NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC:
This RP is between Zerfallen, Archaic Slang Words, and any allies of either whom decide to join.


IC:
It was a fine a day in the recently conquered nation of Archaic Slang Words. Zerfallen military police patrolled the streets, bidding the citizens a good day. Yes, the invasion had gone well, but problems still remained.

Meanwhile, in the Room of International Affairs, Zerfallen City, the honourable Dictator Moavin (known as "Charles" to his inner circle) was pointing out a militant threat.

"Yes, General Aspen, I am aware that there is a large concentration of weapons in the middle of the city, and I realize that it would be wise to destroy them, but right now, we need weapons. You should know, your military drained our budget on the first day of the invasion like they were fireworks or something. We currently lack the resources to take care of both us, and our occupied territories."

"Charles, er, sir, I know that the state of the budget is one of your main concerns, but we do have enough funding and resources to continue on like this."

"I'd like to see our budget a little more stable, we can't..."

"Sir, please! We have a vast surplus! We have never fallen into deficeit, and we actually know how to stay on top of military spending while delivering a full-on assault!"

"Mr. Aspen, please refrain from making more comments like that. It hasn't been told to you, but research and mass production of futuristic weapons has been planned for the very near future. We need all the funding we can get."

"So what do you propose?"

"Simple.."

The dictator gave a hand signal to a man in the corner of the room, and within seconds, the screen on the wall illuminated. Pictures popped up all over the huge screen.

"This is General Anthony Whitaker, a known militant in Archaic Slang Words. He has been living underground, plotting an attack against our occupational forces ever since day one of the invasion. A month ago, we thought we killed him in the first onslaught, but about a week or so ago, our troops saw him running around the marketplace in a small town near the area we first managed to penetrate. Ever since then, small uprisings have been happening all over the place."

"I see... I expect that you want the arrest of this General Whitaker?"

"Arrest? Hardly. I want him dead. Organize an assault team and a keep all of your men on the look out."

"... At once, sir. But may I ask you one question, sir?"

"Certainly, Mr. Aspen."

"Why did you hide the information of the new weapons development from me, sir?"

"It was critical that we kept closed tabs on the subject. You will, however, be informed of the projects after the threats are eliminated. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

The meeting was adjourned. Within days, security was tightened, and Gen. Whitaker was being gained on fast. Finally, after many soldiers were lost in minor skirmishes, the location of the general was discovered. From his underground room, he looked nervously at the makeshift blast door from where muffled gunfire could be heard. Suddenly, the inevitible was at hand.

The blast door gave away like it was a wet piece of tissue paper to the 50 caliber anti-material rifle. Whitaker collapsed to the ground, the right side of his chest and shoulder no longer there. In the final seconds of his life, he could hear distant shouting from his followers in the room. A nation would soon raise its fist in resistance against the forces of Zerfallen.

IC: Robert Steinhauser paced up and down the control room several hours after an assult team had cleared out the corridor. Whitaker lay dead on the floor, bleeding. According to doctrine, it was now Steinhauser's position to take up command of the insurrectionist militants. It was a good thing he was hiding in a nearby generator room which had been overlooked.

Steinhauser proceeded along the wreckage of the entire compound. He kicked aside a strewn arm casually, trying to drown out the ringing in his ears, proceeding over towards a side of the room. A desk, surrounded by cameras, rested in front of several tall banners proudly displaying the former ASW banner. A handgun faced forward, blurred by the crimson explosion and duefully accenting the wickedly grinning harlequin behind it. It was a proud banner, and spoke of an insurmountable will to conquer. Steinhauser sat on the desk. A note sat there, addressed from Whitaker to the other militant bases scattered across the arctic continent speaking of an aprubt seizure of the Parliamentary House in Viewpoint, planned 3 days from now. If the Zerfallen strike team had only come earlier, the message could have been addressed with the original general. Fortunately, it was five minutes from delivering time for the speech.

Shattered, Steinhauser proceeded to one of the camera's, switching it on, and starting the live feed to the other bases across ASW, sheltered underneath the cold, frozen dirt. Steinhauser proceeded in front of the camera.

"My comrades. I regret to inform you that General Whitaker has been killed. A Zerfallen strike team entered our base as of two hours ago, killing all of the gaurds and our proud leader. As of this moment, I will resume command according to the General's doctrine. From this moment on, I will lead the revolution against our oppressors. Before I continue, I ask for a moment of silence for our fallen General."

Steinhauser paused briefly, looking into the lens with a sullen glare. His stern and tired face only served to accent the bitterness of his message.

"Thank you. Whitaker intended to leave an address regarding the assault on the Parliamentary House stationed in what was once our proud capital, Viewpoint. I will now read it. All forces stationed in and around Viewpoint, this will be your directive. Follow it, and make our general proud.

"'Fellow soldiers, the time has come for a lethal blow against our oppressors. As many of you are aware, the newly installed Zerfallen government is yet unstable and has been having trouble forcing the insurrection and the civilians themselves underneath the thumb of oppression. This is an advantageous time for us. The government is occupied, and will be hard pressed to monitor our activity or this transmission, which promotes our chance to suprise them.

"'The structure we will be assaulting is the former Parliamentary House. Security around the House is tight. What served to incite harder security were several recent riots in the streets of Viewpoint by former government workers and menial laborers enraged at the new regime.

"'Outer security won't prove to be much of a problem. The entire compound is a relatively flat structure, maybe 2 stories tall, and covering a city block. Surrounding the area, we have numerous sky-scrapers. We will need to organize into teams to dispatch outside security. 4 teams of 3 snipers each will take up position around the complex, and will open fire on the gaurds surrounding the compound at 3:45 P.M., ASW Eastern Time.

"'The patrol routes at this exact time insure that the maximum possible amount of gaurds surrounding the complex will be caught in the crossfire. One sniper per team will be assigned to cover the primary entry way to the structure so as to prevent people from returning to cover.

"'Proceeding the initial sniper assault, we will land several of those newly acquired Commanche helicopters on the helipad and dispatch tac-teams numbers 1, 2, 3, and 4 into the compound. From the ground, a general barrier will be set up in the streets to eliminate all fleeing figures. This first seizure of our former capital should result in a boost of morale for our soldiers and civilians, and new sign-ups for the resistance. This is critical. Review this transmission for a rebriefing.'

"Those were the words of the former General Whitaker. Follow them, as my first order to all of you. I also request that a helicopter be flown in to retrieve me from this damnable bunker. There's no need for me to stay here any longer. Location codename is 'Orion'. Robert Steinhauser, over and out."

-

Several hours later, footsteps were heard behind a shattered blast door. Steinhauser's ears perked up. A handgun lay on the desk where he sat, and he picked it up. A voice called out his name, and he looked around the corner. An soldier stood there, sheathed in the snowy fatigues typical to the revolution.

"General! It's good I found you. We came from Viewpoint. We're going to relocate you there in 'Lupus' as your new command center. A helicopter is outside, waiting for us. Shall we?"

http://www.missingpersons-ireland.freepress-freespeech.com/rsteinhaus.jpg
Gen. Robert Steinhauser



-3 days later-

4 black vans rolled across the streets, their wheels spitting up bits of gravel strewn in the pavement. Several men were pelted with it as the vehicles spun around a curb. The Parliamentary House loomed up ahead. The vehicles split up, one heading in each compass direction, proceeding to surround the structure. The gaurds outside didn't seem to notice, nor care of this strange activity.

Several men, sheathed in suits and hauling thick briefcases proceeded into the structures. In the respective structures, elevators were being rode up the roofs. Several people exited out, and looked down at their structure. The time was 3:37. A click of briefcase latches echoed softly. Several figures removed MSG90A1 sniper rifles, and aimed down at the building. Over a walkie-talkie stationed on their belt, a voice read out the time.

Several minutes passed, and then the cue was hit: 3:45. In the bright afternoon glare, a single scope zoomed in on a gaurd walking towards the door. A crack of thunder split the silence, several pidgeons took off, and a spatter of blood hit the door as the man's hand lay limply on the knob.

On the lawn below, men were scattering trying to get behind cover. On the southern end, maybe 3 had started running towards the door. The number was quickly taken down to 2.

-

On the outskirts of the city, several old APC's mounted with M60's roared through the streets. They were maybe 3 blocks from the Parliamentary House when they slowed down and halted. The back opened, and from maybe 25 APC's, 6 men streamed out surrounding the general area. A blockade of roughly 150 men was being set up around the perimeter of the attack zone, roughly 3 blocks in distance. The sniper shots could be heard over the soft hum of the APC's engines.

"Man down! MEDIC!"

The remaining guards ran around, looking for cover, as sharp-sounding pops repeatedly went off around them.

"We need backup! N--"

Right before he was about to finish the sentence, a bullet took the guard's head clean off. The radio lay on the ground, calling out a final transmission, "Bravo one, bravo one, this is Overlord, backup is on the way. I repeat, backup is on the way."

The other guards ran about, taking cover behind thick walls, sculptures, and other structures, hoping to evade sniper fire. Two more guards fell almost instantly, forgetting that there was a tower behind them. Without delay, the other eighteen guards drew their assault pistols, shooting into every other window, hoping to get a hit on their assailants.

Another guard down.

"The flash came from that one!"

A gun barrel pulled back into the second-to-last left window of the two story marketplace building across the street, and fire rang out. A sniper rifle dropped from the building, and clattered on the pavement below.

Meanwhile, down the street, seventy-eight defensive troops of the Zerfallen Third Infantry, Glass Company were firing away at a mob of a hundred-twenty or so ASW revolutionaries, hoping to get hits. Not a single casualty had been made yet, but much fire had been exchanged.

There were several armoured transport vehicles with gunners firing away at the street, six of them to be exact, which presented a hazard to the Zerfallen troops. Then, all was silent.

Lieautenant R. Thompson peaked over the parapet he was hiding behind, and his head came off in a shrill scream of the machine guns. Pieces of skull and brain flew off at his comrades, and his neck spurted blood like a fountain. Once again, the troops took up firing.

A few of the ASW revolutionaries fell victim to the horrible 'pop' bullets, which were declared inhumane by international treaties, and they squirmed on the ground with gaping wounds in whichever part of their bodies. This was going to be a long, bloody battle.

The APC wall had driven slowly to the front of the infantry barricade, pushing up close like a looming beast wanting their foes' inevitable demise. The gunner's had pulled their heads down so their eyes barely peeked over the top and fired blindly wherever movement was. A 7.62 round pierced into a nearby car, causing it to erupt in a ball of flames, and several Zerfallen troops ran out, their clothes on fire. The gunner trained his fire, mowing down two running towards a nearby flea market.

Several cars lay overturned in the streets, and the infantry were using them as cover to fire on the new arrivals. One of them reached down to his belt-buckle, swapping out an M4 rifle for a home-made molotov on his belt and a lighter. His comrades ducked down and followed suite. As he lit the rag and put the bottle over his head, a sharp crack went out in the air, and several bullets shattered the cocktail, spattering six soldiers with volatile liquid.

The courtyard around the Parliamentary House had erupted into a tragic scene. Everyone on the lower level had turned up their handguns towards the rooftops, firing blindly into windows. One of the snipers, behind his scope, trained on one man, now missing a leg, crawling away into the bushes, trying to evade fire. He pressed down on the trigger, releasing a sharp crack and a single round forcing itself into his back, right between the shoulder blades. The men tried to get one last foot away from the fire, but collapsed, twitching. The scope turned as a bullet struck the sniper's arm. He dropped down, cursing as the round exploded in his arm, and he screamed. The northern tower snipers ducked down to tend to their comrade.

Up towards the northern barricade, several revolutionaries were pushing back maybe a group of 4 Zerfallen soldiers into a novelty shop. As the last Zerfallen troop disappeared behind the door and ran into the bowels of the shop, a few orders were given by the sergeant in charge of the ASW combatants. A team of 3 men ran around to the back, grabbing molotov cocktails from their belts and lighting them. The remaining 8 in front fired blindly into the shop from behind an APC. Within a few minutes, smoke was rising from the rear.

As the fighting raged in the streets, the whir of rotor blades could be heard softly at first. The sound grew in power, starting to overrun the sound of gunfire, and 4 Commanche helicopters were seen approaching low over the rooftops. A gunner sprayed rounds into the streets around several Zerfallen troops who had just gunned down a group of comrades. A rather large group of 22 had been caught in a crossfire by maybe 8 troops and were offed, never to fight for the brave cause of revolution.

As the chopper proceeded on, the Parliamentary House lay beneath the rapidly spinning blades. Men were firing at the rooftops and snipers were falling fast. Maybe 4 of 12 snipers were killed. Those snipers were soon to be replaced with 24 tactical assault troops to clean out the interior of the Parliamentary House. The first of the four helicopters began it's descend. As it neared the helipad on the roof, the gunner's head snapped back to the surprise of the men in tow. Blood spatted out the back of his head, slapping a new recruit square in the face. The head of the gunner lay back, snapped and staring at the crew with it's macabre gaze, serving as a grim totem. The recruit wiped the blood from his face, shaking. He questioned his ability to kill another human.

After what seemed like hours, the helicopter touched down, and the first tac team jumped out. The new recruitran up to the door and kicked it open, revealing a stairwell down. He ran in, training his M4 around the corner. Scared, the recruit kicked open the 2nd floor door. He put up his gun but was too late. A gaurd was running up and responded to the new threat with fire from his assault pistol. Fire tore up where the revolutionary stood and he collapsed in a torn up heap, filled with lead. The wall was dyed a thick crimson. Another revolutionary rounded the corner, and fired square into the gaurd's chest. A look of shock crossed the gaurd's face, and he felt the hole in his stomach where the bullet entered. A bit of blood was dribbling from his cheek, and he collapsed on the floor. A soft scarlet pool was staining the blue carpeting beneath him.

The guard emptied the seventeen-round clip from his rapid-fire assualt pistol, and loaded another one in, just in time to see a revolutionary turn into the doorway, unleashing the fury of a long-outdated, but still effective Sten gun. Oh, how those small rounds pierced his flesh, filling his innards with lead! The guard dropped to the ground, spewed blood from his mouth, and watched as the soldier grabbed his pistol, and went through his pack to collect anything else useful. Then all went black.

More soldiers poured into the room, stepping over their fallen comrade. The leader of the group now toted his shiny new pistol, with the lethal pop bullets filling its magazine. Another door. The leader kicked it down, instantly firing a bullet into the middle of yet another guard's face, sending his nose, various teeth, eyeballs, and lots of blood across the room. It truely was a good weapon.

In no time, the revolutionaries had taken over the building, arming themselves with the superior weapons of their enemy. The Zefallen TRF1 sturmgewehr had fallen into the enemy's hands, and its simple, yet effective, construction would prove to be a great tool to the revolutionaries. Nobody but the politicians remained when they had gotten to the centermost room.

Now, the entire defensive force of three-hundred and ten men had been decimated by a mere one-hundred-fifty or so geurillas. A camera and a small broadcasting station had been set up in the parliament's discussion room. A dozen men – Zerfallen military politicians – were all tied and gagged on top of the table, and in the background, the ASW flag was being raised once again.

Back in Zerfallen City, military television moniters were picking up the transmission. From the looks of it, they were still setting up, possibly for an announcement of victory. The thing that worried the administration now were the hostages on the table. A man with a Sten gun and a TRF-P9801 assault pistol rummaged through a briefcase they had brought with them, and pulled out some papers...

The figure with the briefcase, a Lieutenant Kipland Kinkel picked out a few papers. As he shuffled them into order and looked them over, his walkie-talkie went off. It was from the other teams, signifying that the four areas of the building had been secured. A gleeful smile spread across his face, and the camera captures the full view of his wicked grin. On a screen behind the camera, it mirrored his reflection. He looked down at the papers with a scornful gesture, and began to read.

"Politicians of Zerfallen, it is of the people's intent of ASW to hereby state that your reign ends now. Your brief period of terror and oppression, by far surpassing that of even ASW's most wicked, is, as of this moment, defunct. Upon the seizure of this building, we hereby issue these demands...

"One, that you remove all military and governmental personnel from this continent. Two, that you make no further move to hold ASW as any form of territory under the possession of Zerfallen. Three, that all damages, political, militarily, and civilian, be repaid for in due sums. Should these three simple, and, I'm sure that I speak on behalf of the whole revolution for this statement, low-costing and painless terms not be met, as the first act of revolution against your reign, we will demonstrate our power by overthrowing your grip on these proud cities one by one. And, as a gift of love and warning, we will send you back your politician's most important aspect: their heads.

"Now, I am sure that there won't be any questions regarding these terms. Should you try to rescue these men, it is needless to say that they have orders to be shot on first word of any form of action. As of this moment, this building is being placed on complete lock-down by the Archaic Slang Revolutionary Army. Death, blood, and honor! Tod, Blut, und Ehre!"

Kinkel raised his fist in the air, speaking the phrase with vigor, and everyone in the room followed suite, mimicking the cry that had originally brought the nation together during medieval times. Those three words made seemingly harmless men stop invasions in a fury of nationalism. Those three words were more uniting than the banner they fought under.

The private operating the camera switched it off and the screen went blank. The lieutenant reached for a combat knife on his boot, and pulled it out. The room went silent, and he walked over to where a politician was tied down. He had been, seemingly, in charge of the meetings and the organization at Viewpoint.

"If they try anything, I will personally have your head for dinner."

http://www.espada.eti.br/Images/diaries.jpg
Lt. Kipland Kinkel

The Zerfallen Committee of Leaders watched the broadcast, thinking over their next course of action.

"... We could always just send in some 'insurgents' to get the job done for us. You know, they don't even have to be military. Let's just pick some kids off the streets and drop them right into Viewpoint."

Charles Moavin turned around, and looked at his advisory council, "Are you suggesting that we rest the lives of our politicians in the hands of some rowdy teenagers?"

A rather old man answered, "I do believe that was what we said."

The dictator looked shocked, turned back around to the moniter, and spoke his decision: "I like the way you think. Mister Aspen, get some recruiters to go skewer the streets for some rather energetic youngsters with nothing to lose. We may need quite a few."

"Aye aye, sir. I shall issue the order immediately."

And he did.

The next day, in South ZC Public School 159, Alexander Dergrosse was in trouble. Naughty, naughty, lemon biscotti.

http://img57.photobucket.com/albums/v174/Hakenkreuz/grip1.jpg

"Alex."

Alex looked from waiting area along with several other kids with various cuts and bruises upon their faces. He continued sitting.

"Alex, to my office, now."

Alex got up, and walked slowly into the principal's office, kicking the door closed with his 20 holer Gripfasts.

When he entered the small room with the cluttered desk, he immediately noticed something unusual from has past visits: There were two men wearing class A Zerfallen military uniforms.

"Alright, I know that what I did was wrong, and I won't do it again. Good day, gentlemen." Alex stood up, and turned for the door. Then, one of the men spoke.

"Not so fast, Alex," he said in a sturdy voice, "We'd like to talk to you. Alone."

At that, the principal stood, and left the room. Alex turned back around, and asked the men, "Alright, what am I in trouble for now?"

The man responded, "Please sit down, Alex," and Alex sat.

"Now, as we realize, you are quite the rabble rouser... are you not?"

"Yes sir, I most certainly am. Now are you going to tell me why I'm in trouble, or just keep me waiting?"

One of the military men chuckled, "Trouble? Hardly. Did you start that fight today?"

"I most certainly did, my brother."

"Sent that student off to the hospital, did we?"

"I suppose I did, didn't I?"

"Well, how would you like to do that all you want... legally?"

The boy looked at the man with eyes wide open, "You're shitting me."

"I shit you not, my dear Alex."

"What's the catch?"

The military man stood up straight and cleared his throat.

"You will have to leave your home, city, and country to go to Archaic Slang Words. We will then drop you off in the outskirts of a target city, Viewpoint. From there, you shall join up with others who have volunteered for the exact same oppurtunity. We will issue small arms and other various weapons to you so you may wreck havoc to our enemies."

"Woah, you'll give me a gun?"

The man grinned. "You'll get more than just a gun."

A smirk spread across Alex's face.



Back at the capital, the honourable dictator Moavin was conversing with the representative of the ASRA...


"Mister Kinkel, I'm sure we can reach a better solution here, say maybe, oh, monetary reparations? A seat in the new government? Hmm?"

"Bull-shit, Charlie. I'm not going to betray my people one single fcukin' second. Besides, I look forward to my dinner," Lieutenant Kinkel said, licking his chops in anticipation, "So it's either you surrender now, or let me at those delicious brains, yes?"

"... I'll think about it, give us some time."

Kinkel looked at the beaurocrat tied down on a small wooden table in the center of the room. He was sharpening his combat knife on a stone, and was rather excited. Cruel and unusual? Hardly. Legal since the famine in his homeland? Entirely.

"I have a feeling we're going to get these assholes out of our city, gentlemen."

A man, bright red in the face, ran into the room. He was breathing heavily, and a look wired on his face from a purely ecstatic adrenaline rush lined his features.

"Lieutenant Kinkel, sir! I have good news!"

Kinkel turned around, cocking his head in the direction of the new arrival. He ordered for the equipment to be switched off.

"Since the liberation here, several coastal villages just south have had members signing up for the ASRA. Every man and woman able in the village to carry a weapon has joined. We've had a mass of people from Viewpoint jump sides, too.

"To top it off, not too far from those villages is a nearby manufacturing plant. It's disused, but it's still in working condition. The Zerfallen army shut it down after the occupational days. They're on a march there right now to reclaim it and start it's functioning again."

"Is this site gaurded by anyone?"

"Only a couple of crack troops. Estimates place them around 30 to 35, but there could be more. At least 160 were headed out to go and tackle the problem. We distributed some firearms and armor to them. If we get this, then we'll have a production line for heavy vehicles and aircraft. Not too far north from the facility is where the original Sterbenswort line was during the war. We recapture the line simply by moving in, and we have a barrier covering Viewpoint and our new villages from the northern half of the nation."

"Is the line gaurded, too?"

"Not that we know of. There are landmines in the area, though, which will prove difficult when we move in to reclaim it."

"And does General Steinhauser know of this?"

"Yes. He's authorized the whole operation."



-*14 miles south of Viewpoint*-



A mob was brewing. Several gunshops had been drained of their wares, and military assault rifles were being distributed. Men were outback in their yards, manufacturing grenades and bombs, and prepping for a march on the factory. 168 people were standing outside, all of them disgruntled with Zerfallen and losing their jobs at the nearby war factory.

http://usuarios.lycos.es/Blasesmalo/top-of-berts-head-in-mob.jpg

Within an hour, they had organized themselves into lines of young men and women, marching in synchronized steps eastward. Many were chanting their beloved salute, and raising their guns in the air in clenched fists.

Maybe a mile away from the city outskirts, the factory became visible over the flat, grassy, and disturbingly cold landscape. The march became more feverish. Every person in the line was bordering on the edge of a run. The factory grew in size until it was a mass of thick concrete walls and reinforced steel exhaust shafts spiraling out of the top, like a looming cathedral from another world.

http://www.the-hq.com/bilder/structures/usa/warfactory.gif

Two doors made of reinforced steel bore the banner of the former nation. Several people walked up, and forced against the doors. The hinges screeched wickedly under the strain, begging to be oiled. After a minute of pushing, the door was open enough for 5 people at a time to wander through.

Several men in uniform were walking on an overhead catwalk, bearing the Zerfallen garb. They looked down on the numerous civilians in the doorway, filtering through, holding rather brutal looking weaponry.

"Hey, you! Civilians!" he called out to them. "You know this area is offlimits! Get out of here before you're arrested!" The gaurd waited, and felt his confidence waning as more and more filtered through the door until half of the production floor was filled with people. He yelled the same command again, letting his voice trail off on the last syllables. Then, one of the civilians called out to the gaurds in the same pompous, voice.

"Hey, you. You know this area is ours. Get out of here before we kill you." Several clickings of safety latches was heard, and at least 30 rifles of varrying caliber and make pointed upwards to the gaurds on the catwalk. Someone else yelled out. "How many of you are in here?"

The guard looked down from the grating. "You think you scare me? Guess what? Fuck you!" The guard pointed his weapon down, and started firing. The shots were imediately returned with much more fire. The mob continued.

When they all got in, they were confused at what they saw. The entire factory was empty. Nothing but an idle assembly line and a stockpile of armoured vehicles. It them became apparent where the rest of the guards were.

The turret of a tank turned, and a voice rang out of a megaphone, "Foolish citizens of ASW! Feel the wrath of your conquerers and liberators!"

The machine guns started firing, and the tanks lugged themselves forward. The machine guns tore right through the crowd. There was nothing they could do as the steel bullets ripped through the frail human bodies. Tank treads crushed the dead, and the living ran. They ran all the way back to their homes.



Meanwhile, in the north of Viewpoint, a farmland, a helicopter touched down in a turnip field. Twelve men stepped out, two of them guards. About eighty others gathered towards the area. The helicopter boarded the two guards again, and took off.

A young man in an overcoat looked over at the new arrivals, "... Alex? Alex, is that you, you limey bastard?"

Alex looked up from where he was, and grinned. "Edward, you son of a bitch, come give an old friend a hand here."

Edward walked over and gave Alex a handshake, leading him out of the crowd to explain the situation.

"So we're here to go around, beating the shit out of people. Now how does that sound?"

"Were you in a fight at school as well?"

Edward smirked, "And just how did you know?"

Alex smiled.

Edward got the message, "You dirty little bastard, you too?"

"Yeah, I sent the little fucker off to the sick house, and I plan on doing the same to every stuck up shithead here."

The conversation continued, and a barn opened. A Zerfallen military man gave a quick signal to direct the thugs into the barn.

Maybe 60 or 70 of the original mob had made it out of the building alive. The inside of the structure hummed with the sounds of the old tank engines echoing in the warehouses. The factory wouldn't be reclaimed, but the abandoned Sterbenswort line was still vacant. Directing their marching northward, the beaten crowd of people moved on. One of the men suggested that the factory be destroyed. The wounded were left behind. Several of them walked over to a window level with the dirt, which led into the boiler room. They were to blow the factory.

-

Kinkel sat in a large chair, cutting his nails, his feet propped up on the table where the beaurocrat lay. As he did so, the same officer from maybe an hour earlier erupted into the room. This time, he was red in the face.

"Bad news, sir. The factory hasn't been reclaimed and roughly 100 died, but we've received news about the Sterbenswort line. One of our scout teams confirms the entire area is abandoned, and there isn't a city occupied by Zerfallen for at least 80 miles.

"There's also something that you might want to know about as well. Radar picked up a helicopter passing over here as of maybe 20 minutes ago, and then suddenly disappearing on the outskirts of our city. One of the citizens who saw this helicopter reported that it landed in a farmer's crop. It seemed to have been a neutral helicopter, but if it were, then there would have been a scheduled flight beforehand which we could pull up in the records. Every single civilian agency we could question, nationally and internationally, knows nothing of it. Orders?"

"Check it out. If it's impossible to recognize or with our enemy, destroy it. Destroy it, kill anyone near it, and get me the flight box. Oh, and cover it up. There's a good boy. Make sure we send out a rather nicely sized unit, too. When those damn helicopters do explode, we don't want any civilians seeing it go off."

Some ASRA soldiers broke open the door to the barn. Nothing. Dirt floor, some particle board, a carriage, and a loft full of hay.

"There's nothing here, either. Do a quick check anyway."

"Aye aye, sir."

Soldiers skewered the barn, shooting into piles of hay, breaking barrels open with shovels, turning the carriage over, smashing the particle board with their boots. An old farmer man heard the ruckus, and came to check it out.

"And just what in the blazes might you be doing to my barn?"

An officer turned, and fired a bullet straight into the farmer's shoulder, popping on impact. A bit of the collar bone broke off, and flew behind the farmer's ear, causing severe bleeding. His arm now hanging on by a thread and the garuntee that he would die within minutes, he collapsed to the ground. The officer holstered his pistol, and spoke.

"Come on, there's nothing here, let's check the house."


While this was happening, the ASRA's airforce had spotted the chopper they were looking for. An unmarked civilian aircraft painted olive drab.

"Unidentified aircraft, this is the Archaic Slang Words' civil airforce, command station Eagle's Nest. Make a landing at the hospital roof immediately."

The helicopter landed at the helipad, rotors powering down. Hundreds of military men flooded onto the roof. A man with a megaphone called out, "Open your side doors."

The side doors slid open, and many ASRA men flooded in.

"Civilians. Two passengers, two pilots. What are you doing here?", one of the men asked as the aircraft was being searched.

"We're just taking a joy ride, honestly."

"Joy ride, eh? Is this vehicle registered?"

"No, sir. We picked parts out of the dump to make it."

"You'd better get it registered. Carry on."

As they were leaving, one of the men took a look at the neck of one of the passengers. He then ripped the collar of the shirt away.

"What the hell? This asshole is wearing Zerfallen fatigues!"

Fire broke out, and in no time, the helicopter was riddled with bullet holes, leaving the occupants as a bloody pulp. The only one that was spared was the pilot.

"Now tell us, where were you heading to?"

The pilot looked menacingly up at his captors, and the spit in his interrogator's face. "Fuck you, you lousy rebel scum!"

At that, the interrogator let go of the pilot's collar, letting him fall to the roof of the building, followed by a rather powerful kick, sending him falling back, and off the edge of the hospital.

"Let's get back to base."


The report got back to Lt. Kinkel.

"Mr. Moavin, we have intercepted your troops' helicopter, and we have no idea what they were doing out there. Would you care to tell us?"

General Aspen came up to the phone. "What was the number of the aircraft?"

"No number. What the hell were you doing with an unregistered helicopter flying over our capital?"

"It was a patrol. Nothing more."

"A patrol, hmm? Why wouldn't your pilot 'fess up, then?"

"We're highly confidential. It was a patrol craft."

"I don't believe you, so I'm going to kill off one of your occupants here," Kinkel then pulls out a rather large bowie knife, "Good day, gentlemen."

The moniter went to static.

Kinkel glanced over at the prisoner, and flicked the knife across the bottom of his boot.

"You see, dear sir, back in the days of the famine, our nation had, literally, no choice but to start a human stock for feeding our masses. I think it is safe to say that nearly every man in this room has acquired a rather fine taste for human flesh. Rarely were we permitted to such a fine meal as a top-level beaurocrat, though. Alright, guys, what part do you want? I've already laid claims to his head."

Several people started fighting over various parts, while Kinkel placed his bowie knife against the back of the man's neck. He was shaking visibly.

"It won't be bad that, sir... that is, presuming I don't miss." A snicker rose up in the room, and everybody stilled up. "And now, we'll start with the legs. Who called them? Jones, Roberts, Fischer, and Chuck? Alright, here we go! Right leg, coming on up!"

Kinkel brought the bowie knife down to the top of the thigh, and slammed it in. Crimson blood spurted out over the knife, and the man screamed out. The fine serrated edges sawed back against the bunching muscles, tearing them apart fiber by fiber. A minute of tearing brought the knife into contact with the man's pelvic joint. He took the knife out, and started to work from the other side, cutting through more flesh back up towards the original incision. Eventually, all that let the man's leg hang into it's place was the single socket. Several men lined up behind the leg, and pulled hard, snapping the limb loose. Kinkel started to work on the other leg, eventually ripping that one loose from it's socket. Men rushed up to cauterize the wound so the man wouldn't die of blood loss... yet.

Kinkel looked at the man's face. It was flushed, bright red, and he was in tears and was screaming in pain. Kinkel slapped him, and yelled to shut up. Several of the soldiers were laughing while the men in the corner were debating over the choice cuts and how to prepare them.

"Five more minutes, and you won't have any arms... what amazes me is how you're still alive after all that pain. Oh well, shan't we see what else you're good for?" he inquired, plunging the sharpened knife right beneath the shoulder in his arm. He wrenched the blade through, and a soft splintering sound could be heard. He had hit the bone just right, and it had shattered in his arm. Sawing through the tissue, he disconnected another limb. Again, the men rushed up to cauterize it. Again, the grueling process was repeated with the other arm. Both were offered up to the men who had wanted it.

Kinkel wiped the knife off, and ordered several soldiers to turn the body over. The beaurocrat had passed out, and Kinkel didn't know if he had died yet. He didn't care. He pressed the blade up against the man's throat. He threw his weight back against the knife and it passed cleanly through the neck and out the other end. Kinkel began to saw upwards, severing the jugglar, voice box, and trachea. The head hung limply now from the back of the neck. A soldier walked up and offered a cleaver, which Kinkel took with glee, slamming it into the lifeless head's base, severing it from the body. He tossed down his knife, and gestured for the rest of his men waiting for their share to lay claim. Kinkel looked around, and hollered if there was a quartermaster or cook in the building.

No one responded, and to Kinkel's dismay, he decided to fully inform his negotiators that deals were off, and that his beaurocrats wouldn't see tomorrow.

A camera switched on.

"I figure you might care to dine with me via teleconference, Mr. Moavin. Tonight, we have your tyrannical pig."

-

Several soldiers on the roof of the nearby St. Robert's hospital were scrapping through the shot-up helicopter, searching for the flight recorder. A small orange box was withdrawan from the rear seat. Inside was the recording of all flight's that the craft had made. The box was handed off to the gaurds waiting at attention, and was ordered to be brought to Kinkel.

Dictator Charles Moavin sat at his table, watching the moniter contently, his dinner steaming on the table. Then, Lt. Kinkel rubbed his hands together as his chef put a platter down on the table.

"Ah, the feast has begun!", said Kinkel, as he removed the top of the platter, letting all of the steam out, "Mmm, smell that burn! You know, the human brain is quite delicious, as I am sure that you have never tried it before. Shall we begin?"

Moavin picked up his fork, and drove it into his steak. "C'est la guerre."

Just as he was about dig his fork into the cracked skull of his meal, the door burst open behind Kinkel.

"Why have you interupted my meal with the Honourable Dictator Moavin?"

"We've found the black box, sir. It's... orange."

"Well, we can't expect all of them to be black, now can we? Bring it here."

The private stepped over, giving the orange device to Kinkel.

"Now, let's see what we have here... How in the bloody hell does it work?"

Moavin beamed gleefully at the moniter. "Perhaps you should get some IT guys on that instead of having things shipped directly to you, yes?"

"Very funny, Charles. Here, take this to some engineers or something," the private took the orange box, and left the room.

"You do realize that you won't get anything from that box, even if you do manage to decipher it, right?"

"That is a risk I'm willing to take, my dear Charles."

The two men engaged in somewhat of a staring contest as they ate their meals, each trying to prove just how much nerve they had. By the time they had finished, Charles gulped down the last of his wine, and told his nemesis, "Trust me when I say this again, Kip: You will not gain anything from the information stored on that black box."

"I still don't believe you, you filthy swine."

"It's your loss."

The moniter went to static.


The next day, there were ninety-seven new kids on the streets of Viewpoint.

Kyle Cohen, an attorney, was walking down the street to his vehicle when he was pulled into an alleyway. He quickly found himself on the ground, a boot going back and forth into his gut. A chain then found his legs, causing him to scream out in agonizing pain. Then, they stopped. He looked over at the two black boots, shining with his blood.

"Get up," the man with the boots said.

Mr. Cohen didn't reply.

"GET UP."

He did not answer, once again. The man with the boots squated down and put a handgun to Kyle's head.

"Get the fuck up. Now."

Kyle, not knowing what was going on stared into the barrel of the gun. The man grasped the collar of his shirt, and jerked him into a standing position.

"You think you're funny? Huh? Well, do you?!"

The man delivered a sharp blow to the side of Mr. Cohen's face, causing him to snap towards the wall. Then, the other man spoke, "Hey, Alex, let me get at him."

Alex then said, "He's all yours, Ed."

Edward punched Mr.Cohen in the gut, making him spew up blood, then stomping on his knees, breaking his left leg.

"Alex, hand me your wallet."

Alex pulled out his wallet, and handed it over to Edward, who used the chain to choke Mr.Cohen. He lifted him up, and then told Alex, "I hold, you punch," to which Alex replied, "With pleasure."

The brutal youngster pulled a screwdriver from his pocket, and stabbed Mr.Cohen's right thigh, moving the implement around in the muscle.

"Hello, hello, hello, what's this?" Alex pulled the screwdriver out, a red stringy tissue extending from the limb to the device pulling it out. Alex took out a chain, wrapped it around the artery, and tugged it, spraying blood everywhere. Alex punched the man a couple more times, causing his purple face to spurt darkening blood. Alex took his chain, and lashed it into Mr.Cohen's arm. The chain ripped straight through the flesh, and dove half way through the muscle, resting on the bone and sinew, making Mr.Cohen faint.

Edward loosed the wallet chain, and Mr.Cohen dropped to the ground. "What do you say we do him in?"

"Might as well."

Alex and Edward proceeded to kick Mr.Cohen, until his face was an unrecognizable bloody mess when a constable saw them.

"Hey, you! Stop right there!"

Alex pulled out his TRF-P9801 magnum, and fired one bullet straight into the head of Mr. Cohen, the bullet exploding in his brain, making the skull crack and blood squirt out in a sickening manner. Edward stomped Mr. Cohen's face one last time, and they ran for their lives, the constable firing shots at them before they jumped over a wall. Seeing no point in chasing them, the constable looked at the body rested against the wall, giving it a kick.

Kinkel was pacing the halls of the Parliamentary House. Everything was being set up in order for Steinhauser's arrival that day in the new capital structure. No news had been relayed to Viewpoint yet as of the status on the Sterbenswort line,

Several engineers were walking around, and one of them brought in a sheet of paper. It was the data from the black... er, orange box.

[code:1:6276c3818e]DEPARTURE: Kalte Getränke Base, 10: 15 P.M., 4/28/04
ARRIVAL: Viewpoint City, ASW, 11:52 P.M., 4/28/04[/code:1:6276c3818e]

"That's it?" said Kinkel, looking up from the paper at the engineer. "That's all there was?"

"Everything else was erased, sir. Everything that we might have been able to use, anyways. We do know that the chopper touched down twice, once on it's own, and once when it was called down. It might be possible that they were dropping off soldiers or guerillas."

"Damnit, call up Moavin."

"Yessir..."

-

The former war factory beneath the Sterbenswort line lay peacefully in the dawning light. Above, in the main rooms, several gaurds were celebrating their great victory. Outside, another mob was brewing. One of the wounded left behind had phoned back to the village from a phone within the boiler room, and several men armed with chlorine gas canisters were on their way to eradicate the gaurds protecting the compound. The ventillation shafts were readilly accessible from the outside, and it would be maybe a five minutes before the weapons arrived.

One of the men in the lower boiler rooms stared through a dusty window, and saw the outline of two APC's driving over the ridge towards the factory. They continued to drive until maybe 20 yards away, and then stopped. Men stepped out, armed with AK's and began to remove gas canisters. Several hauled them over to a heading duct that was pumping air. The gaurd popped off the top of the first canister, and the gas slowly leaked out, unaffected through his gas mask, while the vents were sucking the gas into the factory's bowels. Several began to assist in the endeavor. All of them were sporting gas masks. Down in the boiler room, the gas started to permeate the room, and the wounded started gagging and choking, dying slowly from asphyxiation and poisoning.

-

Several miles north, the mobs were militarily equipped from old armour stocks and were carrying on a march to the Eastern end of the Sterbenswort line, towards the city Heiße Getränke.

http://www.707tkbn.org/battles/siegfried02.jpg

It was made as one of the starting points of Sterbenswort line because it was erected in the name of victims of a previous war involving the annexing of southern ASW, and that their names should be remembered for protecting the nation.

What had organized into a mini-unit was parading into the middle of the small city. A defensive battery of men watched the armed group marching into the streets. One of them raised their rifle, but their commander gently put his hand on his rifle, signaling to hold fire.