Edolia
18-02-2005, 22:03
Andre Ivansky walked forward, his back held up straight and his arms tight to his sides. He and his two comrades were models of Hogsweatian soldiers. Their uniforms were crisp, their manners impeccable and their side-arms well polished. In short, their disguises were nearly perfect. As the three Edolians walked up to the train conductor, Ivansky addressed him in fluent Hogsweatian. “Good morning, Comrade.” Pulling a paper from his travel bag, he continued. “These are my leave papers. My comrades and I are taking our leave in Stizy Stivgorad.” The other men handed the conductor their papers. The conductor looked them over and nodded to the men. Ivansky saluted and the three boarded the train. For perhaps the hundredth time in his life, Andre Ivansky mentally thanked his parents for teaching him their native language. While he had hated learning it as a young boy, his Hogsweatian immigrant parents had insisted that it was part of his heritage. Ivansky relished the strange twist of irony that had brought him here, to use it against his parents’ pople.
“All off for Stizy Stivgorad…” The voice sounded over the loudspeakers. Ivansky snapped his head forward. In fact, he had not dozed off during the long train ride and had been quite awake, but appearances had to be kept up. Gathering up his luggage, he rejoined his comrades at the exit to the train. Outside, he spoke a few words of encouragement and flagged down a taxi. A crimson-colored car pulled up on the curb next to the Edolians. Ivansky winced at the gaudy color. Opening up the front door, he got in.
“First Union Street,” he said to the driver. The back doors opened and the other men stepped in. The doors closed and the car moved off.
“Comrades,” Ivansky whispered. He was now speaking in Edolian and didn’t want to be overheard by anyone else. Besides his two comrades, another six had traveled separately, and the nine of them had met up just four blocks from their target. “I do not need to make a speech, so I will keep this short. This is a dangerous mission, and some of us will not survive it. Remember that we are fighting for the Hogsweatian people, for the USR and for Edölia. Make the Scarlet Empire proud. Now move out.” To any casual observer, it was just a case of a group of soldiers meeting each other on leave, talking and separating. Ivansky and another man, Ren von Groust were taking the direct route to the target. The others were all following different paths. It was just a brief walk to Bunker 1, and Ivansky was rather enjoying the cool Hogsweatian air. Night was falling, and it was nearly time for the operation. Putting a hand to his ear, he whispered, “Target sighted. All in position?”
“All off for Stizy Stivgorad…” The voice sounded over the loudspeakers. Ivansky snapped his head forward. In fact, he had not dozed off during the long train ride and had been quite awake, but appearances had to be kept up. Gathering up his luggage, he rejoined his comrades at the exit to the train. Outside, he spoke a few words of encouragement and flagged down a taxi. A crimson-colored car pulled up on the curb next to the Edolians. Ivansky winced at the gaudy color. Opening up the front door, he got in.
“First Union Street,” he said to the driver. The back doors opened and the other men stepped in. The doors closed and the car moved off.
“Comrades,” Ivansky whispered. He was now speaking in Edolian and didn’t want to be overheard by anyone else. Besides his two comrades, another six had traveled separately, and the nine of them had met up just four blocks from their target. “I do not need to make a speech, so I will keep this short. This is a dangerous mission, and some of us will not survive it. Remember that we are fighting for the Hogsweatian people, for the USR and for Edölia. Make the Scarlet Empire proud. Now move out.” To any casual observer, it was just a case of a group of soldiers meeting each other on leave, talking and separating. Ivansky and another man, Ren von Groust were taking the direct route to the target. The others were all following different paths. It was just a brief walk to Bunker 1, and Ivansky was rather enjoying the cool Hogsweatian air. Night was falling, and it was nearly time for the operation. Putting a hand to his ear, he whispered, “Target sighted. All in position?”