Amestria
19-02-2007, 11:35
The State of Amestria,
Northwestern Amestria,
The Town of Gargès
Kasumi Liscel (first name pronounced Ka-sum-e), President of the Fourth Amestrian Republic, Duchesse du Manoir, awoke from a long blissfully sleep and slowly sat up in bed. Besides Kasumi was her sister, Sara Liscel, Minister of State. The sun’s light was streaming through the master bedrooms windows, both sisters having neglected to close the curtains. It was just as well, Sara remained sound asleep and Kasumi, by gazing out the window, was able to enjoy a peaceful moment of nature.
She disliked cities and loathed the fact so much of her time had to be spent in Central. Kasumi preferred the open fields, scenic pastures, quiet orchards, and shaded forests of the countryside. She particularly enjoyed those of the Northwest, her home region, and she greatly enjoyed its provincial cuisine du terroir.
Kasumi was always well received when visiting towns and villages. A kind word from the President, even an understanding nod, could clear away any and all bureaucratic obstacles plaguing the community. If a new lightening rod was needed for the towns little Gothic Church, it would be done; if the local council wanted a subsidy for a festival, it would approved. She was just; wherever her gaze fell public services would be compelled to serve the public without complaint, without hassle, and without delay. Such was the office’s inherent unwritten authority; for 20 years it had lain dormant but had now reawakened. This benevolence was reciprocated with local celebration and praise; the President, after all, had to be kept amused.
Gargès’ Mayor, Émile Jospin, had warmly greeted the President and her sister in the great hall of the 16th century château that now served as his official residence. In his welcome speech, the Mayor made sure to note that a young King Henri XII, en route to Gestel to meet his fiancée, had stopped briefly at the very same château and devoured two partridges for lunch.
The Major always enjoyed such allusions; through them she felt connected, she felt the history of the nation progressing and flowing from her. She was part of an unbroken chain of great and terrible rulers, 135 chevetains who had in a thousand years made and preserved Amestria.
So it was only natural that Kasumi immediately requested that the Mayor vacate the premises and allow her and Sara to spend the night. Not only did Jospin graciously submit to her request, he also presented the couple with a marvelous lunch served on the very same table Henri XII had dined. The President showed how pleased she was by having Jospin stand besides her as she ate a Swan, a gesture of Royal favor dating all the way back to 680 C.E. When his term ran out he was definitely going to be reappointed.
Kasumi carefully drew the covers away and got out of bed. Her sister stirred besides her, murmured something inaudible, and then was still. The Major approached the large bedroom mirror and began her usual morning workout combination of stretching, three-quarter press ups, and crunches.
She paused the stretches momentarily to flex her muscles and admire her body in the mirror. She had gained a little weight around the waist and thighs, but her overall form remained trim, hard, and firm. Her face, excepting a few wrinkles around the corners of her eyes, was smooth, unmarred, and aging gracefully.
Not bad for a woman of 46.
Not only was there less time for her to workout, with age she starting to naturally slow down and put on fat. Of late it seemed all her body wanted to do was eat and she felt hungry most of the time.
While Kasumi finished her morning exercises, Sara continued her lazy doze, oblivious to everything. The suns rays seemed to illuminate her naked pale flesh and tangled blonde hair with an almost angelic quality. Kasumi watched sister’s chest rise and fall with every breath. After a while her head, or an arm, would move a little and her mouth might twitch. She was a truly beautiful creature.
Kasumi became lost in the moment and it took some effort to snap out of her reverie. Shaking her head she approached the bed.
“Sara, time to get up… Time to get up Sara,” Kasumi gently repeated over and over again.
“I don’ wanna” Sara mumbled.
Kasumi contemplated Sara’s reluctance for a moment, and then quickly solved the dilemma by grasping hold of Sara’s legs and pulling her from the bed. Sara’s bum hit the hard wooden floor with a mild thud.
“Ow, that hurt,” she whined.
“Get dressed,” Kasumi commanded, smiling. “It’s late and you need to cut my hair.”
******
Kasumi sat in a chair facing the window, a white coverlet rapped around her shoulders. The view from the château’s master bedroom was very nice, according to Jospin many people had had to be displaced in order to create it. Sara stood behind her, cheerfully giving her sister the usual trim, humming as she did so a catchy little tune about a young girl who had lost her doll.
“You have such lovely hair; perhaps you should try a longer style,” Sara commented.
“Then I would look like a Xirniumite bourgeoisie or one of those Pantocratorian court peacocks.”
“I did not mean that long-”
“And in any case it’s much more trouble then its worth,” Kasumi added.
Sara sighed. “I just think you should try something new.”
“Remember when you tried growing your hair long?”
“I’d rather not...”
“It got all tangled and knotty and when we tried to kiss our mouths would always end up full of your hair…” Kasumi began to laugh lightly. “You would then try to brush the wet hair aside and it would stick to your cheeks. You looked ridiculous.”
Sara said nothing and continued to snip away at her sister’s hair. “Oops…” she suddenly remarked in monotone.
Kasumi became a little uneasy. “Oops?”
“Don’t worry, no one will notice if you comb it a certain way…” Sara explained matter-of-factly.
“What did you do? You didn’t really do anything did you; you’re just pulling my leg. Did you do something?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.” Sara replied with a smile.
“I want a mirror!”
Sara handed her sister a mirror. A few moments of intense examination revealed no damage. Satisfied, Kasumi allowed Sara to resume cutting her hair. Their conversation gradually drifted to international politics. Sara wanted Kasumi to invite Heather Gilda, the Xirniumite Prime Minister, on an official visit to Amestria. Kasumi was less then enthusiastic about the idea, but resigned to its necessity. Still, she had some reservations.
“I absolutely refuse to treat a mere Prime Minister as if she were an equal Head of State.”
“You could always talk directly with Viktória Seriendé, the Lady High Protectress,” Sara pointed out.
“What a disgustingly dishonest title. An ultimately empty title for an office ultimately empty of meaning. After we talk she will just go sniveling back to Gilda.”
“Now you’re just being petty.”
“So I am, but we both know why you want her to visit.” Kasumi then sighed. “One more thing that I won’t be mentioning in my memoirs...”
“Try not to move,” Sara chided. “Now, is that your only hang-up, the lack of an equal negotiating partner?”
“No. Then there is that smug, simplistic, and unyielding liberalism they cloak themselves in. Gilda and Sabëlinà will arrive all smiles and leave whispering how awful we are. They regard our nation as merely a tragic reflection of theirs and are incapable of grasping its historical complexity.”
“Turn your head to the right…”
“A word has yet to be invented that can sum up Amestria’s Governing Structure. Our State is a republic, a monarchy, a bureaucracy, and a stratocracy all in one.”
Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the ringing of the phone in the next room.
“I’ll get it,” Sara sighed as she put down the scissors and comb. Kasumi nodded and Sara left the room. She returned a few minutes latter, her cheerful disposition was gone and the expression on her face was glum.
“Hey Sis…it’s happened again.”
******
The Next Day,
Central City,
Amestrian Military Central Command,
Offices of Amestrian Military Intelligence,
Office of MID Commander Full General Joliot Romand
“Interesting…”
Full General Joliot Romand was a hideously disfigured man, the left side of his face twisted upwards; massive scaring indicating that he had at one point in his life been severely burned. His real left eye had been replaced by a glass copy...a copy obviously larger and of a different color then his real (right) eye. The man’s face was completely hairless, most of it having been restructured, and what hair the General had on the top of his scalp had long gone silver. His left hand was useless, the useless hand of a useless arm that hung at his side, ‘disguised’ by an overlong sleeve. In contrast to Romand’s brutalized appearance was his immaculately decorated uniform. The General always dressed in his full dress uniform, proudly displaying the dozens of medals he had earned over his many years of service.
Directly behind his desk were two enormous oil portraits, one of the late President Charles Liscel, the other of current President Kasumi Liscel. To the left of his desk was a table containing two busts, one of Führer King Bradley, the other of the late President Charles Liscel. On his desk was a rather interesting photograph. President Charles Liscel was at the center, sitting down. To the Presidents left stood a much younger, and unrecognizably handsome, General Romand...the picture obviously having been taken before the bombing. To the Presidents right stood a 21 year old Kasumi Liscel, dressed in full military uniform, and a six year old Sara Liscel in an adorable little sun dress. The whole display was designed to leave visitors with no doubt as to where the General’s loyalties lay.
The General was presently engaged in the tedious task of cutting out newspaper articles and pasting them in a scrapbook. In his right hand he held a pair of scissors. He was so engrossed in the task at hand that he failed to notice the entrance of his two deputies, Colonel Generals Alphonse Lannes and Joseph Papon.
“Excuse me Sir,” said Lannes, introducing himself and Papon. “You could have someone else do that for you…”
A playful smile flickered across the Full General’s lipless mouth as he looked up. The light from the desk lamp reflected off his gold teeth. “You have caught me indulging in a guilty pleasure. This is something I do solely because I enjoy it. You see, I get a lot of effective ideas from collecting newspaper and magazine articles.”
He motioned to his scrapbook. “I reinforce my memory of the material by pouring over it and that way I can rattle it off at the spur of the moment.”
Romand nonchalantly set his scissors down on his desk and pushed aside the article he had been working on. “Yes?”
General Lannes stepped forward and presented Romand with a plain manila folder. “New Intel concerning the recent activities of the Eastern Liberation Front and its sister organizations.”
General Romand took the folder and cheerfully flipped through it.
“Ah, some old elements have reactivated. It’s been confirmed Félix Petiot was responsible for the latest attack and it seems he is planning another one in Brčko, the primary State Building. Have the civil police identified him as the perpetrator yet?”
“No, they have yet to even identify him as a person of interest.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Romand asked rhetorically.
“Our field operatives are of the opinion that the departmental security services have no chance what-so-ever of preventing this attack at their current state of readiness,” explained General Papon. “They are requesting instructions on whether or not Military Intelligence should intervene and arrest Petiot. His current safe house has been identified.”
General Romand thoughtfully scanned the target information that had been presented to him. “No…” he casually remarked. “I see no reason for us to intervene. There have been an increasing number of protests over our Office once again having civil police powers in the Southeast, more protests then I’m comfortable with. A lot of North Amestrians work in this building and use the daycare facilities, so the death toll and subsequent media attention will be substantial.”
He closed the folder and set it down on his desk.
“It will remind the people why they need us.”
Lannes and Papon nodded. “Understood Sir.”
“Is there anything else?” General Romand asked.
“No Sir,” answered General Lannes.
As Lannes and Papon began to leave his office Roman realized he had one last order to convey.
“One last thing concerning Petiot; after an appropriate amount of time has passed, have him die while resisting arrest.”
“Yes Sir.”
As the two officers left, General Romand tossed the manila folder in the trash. When he left his office to attend a meeting of the Military Council, it would be incinerated with the rest of his waste paper.
******
Central City,
Amestrian Military Central Command,
The Military Council,
Two Hours Later
The council room was rather dark excepting a few florescent lights that seemed to eerily provide enough light to read but not enough to vanquish the room’s innumerable shadows. It was sunny outside, but the curtains had been drawn. No one knew why exactly the President wanted such a bleak atmosphere, but it was in any case very appropriate. Just the other day, in the Southeastern city of Foča, a bombing in a crowded subway had resulted in the deaths of 34 people, 11 of them police and soldiers. Attacks elsewhere that day had killed an additional three military police officers and wounded several more. It had been a very bloody day.
The room was dominated by a heavy half circle oak table that dated back to the time of Führer King Bradley and the First Stratocracy. President Liscel sat at the very center of the table. To her left and right were seated the Amestrian Military’s highest ranking Generals. The table was covered with thick binders and countless reports, as well as a plate of cookies and several cups of hot Amestrian kluntjes sweetened black tea. Before them stood Lieutenant General Alfred Nivelle, Military Governor of the Southeastern Military Region.
“General Nivelle, the number of attacks in your Military Region has dramatically increased over the past three months,” Kasumi began. “That should not be happening. The number of attacks should be decreasing, not increasing.”
“Madam President, it seems a number of tactical mistakes were made and the forces deployed so far have been inadequate-”
“We are being buried beneath the inadequacies of your plan General Nivelle,” Liscel interrupted, not even bothering to look up from the document she was scanning.
Nivelle’s mouth snapped shut. She was obviously not interested in hearing anymore excuses.
“Madam President,” Romand politely interjected. “General Nivelle is not solely at fault for the failure of the ongoing suppression campaign. Military Intelligence, for instance, could have coordinated far better with the military and civil police. If you read our offices field reports you will find numerous examples of-”
“I have read the field reports General Romand. What successes have occurred have been almost entirely due to the efforts of your personnel, and while there is some room for improvement, overall MID has done very well. The fault lies not with the institutions themselves, the fault lies with the strategy and tactics presently adopted by those institutions by order of the Regional Commander.”
Her gaze again settled on Nivelle. Nivelle just looked at the floor, possibly hoping it would shallow him up. Kasumi continued.
“The number of troops shall be increased immediately, combat troops as well as Gendarmerie. Problem departments are to be subject to further movement restrictions and curfews. The amount and size of baggage allowed on public transport is to be reduced and the number of check points increased. There will be no more Foča’s and Stragari’s General Nivelle, is that clear.”
“Yes Madam President…” Nivelle answered meekly.
There was an uneasy silence. Full General Basque Gran cleared his throat.
“Madam President, in the event of another significant attack-”
“There won’t be,” Liscel replied.
“Ideally yes, but should there be-”
The President’s answer was quick and her tone harsh. She was no longer trying to hide her severe displeasure and spoke as if Nivelle had left the room. “Should there be one more bombing of this magnitude, just one more; the first thing I will do is telephone General Nivelle and ask for his resignation!”
Liscel’s outburst was met with nervous glances and uneasy murmurs. Alfred Nivelle turned white. Joliot Romand suppressed a smile. That another bombing on the scale of Foča would happen was almost a certainty.
The next hour was spent discussing details, logistics, and the construction of new security infrastructure. The Council wanted the President to push for changes in the Detention Law increasing the number of days the security services could hold a terrorism suspect without charges, but she refused.
“The Social Democrats will never agree to that, they’ve already swallowed everything their going to swallow, so it would just be a dangerous waste of time.”
When the Council’s meetings ended, General Romand, owing to his various disabilities, was always the last to leave. Kasumi was, as usual, second to last, she often had the most to pack and could not resist stuffing the left over tea cookies into her pockets for later. This time however there was a bit of intention. On the way out she handed Romand a small folded piece of paper. Once he was alone Romand unfolded it and read its contents. Scribbled in pencil was a single sentence.
I don’t want to know.
Smiling, Romand placed the scrap of paper on the saucer in front of him and incinerated it with his lighter.
Northwestern Amestria,
The Town of Gargès
Kasumi Liscel (first name pronounced Ka-sum-e), President of the Fourth Amestrian Republic, Duchesse du Manoir, awoke from a long blissfully sleep and slowly sat up in bed. Besides Kasumi was her sister, Sara Liscel, Minister of State. The sun’s light was streaming through the master bedrooms windows, both sisters having neglected to close the curtains. It was just as well, Sara remained sound asleep and Kasumi, by gazing out the window, was able to enjoy a peaceful moment of nature.
She disliked cities and loathed the fact so much of her time had to be spent in Central. Kasumi preferred the open fields, scenic pastures, quiet orchards, and shaded forests of the countryside. She particularly enjoyed those of the Northwest, her home region, and she greatly enjoyed its provincial cuisine du terroir.
Kasumi was always well received when visiting towns and villages. A kind word from the President, even an understanding nod, could clear away any and all bureaucratic obstacles plaguing the community. If a new lightening rod was needed for the towns little Gothic Church, it would be done; if the local council wanted a subsidy for a festival, it would approved. She was just; wherever her gaze fell public services would be compelled to serve the public without complaint, without hassle, and without delay. Such was the office’s inherent unwritten authority; for 20 years it had lain dormant but had now reawakened. This benevolence was reciprocated with local celebration and praise; the President, after all, had to be kept amused.
Gargès’ Mayor, Émile Jospin, had warmly greeted the President and her sister in the great hall of the 16th century château that now served as his official residence. In his welcome speech, the Mayor made sure to note that a young King Henri XII, en route to Gestel to meet his fiancée, had stopped briefly at the very same château and devoured two partridges for lunch.
The Major always enjoyed such allusions; through them she felt connected, she felt the history of the nation progressing and flowing from her. She was part of an unbroken chain of great and terrible rulers, 135 chevetains who had in a thousand years made and preserved Amestria.
So it was only natural that Kasumi immediately requested that the Mayor vacate the premises and allow her and Sara to spend the night. Not only did Jospin graciously submit to her request, he also presented the couple with a marvelous lunch served on the very same table Henri XII had dined. The President showed how pleased she was by having Jospin stand besides her as she ate a Swan, a gesture of Royal favor dating all the way back to 680 C.E. When his term ran out he was definitely going to be reappointed.
Kasumi carefully drew the covers away and got out of bed. Her sister stirred besides her, murmured something inaudible, and then was still. The Major approached the large bedroom mirror and began her usual morning workout combination of stretching, three-quarter press ups, and crunches.
She paused the stretches momentarily to flex her muscles and admire her body in the mirror. She had gained a little weight around the waist and thighs, but her overall form remained trim, hard, and firm. Her face, excepting a few wrinkles around the corners of her eyes, was smooth, unmarred, and aging gracefully.
Not bad for a woman of 46.
Not only was there less time for her to workout, with age she starting to naturally slow down and put on fat. Of late it seemed all her body wanted to do was eat and she felt hungry most of the time.
While Kasumi finished her morning exercises, Sara continued her lazy doze, oblivious to everything. The suns rays seemed to illuminate her naked pale flesh and tangled blonde hair with an almost angelic quality. Kasumi watched sister’s chest rise and fall with every breath. After a while her head, or an arm, would move a little and her mouth might twitch. She was a truly beautiful creature.
Kasumi became lost in the moment and it took some effort to snap out of her reverie. Shaking her head she approached the bed.
“Sara, time to get up… Time to get up Sara,” Kasumi gently repeated over and over again.
“I don’ wanna” Sara mumbled.
Kasumi contemplated Sara’s reluctance for a moment, and then quickly solved the dilemma by grasping hold of Sara’s legs and pulling her from the bed. Sara’s bum hit the hard wooden floor with a mild thud.
“Ow, that hurt,” she whined.
“Get dressed,” Kasumi commanded, smiling. “It’s late and you need to cut my hair.”
******
Kasumi sat in a chair facing the window, a white coverlet rapped around her shoulders. The view from the château’s master bedroom was very nice, according to Jospin many people had had to be displaced in order to create it. Sara stood behind her, cheerfully giving her sister the usual trim, humming as she did so a catchy little tune about a young girl who had lost her doll.
“You have such lovely hair; perhaps you should try a longer style,” Sara commented.
“Then I would look like a Xirniumite bourgeoisie or one of those Pantocratorian court peacocks.”
“I did not mean that long-”
“And in any case it’s much more trouble then its worth,” Kasumi added.
Sara sighed. “I just think you should try something new.”
“Remember when you tried growing your hair long?”
“I’d rather not...”
“It got all tangled and knotty and when we tried to kiss our mouths would always end up full of your hair…” Kasumi began to laugh lightly. “You would then try to brush the wet hair aside and it would stick to your cheeks. You looked ridiculous.”
Sara said nothing and continued to snip away at her sister’s hair. “Oops…” she suddenly remarked in monotone.
Kasumi became a little uneasy. “Oops?”
“Don’t worry, no one will notice if you comb it a certain way…” Sara explained matter-of-factly.
“What did you do? You didn’t really do anything did you; you’re just pulling my leg. Did you do something?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.” Sara replied with a smile.
“I want a mirror!”
Sara handed her sister a mirror. A few moments of intense examination revealed no damage. Satisfied, Kasumi allowed Sara to resume cutting her hair. Their conversation gradually drifted to international politics. Sara wanted Kasumi to invite Heather Gilda, the Xirniumite Prime Minister, on an official visit to Amestria. Kasumi was less then enthusiastic about the idea, but resigned to its necessity. Still, she had some reservations.
“I absolutely refuse to treat a mere Prime Minister as if she were an equal Head of State.”
“You could always talk directly with Viktória Seriendé, the Lady High Protectress,” Sara pointed out.
“What a disgustingly dishonest title. An ultimately empty title for an office ultimately empty of meaning. After we talk she will just go sniveling back to Gilda.”
“Now you’re just being petty.”
“So I am, but we both know why you want her to visit.” Kasumi then sighed. “One more thing that I won’t be mentioning in my memoirs...”
“Try not to move,” Sara chided. “Now, is that your only hang-up, the lack of an equal negotiating partner?”
“No. Then there is that smug, simplistic, and unyielding liberalism they cloak themselves in. Gilda and Sabëlinà will arrive all smiles and leave whispering how awful we are. They regard our nation as merely a tragic reflection of theirs and are incapable of grasping its historical complexity.”
“Turn your head to the right…”
“A word has yet to be invented that can sum up Amestria’s Governing Structure. Our State is a republic, a monarchy, a bureaucracy, and a stratocracy all in one.”
Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the ringing of the phone in the next room.
“I’ll get it,” Sara sighed as she put down the scissors and comb. Kasumi nodded and Sara left the room. She returned a few minutes latter, her cheerful disposition was gone and the expression on her face was glum.
“Hey Sis…it’s happened again.”
******
The Next Day,
Central City,
Amestrian Military Central Command,
Offices of Amestrian Military Intelligence,
Office of MID Commander Full General Joliot Romand
“Interesting…”
Full General Joliot Romand was a hideously disfigured man, the left side of his face twisted upwards; massive scaring indicating that he had at one point in his life been severely burned. His real left eye had been replaced by a glass copy...a copy obviously larger and of a different color then his real (right) eye. The man’s face was completely hairless, most of it having been restructured, and what hair the General had on the top of his scalp had long gone silver. His left hand was useless, the useless hand of a useless arm that hung at his side, ‘disguised’ by an overlong sleeve. In contrast to Romand’s brutalized appearance was his immaculately decorated uniform. The General always dressed in his full dress uniform, proudly displaying the dozens of medals he had earned over his many years of service.
Directly behind his desk were two enormous oil portraits, one of the late President Charles Liscel, the other of current President Kasumi Liscel. To the left of his desk was a table containing two busts, one of Führer King Bradley, the other of the late President Charles Liscel. On his desk was a rather interesting photograph. President Charles Liscel was at the center, sitting down. To the Presidents left stood a much younger, and unrecognizably handsome, General Romand...the picture obviously having been taken before the bombing. To the Presidents right stood a 21 year old Kasumi Liscel, dressed in full military uniform, and a six year old Sara Liscel in an adorable little sun dress. The whole display was designed to leave visitors with no doubt as to where the General’s loyalties lay.
The General was presently engaged in the tedious task of cutting out newspaper articles and pasting them in a scrapbook. In his right hand he held a pair of scissors. He was so engrossed in the task at hand that he failed to notice the entrance of his two deputies, Colonel Generals Alphonse Lannes and Joseph Papon.
“Excuse me Sir,” said Lannes, introducing himself and Papon. “You could have someone else do that for you…”
A playful smile flickered across the Full General’s lipless mouth as he looked up. The light from the desk lamp reflected off his gold teeth. “You have caught me indulging in a guilty pleasure. This is something I do solely because I enjoy it. You see, I get a lot of effective ideas from collecting newspaper and magazine articles.”
He motioned to his scrapbook. “I reinforce my memory of the material by pouring over it and that way I can rattle it off at the spur of the moment.”
Romand nonchalantly set his scissors down on his desk and pushed aside the article he had been working on. “Yes?”
General Lannes stepped forward and presented Romand with a plain manila folder. “New Intel concerning the recent activities of the Eastern Liberation Front and its sister organizations.”
General Romand took the folder and cheerfully flipped through it.
“Ah, some old elements have reactivated. It’s been confirmed Félix Petiot was responsible for the latest attack and it seems he is planning another one in Brčko, the primary State Building. Have the civil police identified him as the perpetrator yet?”
“No, they have yet to even identify him as a person of interest.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Romand asked rhetorically.
“Our field operatives are of the opinion that the departmental security services have no chance what-so-ever of preventing this attack at their current state of readiness,” explained General Papon. “They are requesting instructions on whether or not Military Intelligence should intervene and arrest Petiot. His current safe house has been identified.”
General Romand thoughtfully scanned the target information that had been presented to him. “No…” he casually remarked. “I see no reason for us to intervene. There have been an increasing number of protests over our Office once again having civil police powers in the Southeast, more protests then I’m comfortable with. A lot of North Amestrians work in this building and use the daycare facilities, so the death toll and subsequent media attention will be substantial.”
He closed the folder and set it down on his desk.
“It will remind the people why they need us.”
Lannes and Papon nodded. “Understood Sir.”
“Is there anything else?” General Romand asked.
“No Sir,” answered General Lannes.
As Lannes and Papon began to leave his office Roman realized he had one last order to convey.
“One last thing concerning Petiot; after an appropriate amount of time has passed, have him die while resisting arrest.”
“Yes Sir.”
As the two officers left, General Romand tossed the manila folder in the trash. When he left his office to attend a meeting of the Military Council, it would be incinerated with the rest of his waste paper.
******
Central City,
Amestrian Military Central Command,
The Military Council,
Two Hours Later
The council room was rather dark excepting a few florescent lights that seemed to eerily provide enough light to read but not enough to vanquish the room’s innumerable shadows. It was sunny outside, but the curtains had been drawn. No one knew why exactly the President wanted such a bleak atmosphere, but it was in any case very appropriate. Just the other day, in the Southeastern city of Foča, a bombing in a crowded subway had resulted in the deaths of 34 people, 11 of them police and soldiers. Attacks elsewhere that day had killed an additional three military police officers and wounded several more. It had been a very bloody day.
The room was dominated by a heavy half circle oak table that dated back to the time of Führer King Bradley and the First Stratocracy. President Liscel sat at the very center of the table. To her left and right were seated the Amestrian Military’s highest ranking Generals. The table was covered with thick binders and countless reports, as well as a plate of cookies and several cups of hot Amestrian kluntjes sweetened black tea. Before them stood Lieutenant General Alfred Nivelle, Military Governor of the Southeastern Military Region.
“General Nivelle, the number of attacks in your Military Region has dramatically increased over the past three months,” Kasumi began. “That should not be happening. The number of attacks should be decreasing, not increasing.”
“Madam President, it seems a number of tactical mistakes were made and the forces deployed so far have been inadequate-”
“We are being buried beneath the inadequacies of your plan General Nivelle,” Liscel interrupted, not even bothering to look up from the document she was scanning.
Nivelle’s mouth snapped shut. She was obviously not interested in hearing anymore excuses.
“Madam President,” Romand politely interjected. “General Nivelle is not solely at fault for the failure of the ongoing suppression campaign. Military Intelligence, for instance, could have coordinated far better with the military and civil police. If you read our offices field reports you will find numerous examples of-”
“I have read the field reports General Romand. What successes have occurred have been almost entirely due to the efforts of your personnel, and while there is some room for improvement, overall MID has done very well. The fault lies not with the institutions themselves, the fault lies with the strategy and tactics presently adopted by those institutions by order of the Regional Commander.”
Her gaze again settled on Nivelle. Nivelle just looked at the floor, possibly hoping it would shallow him up. Kasumi continued.
“The number of troops shall be increased immediately, combat troops as well as Gendarmerie. Problem departments are to be subject to further movement restrictions and curfews. The amount and size of baggage allowed on public transport is to be reduced and the number of check points increased. There will be no more Foča’s and Stragari’s General Nivelle, is that clear.”
“Yes Madam President…” Nivelle answered meekly.
There was an uneasy silence. Full General Basque Gran cleared his throat.
“Madam President, in the event of another significant attack-”
“There won’t be,” Liscel replied.
“Ideally yes, but should there be-”
The President’s answer was quick and her tone harsh. She was no longer trying to hide her severe displeasure and spoke as if Nivelle had left the room. “Should there be one more bombing of this magnitude, just one more; the first thing I will do is telephone General Nivelle and ask for his resignation!”
Liscel’s outburst was met with nervous glances and uneasy murmurs. Alfred Nivelle turned white. Joliot Romand suppressed a smile. That another bombing on the scale of Foča would happen was almost a certainty.
The next hour was spent discussing details, logistics, and the construction of new security infrastructure. The Council wanted the President to push for changes in the Detention Law increasing the number of days the security services could hold a terrorism suspect without charges, but she refused.
“The Social Democrats will never agree to that, they’ve already swallowed everything their going to swallow, so it would just be a dangerous waste of time.”
When the Council’s meetings ended, General Romand, owing to his various disabilities, was always the last to leave. Kasumi was, as usual, second to last, she often had the most to pack and could not resist stuffing the left over tea cookies into her pockets for later. This time however there was a bit of intention. On the way out she handed Romand a small folded piece of paper. Once he was alone Romand unfolded it and read its contents. Scribbled in pencil was a single sentence.
I don’t want to know.
Smiling, Romand placed the scrap of paper on the saucer in front of him and incinerated it with his lighter.