das
Regeneration In Process
The Death of History.
The firing squad was standing in line, ready to aim and fire upon orders. Lieutenant Graveaux looked on, impassively. The prisoners were being led there - four old men, clearly of bourgoise origin, probably intellectuals. Dissidents. They were still in something of a state of shock.
"Monsiegneur commissar, read the charges."
"Pierre Alancon, 42 years, professor of history. Has renounced the patriotic, historically-correct works of mssr. Julien Pandeau, and propagandized a Celticist view on history."
"Hmm?"
"In his so-called "works", there are many refferences to the enemy of the French nation and a lackey of the Celtic regressive druidist regime "professor" Daftpanzerus."
Graveaux nodded. Pierre Alancon was placed before the firing squad, closed his eyes (in the old days, he would have been given a piece of cloth to cover his eyes, but the deficit was too great to waste anything on the enemies of the people) and then...
"Bang, bang, bang!" - said the guns.
"Arrgh." - stated Alancon and collapsed on the floor, dead.
Graveaux nodded again.
"The others? Also professors?"
"Two professors of history, one professor of geology."
"The geologist?"
"Charles Armand, 39 years..."
"Mssr. Armand? Step forward please."
A thin, balding man stepped forward, his eyes full of fear.
"What are the charges?" - asked Graveaux of the commissar.
"He denounced the former existance of Atlantis, the homeland of the French people. He also propagandized the existance of Avalon..."
"...a dirty Celtic myth. Propaganda... Very well, kill him too."
Graveaux nodded again, clearly content. The shuddering Armand was put before the firing squad. He forgot to close his eyes, Graveaux shrugged - he didn't care about the comfort of those dissidents.
"Bang, bang, bang." - the guns spoke again, somewhat monotonously to Graveaux - he was used to them by now.
"No! Atlantis exists! Avalon doe-" - Armand shouted before collapsing to the ground, bleeding, moaning.
Graveaux walked up to him and kicked Armand in the head. The geologist stopped moaning. Graveaux nodded again. He nodded very often, at every occasion, it was a habit of his.
"Next."
"Antoine Barbusse, 28 years, criticized the military leadership of Joan d'Arc."
A nod.
"Bang, bang, bang."
"Arrgh."
"Next."
"Henri Cadillac, 53 years." - the commissary looked very... mad at this Cadillac, and for a good reason - "Propagandized the theories of alternative history."
Graveaux was surprised at first, but then he nodded. Looked at Cadillac closely. The old man stood there, defiant. Idiot.
"Mssr. Cadillac, so you claim that our history could have went differently?"
"Indeed, mssr. scumbag, that is what I claim."
Graveaux ignored the insult. He was a professional.
"So you claim that the Holy Joan d'Arc could have died young?"
"Indeed I do!"
"And that our glorious fascist empire could not have risen?"
"Indeed I do - and that it could have won the Second Great War, had things gone differently. Or do you doubt that?!"
"Hah! I don't - but..." - Graveaux was confused for a while. Indeed, if not for the evil Viking diversants and "intellectual" traitors like this one, the war could have been won... or could it have? - "...It didn't happen, and there is no way to change that! Kill him! KILL HIM NOW!"
Graveaux was infuriated, he didn't even nod, so great was his rage.
"Bang, bang, bang."
"Istanddefiantinthenameofalternativehistorymssrscumbug!" - shouted Cadillac very very fast - "Arrgh!"
Graveaux recovered his usual, calm self. He nodded. Saluted, and turned away.
"Well, that's that monseigneur marechal Octave Dupleix." - said Graveaux to the great Fascist marechal-of-counterintellegence.
Dupleix looked on grimly, at the corpses, and at the blood... Simple-minded fools, beasts at heart and in mind, he thought. That is what we have created. They are horrifying to us, who grew up in better times... and they would never understand us if we are to stop being so... cruel, so ruthless. We broke our nation's backbone, he thought grimly.
"Thank you, mssr. Graveaux." - he said, quietly, in that pleasant, polite, aristocratic voice of the man that doomed millions to death. - "A perfect execution. Keep up the good work, and you will go far."
And if things go through as we plan, he thought, you will go all the way to the Bastille basement.
The firing squad was standing in line, ready to aim and fire upon orders. Lieutenant Graveaux looked on, impassively. The prisoners were being led there - four old men, clearly of bourgoise origin, probably intellectuals. Dissidents. They were still in something of a state of shock.
"Monsiegneur commissar, read the charges."
"Pierre Alancon, 42 years, professor of history. Has renounced the patriotic, historically-correct works of mssr. Julien Pandeau, and propagandized a Celticist view on history."
"Hmm?"
"In his so-called "works", there are many refferences to the enemy of the French nation and a lackey of the Celtic regressive druidist regime "professor" Daftpanzerus."
Graveaux nodded. Pierre Alancon was placed before the firing squad, closed his eyes (in the old days, he would have been given a piece of cloth to cover his eyes, but the deficit was too great to waste anything on the enemies of the people) and then...
"Bang, bang, bang!" - said the guns.
"Arrgh." - stated Alancon and collapsed on the floor, dead.
Graveaux nodded again.
"The others? Also professors?"
"Two professors of history, one professor of geology."
"The geologist?"
"Charles Armand, 39 years..."
"Mssr. Armand? Step forward please."
A thin, balding man stepped forward, his eyes full of fear.
"What are the charges?" - asked Graveaux of the commissar.
"He denounced the former existance of Atlantis, the homeland of the French people. He also propagandized the existance of Avalon..."
"...a dirty Celtic myth. Propaganda... Very well, kill him too."
Graveaux nodded again, clearly content. The shuddering Armand was put before the firing squad. He forgot to close his eyes, Graveaux shrugged - he didn't care about the comfort of those dissidents.
"Bang, bang, bang." - the guns spoke again, somewhat monotonously to Graveaux - he was used to them by now.
"No! Atlantis exists! Avalon doe-" - Armand shouted before collapsing to the ground, bleeding, moaning.
Graveaux walked up to him and kicked Armand in the head. The geologist stopped moaning. Graveaux nodded again. He nodded very often, at every occasion, it was a habit of his.
"Next."
"Antoine Barbusse, 28 years, criticized the military leadership of Joan d'Arc."
A nod.
"Bang, bang, bang."
"Arrgh."
"Next."
"Henri Cadillac, 53 years." - the commissary looked very... mad at this Cadillac, and for a good reason - "Propagandized the theories of alternative history."
Graveaux was surprised at first, but then he nodded. Looked at Cadillac closely. The old man stood there, defiant. Idiot.
"Mssr. Cadillac, so you claim that our history could have went differently?"
"Indeed, mssr. scumbag, that is what I claim."
Graveaux ignored the insult. He was a professional.
"So you claim that the Holy Joan d'Arc could have died young?"
"Indeed I do!"
"And that our glorious fascist empire could not have risen?"
"Indeed I do - and that it could have won the Second Great War, had things gone differently. Or do you doubt that?!"
"Hah! I don't - but..." - Graveaux was confused for a while. Indeed, if not for the evil Viking diversants and "intellectual" traitors like this one, the war could have been won... or could it have? - "...It didn't happen, and there is no way to change that! Kill him! KILL HIM NOW!"
Graveaux was infuriated, he didn't even nod, so great was his rage.
"Bang, bang, bang."
"Istanddefiantinthenameofalternativehistorymssrscumbug!" - shouted Cadillac very very fast - "Arrgh!"
Graveaux recovered his usual, calm self. He nodded. Saluted, and turned away.
"Well, that's that monseigneur marechal Octave Dupleix." - said Graveaux to the great Fascist marechal-of-counterintellegence.
Dupleix looked on grimly, at the corpses, and at the blood... Simple-minded fools, beasts at heart and in mind, he thought. That is what we have created. They are horrifying to us, who grew up in better times... and they would never understand us if we are to stop being so... cruel, so ruthless. We broke our nation's backbone, he thought grimly.
"Thank you, mssr. Graveaux." - he said, quietly, in that pleasant, polite, aristocratic voice of the man that doomed millions to death. - "A perfect execution. Keep up the good work, and you will go far."
And if things go through as we plan, he thought, you will go all the way to the Bastille basement.