NationStates Jolt Archive

General Peter McCowan had just gotten home from the rigors of trying to gain the new leadership’s trust. He thought back to the way things had been before the socialists gained power. He remembered when the army had just been a small force of partisans, armed with a variety of outdated weapons. But now everything had changed. He had heard rumors that Gomorrah’s secret police, the CSP, had been abducting members of the old government and sending them to some type of containment camp. He was sure that this was only a rumor and that even if it were true that he surely was not important enough to be a target on the CSP’s hit list. As he began walking up the stairs of his two story farm house in the hills outside the capital.

Suddenly the windows of his house were shattered as men dressed in black battle dress stormed his house. General McCowan fell to the floor as shattered glass flew around him. After the glass had settled he raised his head and observed the intruders destroying the house that he had worked so hard to maintain. Just as he was about to protest one of the guards walked behind him and hit him in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle, knocking him unconscious.

When General McCowan came to he was lying inside a cramped cattle car. He looked around at the other people in his car, seeing no one he recognized he slowly and painfully stood up to look out one of the small slots in the car. As he looked through the slots he could only make out the blurs of trees, and houses along the tracks. Suddenly the train began slowing down. Once the train stopped the doors of the car were thrown open and three armed guards of the CSP stepped into the car and began shoving everyone able to walk out of the car and into the hard pavement. Those who weren’t able to walk were shot in the forehead. Peter McCowan and three others were forced to carry the bodies of the two people who the guards had shot out of the car, and they were then forced bury them.

After they had finished burying the dead, McCowan and the rest of the captives were forced to walk to a concentration camp that was over ten miles away. The captives were forced into a hurried pace, and anyone who fell behind was shot and thrown into the trees on either side of the road to the camp. One man, whom McCowan had recognized as the Duke of Northern Canan, had been abducted more than two weeks before him, tripped over a stone and landed face first in the dirt. Peter bent over to help him up, but before he could he was shoved away and the Duke was drug into the woods and was shot. Peter decided that he would not give the guards a reason to shoot him and walked towards the front.

Nearly two hours later they had reached the front gate of the camp and were being strip searched and sent through a series of health stations to make sure they were disease free. Once they passed the checks, they were given a uniform and were sent to several different housing compounds where they were to wait for their work assignments.

bump for your reading pleasures

last bump for the night

.:TAG:.

Tagified.

While it is good to see that the nation of Canan has made a transition towards socialism, we sincerely request that any political prisoners are granted an amnesty, otherwise it will be difficult for our nations to remain friendly.

Occ: these abductions of political prisoners are suposed to be somewhat secret. Unless you had spies or something in Canan you would be left in the dark about this. But.....

Ic: Your acusations of the government of Canan holding political prisoners in Canan are propasterous (sp?).

Gomorrah the Great
Intirim Primier of the United Socialist States of Canan

Tango Alpha Golf

Peter looked around his assigned housing complex. There were over two hundred cots crammed together in a room no larger than a school auditorium. There were many men, women, and even a few children lying in the cots, leaving only a few open. He would soon find out that he would not get a cot for himself; he would instead have to switch between sleeping on the floor, and on the cot.

The door suddenly opened and an officer of the CSP walked in with a clipboard. Following him were two guards, one holding a bucket full of pieces of paper. The other had both hands on his sub machine gun. All new prisoners come to the front of the room for job assignment, the officer yelled. The new prisoners began walking towards the front of the building, making a line the stretched to the other side of the building. Peter somehow managed to make it to the front of the line, and was the first to reach into the bucket. He reached in and pulled out a slip of paper with the word Construction on it. The officer then took Peter’s name and his work assignment and wrote them both on his clipboard. Peter then walked towards the back of the room, and the process continued on into the day, taking more than three hours to finish. Many of the people had drawn menial tasks such as digging holes, or chopping wood. Others drew tasks such as road construction, and track laying for the rail system. Peter decided that he was lucky to have drawn Construction, but he also began planning on escaping from the camp.

Occ: these abductions of political prisoners are suposed to be somewhat secret. Unless you had spies or something in Canan you would be left in the dark about this. But.....

Ic: Your acusations of the government of Canan holding political prisoners in Canan are propasterous (sp?).

Gomorrah the Great
Intirim Primier of the United Socialist States of Canan

OOC: In that case, it would have been better to mark the topic as "secret IC" so I could only comment on 'suspicious' activities.

the bump before the storm

The sun was barely over the top of the mountains when Peter McCowan was woken up by the blaring sound of a whistle. He had gone through this for almost two weeks and still has yet to get used to it. He slowly rolled off his cot, and almost stepped on a young woman that was lying on the floor trying to get a few more seconds of sleep before the guards came in. Peter then threw on his jacket and proceeded outside where he would join the construction crews. The major who over saw the daily routine of the camp, was a strong believer in working for your food, therefore the prisoners had to do two hours of work before they got their small breakfast of grits, cold toast, and a glass of water. Peter usually ate his grits and saved the toast so that he could eat it later when they got their morning break.

Peter and the rest of the prisoners assigned to construction duty had been building the major a three story mansion with all the comforts of home. After two weeks the twenty-five man crew had gotten the frame built and had just begun laying shingles on the roof. It was an extremely hot day and they guards had mercifully set a bucket of water on the roof to be passed around at their break. The men worked on the shingles until 10 AM which was when they normally got their break. Instead when ten o’clock came, and the workers began stopping work the guards began yelling at them to get back to work before they were shot. Peter and a few others immediately began working again, but most of the prisoners did not. They began yelling at the guards, who in turn yelled back. As the arguments became heated one prisoner rushed an unsuspecting guard, knocking him off the roof and onto the ground, breaking his neck. The other guards wasted little time and shot the man, but as they did this the rest of the protesting prisoners began rushing the guards. Peter saw his opportunity and rushed a guard from behind knocking him down. Peter and the guard wrestled for a few minutes until Peter grabbed a nail from one of the boxes of nails and slammed it into the guard’s right eye. The guard screamed and Peter grabbed his gun. Then he slid down one of the ladders and ran towards the gate. But before Peter could reach the gate he felt something tear through his left calf and he went tumbling to the ground where he lay until he was dragged away by two guards.

An hour later at the Cremlin in Cairo, an aid rushed to Gomorrah and gave him a slip of paper that read:

Prisoner uprising in Camp Summer, no help necessary prisoners brought under control; need to know what to do with them. Major Henry Taliq.

Gomorrah thought for a minute and wrote on another piece of paper:

Major Taliq,
Take them to the forests and begin phase three. I know that this is earlier than we would have liked, but I am sure we can find other prisoners to build our road and rail systems.

Sincerely,
Gomorrah the Great
Premier of the United Socialist States
of Canan

Later that same day Peter and forty-nine other prisoners were lined up along a ditch in the woods outside the camp. Each one was blindfolded and had their hands tied behind their backs. Peter knew what was coming next. He was hoping that he would be wrong, that they would just get one hundred lashings. He hoped this until he heard the major yell Ready, Peter still hoped that it would not really happen, he hoped that this was just something to scare them. Aim, the little hope that Peter was holding was begging to fade, but he still hoped it was just to scare him. Fire, the sounds of sub machine guns being fired echoed through the forest as the bodies of the fifty men shook as bullets tore through their flesh. After about a minute of firing the guards began walking along the ditch to see if anyone was still alive. Peter had been shot through the arm, stomach and chest by at least five rounds, but he was still barely alive. His breathing was loud and raspy as a guard walked to where he was lying. We have a live one, he yelled. Well don’t just stand there, you know what to do, another yelled back. Peter began saying the Lord’s Prayer as he heard the familiar sound of a gun being cocked. He only got halfway through the prayer before his body was riddled with a barrage of more bullets.

OOC: Question: Are your defences capable of taking down a hypersonic, ultra-high altitude spy plane? I wouldn't think so, since you wouldn't want attention drawn to the camp... but if you do, please notify me so that I can change my plans accordingly.

No, they have a few anti aircraft installations, but all they basically are are WWII era Flak Cannons that have been camoflaged. There are also some rapid fire anti air that are mobile, but there isnt nothing cabable of taking down your plane.

A UB-26 hypersonic spy aircraft screamed above the camp, making as much noise as humanly possible. Of course, the pilots didn't want to do that and they would probably get slapped for doing so as soon as they got back to the airbase. Sometimes, though, a blessing in disguise can poke through a veil of mistake. The Intel Officer aboard the aircraft managed to take a few shots of the camp, with key defences and boundries. As soon as the pictures were beamed up to a sattelite, the pilot finally lost the failing engines and crashed into the forest, about twenty miles out.

What is that? One guard asked as he was lining up another group of prisoners for execution.

It looks like a jet, but its coming in really low. Think its one of ours? The guard next to him replied.

I don't know, but it looks like it is coming right at us! Another guard answered.

The jet fell from the sky, heading for the group from the concentration camp. The tops of trees were being sheared off as the plane continued to fall towards the group. Peices of the plane were falling from the sky, and when the plane looked as though it would land right in the middle of the group the guards scattered, leaving the helpless prisoners with their hands tied and blindfolded.

The plane, miraculously flew over the prisoners, but falling debris did not. Three prisoners were killed by debris as the plane landed about two hundred feet away. The guards, seeing that the coast was clear raced towards the downed jet, while the sounds of trucks from the camp neared the crash site.


Occ: Did the pilot get out, or was he a casualty, also was their any insignia on the plane or pilot that would tell what nation he was from?

Ooc: Did the pilot get out, or was he a casualty, also was their any insignia on the plane or pilot that would tell what nation he was from?

OOC: The BIA (Burnsian Intelligence Agency) makes a point of not having any insignia of Burnsian origin on its spy aircraft, however, most pilots in the 212nd (the U-26 squadron) sneak a picture of the Queen in a locket past. Also, there were two people in the aircraft, a pilot and an intel officer. They can be dead or alive, your call. But we're coming for them and the plane. Guaranteed.

The Cremlin, Cairo, Canan

Gomorrah looks around the table at some of his most trusted military officers. Noticing that no one has spoken in almost three minutes Gomorrah begins to speak, Gentlemen, what have we learned about the plane that crashed outside Camp Summer? He looks around the room, but no one says anything. Well, answer me you ignorant fools! A high ranking general opens up a folder and pulls out a peice of paper from inside. Putting on his reading glasses he begins reading the note:

From: Camp Summer
To: General Walter Krugar

General Krugar, the search parties have found two bodies inside the cockpit of the airplane, both dead. We have began clearing all the debris from the crash site, we estimate that it should take two to three days to find all of the large peices, the smaller peices should be found within a month. We have men searching in a ten mile radius, but we may have to widen it some.

We have found no markings that would tell us of the origins of the plane, but we did find a locket on both the pilots with the picture of a woman on it. We have sent these lockets with this letter.

Also, you may tell Premier Gomorrah, that the executions are still taking place and we should be done by noon tomorrow if we continue through the night.

Sincerely,
Major Henry Taliq
C.O. of Camp Summer

After General Krugar finished reading the message, he gives it to Gomorrah to read, and then pulls out the two lockets. Sir, he begins, intellegence states that the pictures inside these two lockets are of the Queen of The Burnsian Dessert.

Gomorrah's eyes light up, So, are you saying that this plane belongs to them?

Yes sir, it is the only intellegence we have so far. General Kruger answers.

Very good, keep the news of the wreckage a secret, and send another division to help with the clean up of the wreckage, I want that plane out of there as soon as possible. Also, once the wreckage has been cleaned, have the men set fire to it. We do not want news of the camp to get out.

The men in the room begin to shuffle out of the room, while Gomorrah ponders over what the plane's crew had seen.

Nighttime, at thirty thousand feet, twelve miles from the Camp Summer crash site,

"One minute!" yelled Master Sargeant Greg Fishe't to his squad.

"ONE MINUTE!" screamed back his squad, with gusto.

As the V-29X Osprey neared the crash area, the pilots began blasting rock music over the aircraft's abnomally large subwoofers. The pilots began slowing down and tilting the twin Allison engines skyward, for a hovering deployment. As always, there were no markings on the aircraft or the soldiers.

Several soldiers jumped out and covered the area with IR scanners and M-240B machineguns. Others began attaching C-4 to the plane and hoisting the bodies back to the aircraft.

bump

Occ: Its kinda nieve to think that I would leave the crash unguarded. But Ill go with it anyway.

Ic: Hey, you hear that? It sounds like a chopper, a guard asked another guard next to him.

Yeah, I hear that too, but you hear that, it sounds like there is someone playing music. You call it in and I'll go check it out, the other guard answered.

As the guard got on the radio in his Humvee, the other began walking back towards the crash site. As he got nearer he saw several silouhettes taking the two bodies out of the plane, cutting and bending the mangled metal to get to them. Others were running around placing machine guns on the ground, as well as other, unrecognizable items. The guard slowly reached for his radio and whipered into it, This is Private Dexter, we got apparrent hostiles at the crash site, requesting immeadiate backup, over. The radio cackled for a while before a someone on the other endreplied, [i]Private, hold your position, reinforcements on on their way. Until then shut off your radio and stay quiet. The private turned off his radio and began watching the invaders.

Low Officer Frank Polzowichz scanned the area with his IR goggles. Upon looking at a good 500 feet of brush and trees, he came across a figure, prone on the ground. Hastily, he turned to MSgt.Fishe't.

"Sir! Hostile, prone on the ground, about 200 feet out!" he yelled, waving at the sargeant for his attention. "He's not ours!"

Fishe't was just setting up the last charge on the fuel tank when he heard the low officer shout. Annoyed at his incompetence to assess the situation, Fishe't turned and yelled,

"Well don't just stand there like a gaping idiot! Shoot the S.O.B. and get done with it!"

"Yes sir!"

Polzowichz turned and aimed through his OICW's scope, catching Private Dexter between the eyes. This would be Polzowhicz's first combat kill. Smiling, he zoomed in all the way and squeezed the trigger, listening as the scream pierced the night air, over the blasting music.

OOC: I don't think those troops could've gotten there with the IR scanners in place, at least without the special ops team knowing.

Occ: alright, just for reference, how many men do you have on the ground?

OOC: A standard squad of twelve.

Three humvees pulled within one hundred yards of the crash site carrying a squad of twelve soldiers. As they began disembarking the vehicles, a private was shot in the head. Immediately the rest of the squad opened fire, while trying to find cover. Another man was shot through the heart. Sergeant Julius Graves dove behind a large tree for shelter. Looking around he noticed a clump of bushes beginning to move. He raised his rifle and took aim at the bushes and squeezed the trigger. He continued firing into the bushes for almost thirty seconds. The remaining soldiers were firing blindly into the darkness. Another soldier kneeling on one knee firing was shot through the throat. Sergeant Graves reached for his radio and began talking into it, This is Alpha squad, we are under attack and need immediate reinforcement. There are multiple snipers and we cannot get a lock on them. Before he could wait for an answer a bullet tore through his chest and lodged itself in his lungs.

"That's it! The charges are set! Everyone, in the Osprey! NOW! MOVE!" screamed Fishe't.

Several bushes and eight men scrambled up the ladder to the hovering aircraft. After laying down extended covering fire, the sargeant pulled the trigger of his remote detonater. Several explosions shook the ground and destroyed the U-26. Suddenly, a drift of air blewthe Osprey off course, causing a trroper to lurch forward and drop his wallet onto the ground a hundred feet below.

"Get out of here!" yelled Fishe't as he walked toward the cabin. A pilot gave him the thumbs-up sign, and they were off. Dead U-26 pilots and all.

Occ: I take it the other four soldiers were shot?

Ic: The remaining seven members of Alpha squad continued firing until they saw the Osprey begin leave the area. Suddenly a large explosion knocked the two soldiers closest to the crash on their backs. Debris flew into the air falling all around the squad.

After the dust and debris settled, the seven soldiers began moving in on the crash site, only to find a crater where the plane once was.

(OOC: I said several bushes as in the snipers, and eight men.)

Occ: sorry read it wrong.

Ic: An aid ran into Gomorrah's office, Sir, the plane has been blown up.

WHAT! Gomorrah yelled. Standing up he walked to the window and looked outside at the street below. Begin searching for any large parts of the plane. We must know where it came from.

Sir, a search has already begun at the crash site and they have found a wallet. It should be here by tomorrow morning. The aid said.

Very good, schedule a meeting with the military advisors at noon, we will get to the bottom of this one way or another.

Yes sir, the aid replied and walked out of the room.

-Will have to pick this up tommorrow, I am having trouble making good posts-

OOC: ok

OCC:Finally a half decent peice to this rp.


Secret IC: Four men sat around a small circular table in the middle of the small, stuffy conference room. There were no windows in the room, only a small box fan that was turned on high but did little to cool the room. The four men sat around a table that looked like it had been through two wars, and their chairs were held together with various pieces of rope and fishing string. Each man was in a different type of military uniform. The Army, Navy, Air Force, and the CSP each had a representative sitting in the room, waiting for the meeting to begin. One chair was remained empty. In this chair usually sat Gomorrah the Great, leader of Canan, but he had not entered the room yet.

It was already two in the afternoon and the meeting should have started an hour ago. The men were used to waiting for long periods of time, but they had never waited this long for their leader. On the other side of the door into the room stood Gomorrah, contemplating what to say; his heart was torn. During this meeting he would make one of the biggest decisions he has ever made. He had been standing outside the door for forty-five minutes, two armed guards at his sides, thinking very deeply on the subject at hand. What if I make the wrong choice and send thousands of my people to their deaths in a meaningless war? What if I do nothing and the nations of the world see me to be weak? Gomorrah contemplated this for ten more minutes before walking into the room.

The men inside the room stand and salute Gomorrah, who in return salutes back. After Gomorrah sat in his chair the four others sat down and stared at him, waiting for him to speak.

Gentlemen, you have been called here today to tell me exactly what you believe we should do about the crisis at hand. As you all know, the jet that crashed twenty miles outside of Camp Summer is believed to be a high altitude surveillance aircraft, which is believed to have come from a nation called, The Burnsian Desert. You also know that the crash site was attacked last night by a highly trained squad of men who are also believed to be of Burnsian origin. The squad was apparently dropped in by some type of rotary aircraft to recover the crew of the plane and destroy the crash site. However in their attempts members of the squad killed five of our soldiers who were responding to a report of the sounds of music coming from the crash site. Late last night, a wallet was found close to the crash site, and from the contents of the wallet we have confirmed that the attack was by the Burnsian military.

I have been contemplating on what I should do in response to this attack on our armed forces, but I have not been able to decide what I should do. Again this is why you have been called here today. I need your assistance, now more that ever before.

The four men sat in silence until the representative from the Air Force spoke up, Premier, we should attack them at once, it is the only way to receive justice for their spying and trespassing. I suggest that we begin an air campaign at once, before we are thought to be weak and they invade our lands.

That is preposterous! the representative from the Navy yelled. The Burnsian Desert’s military is far more numerous than our forces. There is no way we could land and sustain an invasion of their homelands. Also they have allies, many of them, and if we invaded them they would swarm on us like locusts on a wheat field. Instead, we should send them a letter, demanding them to pay reparations to the families of the men they killed and wounded.

I agree with my comrade from the navy, The Army representative said. We do not have the forces to invade their homeland. And the only thing that would let us save face in this situation is to demand that they pay reparations to the soldiers killed in action. However, we should also include in the letter that if any Burnsian citizen were to be found in our country, that they would be jailed immediately.

Gomorrah looked at the table, and noticed that the officer from the CSP had not spoken yet. Curious to what he would say he asked, Why so quiet comrade, surely the CSP has some insight to what we should do.

The CSP representative turned his head to look at Gomorrah and replied, As you know Premier, the CSP lives to serve and protect you and the people of Canan, and what I have planned will likely put the lives of our people at risk. Gomorrah and the other representatives stare at the CSP representative eagerly, waiting to hear what he has to say.

Go on comrade, Gomorrah urges him.

I believe we should incite a coup in The Burnsian Desert. It has been known to be a somewhat hostile place, and if successful we could insert a more Canan friendly government. This is very risky though, and if we are found out, our nation will more than likely become the target of many nations. Thus putting you and the citizens of Canan at risk.

Gomorrah lowers his head, resting it in his hands. How could it have come to this? he thought to himself. Slowly he raised his head and looked into the eyes of every one of the four men sitting before him. Having decided on what he would do he began to speak;

We will do this; first we will send them a letter, demanding them to pay the sum of two hundred thousand Canan credits to the families of the men they killed, we will also explain that any Burnsian Desert citizen that is on Canan soil must leave within a week’s time or face prison. If they do not comply then we will go with our comrade from the CSP’s plan. Are there any objections?

Gomorrah looked around the table for any sign of objection, and once he saw there were none, Then we are finished here comrades. Have a good day.

Gomorrah stood up and walked out the door, and while walking through the halls back to his chambers he thought to himself, Please God, let them pay the money.


To:The Burnsian Desert Leader(s)

You have been discovered. Your operations over and on our soil have left us with a bad taste in our mouth, and we demand that you pay the sum of two hundred thousand Canan credits to the four families of the men your soldiers killed. Also, all citizens of your nation have one week to leave Canan or they will face jail time. We hope that you can comply to these terms so that our two nations may have friendly relations sometime in the future.

Sincerely,
Gomorrah the Great,
Premier of the United Socialist States of Canan.

bumping

OOC: *face brightens* You did your homework! Thank you. :)
If you are planning a coup, just don't kill the Queen. She's only a kid.
IC:

In the center of a mountain, deep under tons of snow, soil and rock, lies a sprawling bunker of Cold War proportions. In it, some of the most intelligent and secretive people in the world construct the downfall of nations, the rise of power in the world, the denial of atrocities, and the deaths of millions. This is the Burnsian High Military Counsil bunker. It was constructed of several grades of tempered steel, twenty-eight feet of reinforced, high-grade concrete on all sides, and a series of eight-foot-thick, sealed steel doors that could withstand a 500 KT nuclear blast.

However, the fate of the world rested in one, oak paneled, soundproof room in the heart of the bunker. Here, the Queen consulted her Scholars about what to do with the world. Today's subject was a fiesty and well-read country called Canan, who they had inserted a special operations team into a day earlier.

As Her Highness entered the room, she was greeted by snaps of attention and salutes. Queen Rachel rolled her eyes, but inside she respected the men and women who helped her every day.

"Seats!" she barked. Every member of the Council sat down quietly and stared straight in front of them, hands on their knees.

"At ease," said the Queen, and all the assembled relaxed and did final adjustments to the screens in front of them. "Now, what is wrong with the world today?"

General Silvia Katrina, a young Russian woman who was a veteran of past wars, stood up and acknowledged the Queen.

"Your Highness," she began, "Our team that was inserted into Canan was successful in recovering the personnell and destroying the aircraft in question."

The Queen tensed, for she knew what was coming next. The body count.

"As for the number of casualties, one of our men won't be walking real well for a while, but he'll recover," stated Katrina.

"And of the officers on the spy plane?" asked Rachel, nervous.

"Dead, my Queen."

"Oh, no..." sighed Queen Rachel. She hated when poor soldiers were killed.

"As for the Cananites, they sent us a message stating that they knew we were there. Would you like to see it?" asked General Katrina, offering a data stick.

"No, that's quite alright. I already read it."

"Then you know they found out? And they want money?"

"Yes. Deny it."

"Yes, my Queen. I'll get PR right on it."

Then, the economic scholar, Gandet Foala't, stood up.

"Your Highness, stock prices dropped a point and a half today, I suggest..."

---------------------------------------

To: Cananite Government
From: The Burnsian Desert Military

We are shocked and angered by this accusation of incursion onto your soil. Any attempt to attack a citizen of The Burnsian Desert will be met with force. As for the money, we will not pay you for military personnel we did not kill. Good day.

Gomorrah re-read the letter from the Queen of The Burnsian Desert, hoping that he had missread it, but his hopes were crushed as he read it. So it seems that I must do what I wish I didn't, he thought to himself. He picked up his telephone and dialed the number of the CSP officer from the meeting.

Hello? The officer answered.

Do what you must, Gomorrah said, and then quickly hung up the phone. He then walked over to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of whiskey, he did not want to be able to remember this night.

I'm turning in, g'night...

Occ: I know I already asked you this but just in case you read this first: Do you have AIM or MSN? There are some things I need to know so I can make this sound half realistic.

occ: This should effectively end this RP, unless you have some other idea for where the RP should go.


Gomorrah sat behind his desk thinking, still reading over the letter. There was still not enough intelligence from The Burnsian Desert to insert Special Forces and begin a coup. He could still stop blood from being shed in The Burnsian Desert. What has happened to me? he though to himself. Before I came to power I would have not hesitated to begin a coup to overthrow another’s regime. But now, now my soul feels as if it were being pulled in two different directions. Could it be my conscience? The thing that had hindered me so much in the past when I was not Gomorrah the Great, but Michael Long. A large oak grandfather clock began to ring out a beautiful melody. Gomorrah looked at the clock for a moment, staring into the golden hands and numbers against the burgundy of the fabric of the face. Seeing it was late he decided to lie down on a small sofa and take a nap. He hadn’t been home and in his own bed for almost a week.

Gomorrah began shutting off the lights in office, leaving a small lamp on, so he could see where he was going. He walked to the sofa and slowly lowered himself into it. Not being able to fall asleep immediately he stared at the ceiling, thinking about what he should do. As his eyelids began to lower and the room began to darken Gomorrah finally succumbed to his body’s tiredness and fell asleep.

As he lay sleeping Gomorrah began hearing voices. Michael, can you hear me Michael? He opened his eyes only to find that he was not in his office, but instead he was standing in a large grassy field. Where am I? What is this place? he yelled. There was no answer. Answer me! Do you not realize who I am? I am Gomorrah the Great, leader of the United Socialist States of Canan. Now answer me.

Suddenly a man appeared from behind Gomorrah and walked towards him, resting his hand on his shoulder when he reached him. You are where you want to be Michael.

Gomorrah turned around and responded Michael, humph. I have not been Michael since my father died at the hands of the ex-King. As Gomorrah fully turned around and saw the man behind him his eyes grew wide and he took two steps back. Father? But, but you died. I saw it with my own eyes. Am I…am I dead?

Hm hm hm, his father chuckled, of course your not dead son. You are merely in a state of sleep.

So this is a dream? Gomorrah asked.

Oh heavens no, my son. his father responded, This is all very much real. I have come to you in your sleep because it is the only time I am able to reach you. I have come to you tonight with a message. You are making a very grave mistake my son, and if you continue on this path you will know of nothing but war and death. All of your loved ones will die before your eyes and you will become a shell of the man you were before your heart blackened.

But father, I..

Silence! his father yelled. I do not want to hear any of your excuses. The King was a good man. He cared for his people. You only care for yourself.

I care for my people as well father, and the King was never a good man, he never was half the man I am. Gomorrah snapped back, obviously angered by his father’s words.

You are a liar. If you cared for your people you would have elections, to let the people vote on who they want to see in office. If you cared for the people you would not have killed so many of them at your death camp. If you cared for your people you would step down from office and allow a REAL leader to take power. One who was not so infatuated with his own power that he would mistake his mind’s tricks for his soul. If you ever really want to be a quarter of the man the King was, you will relinquish your power and allow open elections do you hear me. Gomorrah stared at his father, fists and teeth clenched together, tears running down his face. His hole body was shaking from the anger he felt. His legs began to quiver and collapsed under his weight, sending into a large hole.

Gomorrah sat straight up, sweat soaked through his shirt, his hair matted against his forehead. It was just a dream, he though to himself. But what if what father said were true. Am I really a bad leader? Could I really be that naive? He stood up, his father’s words still stinging his ears. As he walked towards his desk he wrote two letters. One to the Queen of The Burnsian Desert, the other to the people of Canan.


To Queen Racheal Romalia of The Burnsian Desert:

I send my deepest sympathies to the families of the two deceased pilots that crash landed on our soil. Although you will not acknowledge this, I know that you must feel the same for the soldiers that had been killed during the skirmish that took place during your recovery efforts. I plead to you that you do not allow these actions to hinder and future efforts of friendship between our two nations.

Sincerely,
Michael Long
Michael Long
Acting Premier of the United Socialist States of Canan


To the people of Canan, I have decided that I will step down from public office and allow for an open election to be held. You all have my word that the elections will be fair and you also have my word that I will not be running for any office. I hope that the ensuing years shall be prosperous in Canan.

Sincerely,
Michael Long
Michael Long
Formerly known as Gomorrah the Great.

A white sheet lay on the floor just beneath the kneeling Michael Long, or as he was formally known as, Gomorrah. He had put his affairs in order and he was ready to do what he had to do for the good of the people. A dagger lay on the floor in front of him. Its blade shining in the light of the room, it handle made of a deer antler was slightly curved to make it appear more ceremonial. Michael picked the dagger up and ran his finger along the edge of the blade very lightly. The blade had made a somewhat deep cut in his finger and it began to bleed. He had made sure to leave instructions on how to run the elections once he was gone. His letters he had sent out the night before. His letter to the people of Canan was schedualed to be read on the evening news in five minutes. Michael knew that if he was going to go through with this he would have to do it now.

Michael grabbed the handle with both hands and raised it above his head with the blade pointing towards the floor. I have failed you father, and now I must pay for my sins in the depths of hell for eternity. With a loud scream Michael thrust the dagger into his stomach, making a sickening ripping sound while entering. His eyes widened and he fell onto the sheet so that the dagger thrust itself deeper into Michael's body. He began coughing up blood and every thing began to dim. Suddenly all the pain had disappeared and he could not hear anything. All he could do was watch as his secretary ran into the room to see where the scream had come from. His vision little more than a blur now, he could make out two pairs of standard issue military boots, they were his guard detail. His breathing was becoming very harsh and his breaths came in short bursts, until finally almost three minutes after he had imbedded the dagger into his stomach, he took his final breath, with his eyes glassed over, and his mouth shapped into a small grin, he could finally be in peace.