge tanks, the land was barren and the hard dirt let no grass shine through, there had been hardly any grass in Germany for centuries.
The tanks thundered across the hard desert of Germany, in the distance the broken ruins of the Volkgeffanis stared at the army as it marched into Britain.
-
There are riots in Oxford, sir.
Lord Protector Rhodes looked out of the corner of his eyes at the messenger, I know.
The National Park of London was below him, the bodies from last night remained there, glassy eyes staring into the world, the soldiers had moved their camp, far fewer in number than on that night.
Why do they not see that I am trying to protect them?
The messenger was still at the door, I dont know, sir.
There was a deathly silence as the Lord Protector stared down into the park.
Tell sanitation to leave the bodies in the park.
Sir?
I want the people to know the filth that this revolution is bringing to our nation.
Sir?
You heard me, I want the bodies left there.
What about the families.
I want the bodies guarded.
Sir?
I want guards posted so that the bodies stay there.
Sir?
You head me.
The messenger left in silence, wondering as each step brought him closer to the sanitation department whether or not he would deliver his message.
-
The guard stared over the bodies, his rifle in his hands, he had finally grown used to the smell, and every time he realized this another wave of terror struck against his heart.
There were people crying on the other side of the bodies, widows and children, mothers and fathers as they looked into the small huddle of bodies.
Nine bodies, the guard had counted them again and again.
There were more than nine groups of mourners, far more.
Sir, let me bury my son? The woman was aged, hunched over and wrinkled.
She had asked the question forty nine times in the last hour.
No, mam, he glanced up at the imposing windows of the Royal residence.
Why? the tears spilled bountifully from her eyes, she moaned and screamed, Why?
The Lord Protectors orders, mam.
The words didnt come.
The guard was human.
She lay there at his feet, a hunched and crooked mother whose son lay dead.
The guard closed his eyes.
And he kneeled down to the woman.
Show me your son, mam.
Her tears came even as she pointed weakly to one of the bodies.
Give me a shovel! He demanded of the crowd.
A shovel was passed forward quickly, it shined with the virtue of a recent purchase.
The shovel drove defiantly into the dirt, and the guard dug alone.
The crowd stared as he forced the dirt aside in the middle of the park.
Another shovel appeared in the hole, joining the guards.
Another joined the two.
A hole was dug in the face of the mighty park and the guard marched to the body that the woman had pointed to.
He took the shoulders gently and pulled them up, another man took the body, and another.
The birds who had grouped on the pile of corpses fluttered away, frightened as the pallbearers joined their ranks to carry the coffin less body.
The body was placed into the hole with every gentle touch, where the one man would stay six rose from the grave and the shovels soon took to hands.
The guard turned to the crowd, teary eyes stared back with every hope.
He nodded to them in the silent noon of the park, knowing that he was watched, knowing that there would be men in the park at any moment.
The others took the bodies and, sensing the incoming army marched away, where there could be proper funerals.
The old lady remained at mound of dirt where her son now rested, weeping.
The guard looked, to see the others come.
He kneeled before the grave and whispered to the body now hidden.
Liberty or Death.
The National Park of London was a mass of rolling hills and trees planted in the heart of London, it had been the scene of protests for decades, from the petty fears of the unthreatened to tonights stand of torchlight made by the dozens of marchers who walked with frightened eyes through the park.
He looked over to Chris, whose eyes darted from this to that like a frightened rabbit, looking for a place to hide from the foxes.
His ears started to ring, sweat greased his palms.
Citizens!
The British troops were there, across the park, the torchlight had finally become undeniable to even the most hopeful of soldiers who sent his prayers that there would be no questions, no affronts to the authority that they were there to protect.
Citizens!
The word was short, harsh falling like a rain of hammers on the crowd.
Citizens!
We are citizens, the leader was standing at the head of the army.
Why are you breaking curfew? The words were loud, spoken with the unquestionable authority of a drill sergeant. Jack wanted to run.
We are Britons, we are free.
Our nation is in a state of emergency, we must ask you to return to your homes.
Whats the emergency?
The Germans have planted agents throughout the nation.
We arent German Agents.
How do I know that?
How do you know we are?
I dont.
Then why is there a curfew?
The loud man of authority was silent for a moment.
We want our freedom back, The BIA leader spoke into the quiet darkness, lit only by the flickering torchlight in the massive park.
Just go home.
No.
The silence returned to the park as the torchlight flickered at the edge of the soldiers camp.
This could become something that we will both regret.
How so? Is martyrdom regretful?
Perhaps you should ask your army.
The BIA leader turned to the huddled mass of frightened men who stood behind him. Sons and Husbands, Young and Old eyes peered, frightened back, filled with the endless terror that the soldiers rifles inspired.
The silence was deafening, it tore at the eyes and drew thick tears from the frightened.
Live Free or Die, Jack shouted into the darkness.
The silence surrounded him, Jack was silent, hoping that none would notice.
Live Free or Die! Another shout.
Live Free or Die! Another.
It became a chant, a chorus sang by a white faced choir as they held their meager torches in the all encompassing darkness.
The commander turned to his troops.
Ready!
The soldiers could not believe their ears, their rifles hung slack at their sides, quivering hands brought them up.
Aim!
The rifles were aimed into the torchlight.
There were disconnected thuds throughout the soldiers mass as frightened hands could cling no longer to the rifles.
Deserters will be shot!
More rifles fell, impotent, to the grassy dirt.
A lighter was lifted in the midst of the army.
Live Free or Die!
Deserters will be shot!
The frightened crowd lifted their voices, Live Free or Die!
Fire!
The handful of men so obedient that their hands clung yet to rifles fired.
-
Johan von Bismarck stood at the front of his army.
Meine Guten Freunde, there is a battle that we all share; there is a dream that is common in the human heart. There is a fight that transcends the petty borders of nations, and this is the fight I ask you to fight.
I will not pretend that there is no advantage to our own army if we do this, the British are unsuspecting of any such thing and were we to defeat them at any given city our independence would be all but won. But this is not why we fight.
We fight for the sake of our brothers in Britain who yearn for freedom, we fight that common battle.
But it is not a battle that I will force upon you, I am asking now for volunteers to join me in this fight as we prepare the march to Oxford, I will force no man to join me, but if you find in your hearts any measure of compassion for our brothers in Britain and you would join me, then please do not let meager fear hold you in check.
Johan let that short speech sink into the crowd.
Meine Gefährtedeutschen, I bid you all to make this choice.
He turned from the podium with that, and a chorus of shouts let him know without even looking into his kingdom that his men would follow where he led.
What angel spoke to you last night?
Johan grinned at Jacob, One with a hammer, if this hangovers any judge.
I will, of course, be with you, you know.
Ahh, Jacob. Timothy is coming with me, hes getting his armor together today for the attack, I need a man to keep my kingdom as I battle.
Jacobs eyes were cut, and peered with pain at Johan.
You are a faithful man, Jacob, you alone do I trust with my kingdom.
Jacob smiled weakly, I know.
-
The tanks were of assorted design, molded together from remains or openly stolen from British armories the ancient German flag was painted across each of their sides.
It was an army, there was a mass of men who walked with thundering stride among the hodgepodge tanks, the land was barren and the hard dirt let no grass shine through, there had been hardly any grass in Germany for centuries.
The tanks thundered across the hard desert of Germany, in the distance the broken ruins of the Volkgeffanis stared at the army as it marched into Britain.
-
There are riots in Oxford, sir.
Lord Protector Rhodes looked out of the corner of his eyes at the messenger, I know.
The National Park of London was below him, the bodies from last night remained there, glassy eyes staring into the world, the soldiers had moved their camp, far fewer in number than on that night.
Why do they not see that I am trying to protect them?
The messenger was still at the door, I dont know, sir.
There was a deathly silence as the Lord Protector stared down into the park.
Tell sanitation to leave the bodies in the park.
Sir?
I want the people to know the filth that this revolution is bringing to our nation.
Sir?
You heard me, I want the bodies left there.
What about the families.
I want the bodies guarded.
Sir?
I want guards posted so that the bodies stay there.
Sir?
You head me.
The messenger left in silence, wondering as each step brought him closer to the sanitation department whether or not he would deliver his message.
-
The guard stared over the bodies, his rifle in his hands, he had finally grown used to the smell, and every time he realized this another wave of terror struck against his heart.
There were people crying on the other side of the bodies, widows and children, mothers and fathers as they looked into the small huddle of bodies.
Nine bodies, the guard had counted them again and again.
There were more than nine groups of mourners, far more.
Sir, let me bury my son? The woman was aged, hunched over and wrinkled.
She had asked the question forty nine times in the last hour.
No, mam, he glanced up at the imposing windows of the Royal residence.
Why? the tears spilled bountifully from her eyes, she moaned and screamed, Why?
The Lord Protectors orders, mam.
The words didnt come.
The guard was human.
She lay there at his feet, a hunched and crooked mother whose son lay dead.
The guard closed his eyes.
And he kneeled down to the woman.
Show me your son, mam.
Her tears came even as she pointed weakly to one of the bodies.
Give me a shovel! He demanded of the crowd.
A shovel was passed forward quickly, it shined with the virtue of a recent purchase.
The shovel drove defiantly into the dirt, and the guard dug alone.
The crowd stared as he forced the dirt aside in the middle of the park.
Another shovel appeared in the hole, joining the guards.
Another joined the two.
A hole was dug in the face of the mighty park and the guard marched to the body that the woman had pointed to.
He took the shoulders gently and pulled them up, another man took the body, and another.
The birds who had grouped on the pile of corpses fluttered away, frightened as the pallbearers joined their ranks to carry the coffin less body.
The body was placed into the hole with every gentle touch, where the one man would stay six rose from the grave and the shovels soon took to hands.
The guard turned to the crowd, teary eyes stared back with every hope.
He nodded to them in the silent noon of the park, knowing that he was watched, knowing that there would be men in the park at any moment.
The others took the bodies and, sensing the incoming army marched away, where there could be proper funerals.
The old lady remained at mound of dirt where her son now rested, weeping.
The guard looked, to see the others come.
He kneeled before the grave and whispered to the body now hidden.
Liberty or Death.
das
Regeneration In Process
Good plot twist, really. Albeit somehow, I thought that Rhodes was just a MI6 agent. Must've somehow missed the part when he suddenly gains a huge following in the army and is capable of staging a coup.
SKILORD
Insurgent
He was in command of the army in Germany, which was most of the army and it's concievable....
just... dont tell my other readers.
just... dont tell my other readers.
SKILORD
Insurgent
The stories were told that the countryside hid an army, men at arms who came not to conquer, but to free, to break shackles, not to enslave, the stories burned through the ears of the long parched Englishmen. The hope was enough to feed a million souls who lived without freedom; the hope was enough to nearly break the shackles itself.
The stories were told the most in Oxford, in the few pubs that stayed alive as the Lord Protector stamped the others out, as being havens of rebellion. The eyes would dart to the door with every creak, hoping against hope as the rebellious stories were traded within the darkened enclave.
The hope flitted like a bird, sharing its luminescent glory with all as it soared to ever greater height. The children would smile to see it in the eyes of their parents, the eyes could only be lifted from their desolate investigation of the dirt when it was in flight, when the whispers came.
And as the walls to Oxford were closed the stories were told even more, they gained speed and intensity, pouring from every lip, the Germans were coming.
It was not a comment of ethnical significance, the Germans were coming, there are dreams without respect of the artificial borders that we impose upon ourselves, and such a dream is freedom.
Guns slipped from every secret crevice into dirty, calloused hands with cracked fingernails, hope flew high in Oxford as the Germans approached.
-
The binoculars dropped from Johans eyes, There are sentries, the British know were here.
Rommel nodded, Had to happen sooner or later.
Its a walled city.
Weve never doubted.
They stood on a hill, staring silently into Oxford, the grass had gone brown in the harsh rays of the sun.
It wont be an easy battle.
Was Berlin?
Bismarck looked back to the city, will we have to occupy it?
No, I promise you that this will spark a fire and bring Britain aflame.
A bold promise.
After we win here we will only have to go to the countryside and shoot at the British if they try to retake it from the Independent Army.
We plan to win?
Timothy glanced at Johan, I was once a major in the British Army, my father was a lieutenant as was his father before him. No man who has bourn the name Rommel has ever lead troops into battle to be beaten back. I have yet to loose a battle, I do not intend to make my grave here and I do not intend to shame my familys name.
We plan to win.
Indeed.
-
Chris limped up to the bar and lifted his hand, summoning a drink from the bartender.
The bartender smiled to him as he passed the drink across the bar, Chris was one of two who sat at the bar, the other man lay, nearly sprawled across the bar, on the other side, Chris lifted his glass in salute to the other man before downing it.
The bartender smiled more genuinely, chuckling softly as he poured Chris another.
What happened to your leg?
Chris glared up, Id rather not talk about it.
Are you sure?
Positive, Chris tilted his head back and swallowed the drink.
The bartender smiled, You realize that a few more of those will have the story out?
I dont give a damn, he slid his glass back to the bartender.
If you dont give a damn then why not answer my question?
Chris was quiet, sipping slowly now on the new drink, I suppose I could tell you.
Magnificent.
You remember the riots the other night?
You dont mean to tell me
I lost a friend out there, he had wanted to go and fight for freedom. Whats he got now?
The bartender smiled, He isnt here with us, checking the door every minute to see if a bobby is going to come in here and demand that we close down, he doesnt have to obey curfew anymore. Afterlife or no, the dead are the only victors in this day and age.
Chris frowned, So you say.
The bartender nodded, So I do.
And my wife and kids? I cant help them much like this, can I? he pointed fiercely to the limp leg that hung from his hip, Im less good dead.
The bartender frowned, glancing painfully at his nearly empty tip jar, only a few scattered bills lay there. The frown deepened as duty commanded.
The bartender spilled the tip jar, pushing its contents to the wounded man, I know that we didnt win that battle out there where you fought, I know that it was more a series of executions than a battle. But I do know that it took more courage than I have to stand there as they wave guns to you, to shout defiance even as the bullets scream, thank you.
The bar was silent for a moment save for the moaning of the fellow sprawled across it.
I cant take this.
From what Ive heard you cant afford not to.
They stared at each other for a moment and the bartender took the money in hand and pressed it firmly into the wounded mans hand, Thank you. The debt I owe you for taking that bullet far exceeds any tip jar.
The bar was silent as the other man began to slide down into a heap.
-
The tank opened fire on the walls, its cannon roaring defiantly as the wall exploded, gunshot was fired against the men who stood atop the wall, and they fell as the bullets slapped against them.
The cannons roared again and the wall shuddered as pieces were exploded away.
Forward!
The Germans poured out and ran across the field, the tanks rolling imposingly behind them, the battle crept towards Oxford.
British troops appeared in the huge cracks in the wall, opening fire on the virtually unprotected German line, the smarter threw themselves under the bullets or behind the tanks, even as the first of the antitank rockets slammed home. Explosions and gunfire rocked the small field outside of Oxford as the Germans tried to creep ever slowly forward.
British bullets slammed into unprotected flesh, digging deep and tearing themselves out, leaving every reminder of their presence.
Then the gunfire slowed, and dripped to a stop. The sound of shots came still from the town, but the bullets which had pressed the Germans to the ground slowly stammered to a stop.
The Germans stood and rushed forward as the British Independent Army began to triumph in Oxford.
The stories were told the most in Oxford, in the few pubs that stayed alive as the Lord Protector stamped the others out, as being havens of rebellion. The eyes would dart to the door with every creak, hoping against hope as the rebellious stories were traded within the darkened enclave.
The hope flitted like a bird, sharing its luminescent glory with all as it soared to ever greater height. The children would smile to see it in the eyes of their parents, the eyes could only be lifted from their desolate investigation of the dirt when it was in flight, when the whispers came.
And as the walls to Oxford were closed the stories were told even more, they gained speed and intensity, pouring from every lip, the Germans were coming.
It was not a comment of ethnical significance, the Germans were coming, there are dreams without respect of the artificial borders that we impose upon ourselves, and such a dream is freedom.
Guns slipped from every secret crevice into dirty, calloused hands with cracked fingernails, hope flew high in Oxford as the Germans approached.
-
The binoculars dropped from Johans eyes, There are sentries, the British know were here.
Rommel nodded, Had to happen sooner or later.
Its a walled city.
Weve never doubted.
They stood on a hill, staring silently into Oxford, the grass had gone brown in the harsh rays of the sun.
It wont be an easy battle.
Was Berlin?
Bismarck looked back to the city, will we have to occupy it?
No, I promise you that this will spark a fire and bring Britain aflame.
A bold promise.
After we win here we will only have to go to the countryside and shoot at the British if they try to retake it from the Independent Army.
We plan to win?
Timothy glanced at Johan, I was once a major in the British Army, my father was a lieutenant as was his father before him. No man who has bourn the name Rommel has ever lead troops into battle to be beaten back. I have yet to loose a battle, I do not intend to make my grave here and I do not intend to shame my familys name.
We plan to win.
Indeed.
-
Chris limped up to the bar and lifted his hand, summoning a drink from the bartender.
The bartender smiled to him as he passed the drink across the bar, Chris was one of two who sat at the bar, the other man lay, nearly sprawled across the bar, on the other side, Chris lifted his glass in salute to the other man before downing it.
The bartender smiled more genuinely, chuckling softly as he poured Chris another.
What happened to your leg?
Chris glared up, Id rather not talk about it.
Are you sure?
Positive, Chris tilted his head back and swallowed the drink.
The bartender smiled, You realize that a few more of those will have the story out?
I dont give a damn, he slid his glass back to the bartender.
If you dont give a damn then why not answer my question?
Chris was quiet, sipping slowly now on the new drink, I suppose I could tell you.
Magnificent.
You remember the riots the other night?
You dont mean to tell me
I lost a friend out there, he had wanted to go and fight for freedom. Whats he got now?
The bartender smiled, He isnt here with us, checking the door every minute to see if a bobby is going to come in here and demand that we close down, he doesnt have to obey curfew anymore. Afterlife or no, the dead are the only victors in this day and age.
Chris frowned, So you say.
The bartender nodded, So I do.
And my wife and kids? I cant help them much like this, can I? he pointed fiercely to the limp leg that hung from his hip, Im less good dead.
The bartender frowned, glancing painfully at his nearly empty tip jar, only a few scattered bills lay there. The frown deepened as duty commanded.
The bartender spilled the tip jar, pushing its contents to the wounded man, I know that we didnt win that battle out there where you fought, I know that it was more a series of executions than a battle. But I do know that it took more courage than I have to stand there as they wave guns to you, to shout defiance even as the bullets scream, thank you.
The bar was silent for a moment save for the moaning of the fellow sprawled across it.
I cant take this.
From what Ive heard you cant afford not to.
They stared at each other for a moment and the bartender took the money in hand and pressed it firmly into the wounded mans hand, Thank you. The debt I owe you for taking that bullet far exceeds any tip jar.
The bar was silent as the other man began to slide down into a heap.
-
The tank opened fire on the walls, its cannon roaring defiantly as the wall exploded, gunshot was fired against the men who stood atop the wall, and they fell as the bullets slapped against them.
The cannons roared again and the wall shuddered as pieces were exploded away.
Forward!
The Germans poured out and ran across the field, the tanks rolling imposingly behind them, the battle crept towards Oxford.
British troops appeared in the huge cracks in the wall, opening fire on the virtually unprotected German line, the smarter threw themselves under the bullets or behind the tanks, even as the first of the antitank rockets slammed home. Explosions and gunfire rocked the small field outside of Oxford as the Germans tried to creep ever slowly forward.
British bullets slammed into unprotected flesh, digging deep and tearing themselves out, leaving every reminder of their presence.
Then the gunfire slowed, and dripped to a stop. The sound of shots came still from the town, but the bullets which had pressed the Germans to the ground slowly stammered to a stop.
The Germans stood and rushed forward as the British Independent Army began to triumph in Oxford.
das
Regeneration In Process
Very good work with this chapter, SKILORD.
SKILORD
Insurgent
There are moments that hold such hope that one cannot help but smile. Days that seem so ripe with the promise of a future rewritten and of destiny changed, hours that the feeling of humanitys strength pounds proudly against the breast. There is sunshine that we fiercely pray never dips below the horizon, and yet even when it does we are confident in these moments that we will forever stand and triumph.
These are the days in which there are no insurmountable odds, in which every tyrant will fall forever and that the logs of history will frame the sunshine of these moments for future generations to cherish. Smiling there in the Oxford sunshine Johan von Bismarck knew these things and felt each emotion coursing frantically and hopefully through his veins.
Bismarck, I presume? the man smiled rakishly, his beret tipped at an odd angle.
The smile couldnt fade, Indeed, you would be?
David Jones, British Independent Militia.
Johans grin grew, I thought it was an army?
David laughed, The press misnamed us, Armies dont fight for freedom.
Johan offered his hand to the other man, and a firm and confident shake received it.
Thanks for the help out there.
David laughed again; he had a melodious and cheery laugh that only added to the grandeur of each passing moment as they passed bountifully through the fingers of the assembled, It was a pleasure.
They stood together for a moment, smiling to everyone and observing each passing smile as the people of Oxford worked with the Germans on the wall, one of the few damaged parts of the city.
It was easy for them to forget the pale bodies stained with their own blood that had been shoveled out of the city to lie fermenting in their own filth as the flies gathered for an orgy of feasting and breeding. It is easy in these moments of triumph to turn ones back on these fallen foes to whom the battle was ever so less victorious, the blood that stained so many hands could be so easily ignored and so quickly wiped out of view.
Johan and David smiled at each passing soul, working and struggling to rebuild.
Whats after this? David turned to Johan.
Johan frowned, casting his mind deep into the future where his plans lay in their holy beauty, undefiled by the realities that would so quickly encompass them, Were moving out to the countryside, our tanks cant help much in the city, well leave you some supplies but its a big city, you can get your own, and the walls will keep you safe.
David frowned ferociously, So you just plan to abandon us here?
Johan was taken aback, If you cant keep this city, if so many soldiers pledge their allegiance to Rhodes and so few to your armies then who is to say you deserve it?
Youll turn your back on Oxford?
I have no vows to fulfill to Oxford, I serve freedom.
David snarled cruelly, his face contorting itself violently, Oxford is free.
Yes, but there are others to be freed.
I thought you came here to serve the British people.
I came here to light a fire, not to burn.
If the Germans leave this city then who will defend it?
You and your militia, we arent so much better at the arts of war than you.
And if they retake it?
Then you have let them.
Davids face was forced into a growl, his glaring eyes searing into Johans flesh, So be it, German, David Jones cast the spit cruelly out of his mouth, You are of no use to me.
Johan von Bismarck stared amazed at the spit which sat, expectantly on his sleeve, staring aggressively upwards to him, he turned his back on the revolutionary and returned to his army. The sunshine was shattered, the moments had fallen apart and a frown stole his lips.
-
The tanks were rolling out of the city and the children cheered triumphantly, waving their arms excitedly as the tanks crawled from the city, the women often smiled hidden smiles to the tankers, the men cast their eyes to the ground and remained silent, David had spoken to them, Bismarck assumed. It was a mixed departure.
Oi! Krauts! a man was running to Bismarcks tank, where he sat in the cupola, he turned around quickly.
The man hopped onto Johans tank, David Jones glared from a doorway far behind, I need to get outta ere, these blokes arent much better than old eddie.
Johan had to smile, the man stayed perched on the tank.
These are the days in which there are no insurmountable odds, in which every tyrant will fall forever and that the logs of history will frame the sunshine of these moments for future generations to cherish. Smiling there in the Oxford sunshine Johan von Bismarck knew these things and felt each emotion coursing frantically and hopefully through his veins.
Bismarck, I presume? the man smiled rakishly, his beret tipped at an odd angle.
The smile couldnt fade, Indeed, you would be?
David Jones, British Independent Militia.
Johans grin grew, I thought it was an army?
David laughed, The press misnamed us, Armies dont fight for freedom.
Johan offered his hand to the other man, and a firm and confident shake received it.
Thanks for the help out there.
David laughed again; he had a melodious and cheery laugh that only added to the grandeur of each passing moment as they passed bountifully through the fingers of the assembled, It was a pleasure.
They stood together for a moment, smiling to everyone and observing each passing smile as the people of Oxford worked with the Germans on the wall, one of the few damaged parts of the city.
It was easy for them to forget the pale bodies stained with their own blood that had been shoveled out of the city to lie fermenting in their own filth as the flies gathered for an orgy of feasting and breeding. It is easy in these moments of triumph to turn ones back on these fallen foes to whom the battle was ever so less victorious, the blood that stained so many hands could be so easily ignored and so quickly wiped out of view.
Johan and David smiled at each passing soul, working and struggling to rebuild.
Whats after this? David turned to Johan.
Johan frowned, casting his mind deep into the future where his plans lay in their holy beauty, undefiled by the realities that would so quickly encompass them, Were moving out to the countryside, our tanks cant help much in the city, well leave you some supplies but its a big city, you can get your own, and the walls will keep you safe.
David frowned ferociously, So you just plan to abandon us here?
Johan was taken aback, If you cant keep this city, if so many soldiers pledge their allegiance to Rhodes and so few to your armies then who is to say you deserve it?
Youll turn your back on Oxford?
I have no vows to fulfill to Oxford, I serve freedom.
David snarled cruelly, his face contorting itself violently, Oxford is free.
Yes, but there are others to be freed.
I thought you came here to serve the British people.
I came here to light a fire, not to burn.
If the Germans leave this city then who will defend it?
You and your militia, we arent so much better at the arts of war than you.
And if they retake it?
Then you have let them.
Davids face was forced into a growl, his glaring eyes searing into Johans flesh, So be it, German, David Jones cast the spit cruelly out of his mouth, You are of no use to me.
Johan von Bismarck stared amazed at the spit which sat, expectantly on his sleeve, staring aggressively upwards to him, he turned his back on the revolutionary and returned to his army. The sunshine was shattered, the moments had fallen apart and a frown stole his lips.
-
The tanks were rolling out of the city and the children cheered triumphantly, waving their arms excitedly as the tanks crawled from the city, the women often smiled hidden smiles to the tankers, the men cast their eyes to the ground and remained silent, David had spoken to them, Bismarck assumed. It was a mixed departure.
Oi! Krauts! a man was running to Bismarcks tank, where he sat in the cupola, he turned around quickly.
The man hopped onto Johans tank, David Jones glared from a doorway far behind, I need to get outta ere, these blokes arent much better than old eddie.
Johan had to smile, the man stayed perched on the tank.
das
Regeneration In Process
So, the "coalition" is broken, eh? I guess that Lord Protector is far from being defeated.
SKILORD
Insurgent
Well, the British resistance is far from being centralized.
