NationStates Jolt Archive


Marxist Attack Das Furer (PG-13ish)

Das Furer
28-07-2004, 20:51
The mysterious man dressed in an old black military outfit gripped the wooden handle of his Kalisnikov as he walked down the dark streets of Stockingzail leading three others that had followed close behind him. The streets of the small town on the outskirts of Das Furer had usually been quiet and without many pedestrians. Gang life here in the Stockingzail was unheard of. Four men clad in old military garbs wielding assault rifles and SMG’s on the streets was very suspicious indeed, but if all had gone well tonight no one would figure out his intent in time to delay it.

One mile down the road the Stockingzail Polizekraft Office was quiet save for the three men and one woman who worked on reports that would be sent out to the district police office in the morning. It was supposed to be a typical night for officers. Sit around all night playing games of poker while waiting for calls of distress that never came. Satisfying the female cadets sexual urges in one of the several empty cells. Often times their boredom drove them to fall asleep on the job. But there would never be any representations for the lack of respect for the job. Stockingzail was a quiet farm town with a population of little over 2,104. Most of the men and women here had been retired or had worked on the farm their entire life. The only time the sirens of a police cruiser could ever be heard was when they wanted a doughnut. Tonight though, that was all going to change.

Officer Otur had been sitting back in his seat, a cup of cold coffee in one hand and a dart aimed at a nearby board in the other. His paperwork for the night had already been finished and sent to the shift commander. The rest of the night for Otur would probably entail exactly what he was doing right now and a little television.

“So do you know when you’re going to be sent to Belizein?” Cadet Vander asked his superior as he sat beside him and got himself involved in the game of darts. “Belizein is a big city. It will be a major change from Stockingzail. I heard that is where the communist that attacked Berlin earlier this week where in hiding.”

“Perhaps.” Otur said as he threw his final dart. “I would love to get my hands on those Marxist bastards. I beg for them to dare come out of their hiding hole and challenge real men. We will mow them down like grass. One more week, one more week and I shall see the bright lights of Belizein, and the Marxist shall see the bright light of my revolver before a bullet penetrates their skull.”

Vander laughed and went for another dart, but was distracted by a strange ringing sound. The door bell ringing at this hour was almost unheard of, and it took Vander a few extra seconds to recognize the sound. A rather large man with a pony tail, black sunglasses, a trench coat, and a black military uniform approached the front kiosk where Vander and Otur were stationed.

“Is he Gestapo?” Vander whispered to Otur. “In Stockingzail? I doubt it.” the Otur replied.

“How may I help you?” The police officer asked of the intimidating figure.

“Well it is quite simple police man.” The man said as he revealed his AK-47 that had been hidden under his coat.

“I want you to die.”

Before either of the two officers could react the terrorist had pulled the trigger of the assault rifle. The first bullet was aimed towards Otur and blew a hole straight through his head. The officer was dead before his blood soaked head hit the floor. Vander had reached for his side arm, but the bullet had already burst through his heart. Blood came up through his mouth and poured out through the wound. Vander desperetly reached for the alarm to alert all officers within the district, but the terrorist pulled out a large machete and sliced his hand off. Before he could scream out in pain the terrorist had put another bullet in his head.

The three men that had trailed the terrorist followed behind him, two of them carrying a large case marked “Danger: Explosive” and the other served as support. On the leader’s cue the terrorists with the bomb began their preparations while he took the remaining terrorist to hunt down the remaining officers. The two men found their targets within the shift commanders office, the young girl had been administering a sexual favor and both officers had been caught off guard. The leader took advantage and blew a hole through the neck of the commander’s throat. He would die by choking to death on his own blood. The young cadet struggled to find her side arm, but the lackey had grabbed a hold of her hair and slammed her face against the nearby desk. The terrorist leader took the saud-off shotgun from the hands of his partner and forced it into the mouth of the girl with a sadistic smile.

“Blow on this my dear.”

The girl attempted to scream, but the vile Marxist pulled the trigger scattering fragments of her skull and brains all over the room.

“I believe we have made a statement sir.” the lackey said as he took back his fire arm.

“Not yet Guri. The Red Guard still has one explosive hit for this quiet little town. Prepare the Jetta. Ikonovich, Wulfen, and I will be out shortly.”

The Marxist extremist did as he was told and prepared the getaway car. Twenty minutes later the terrorists had been long gone on there way to the neighboring nation of Uber 1337, and the police station plus it’s surroundings burned like a gigantic torch in the night.

(OOC: I hope the roleplay wasn't that bad for your eyes. This will be the start of what might turn into a civil war between the Marxist Political Party and the current Nationalist regime. W00t! Enjoy.)
Das Furer
28-07-2004, 22:14
Das Furer; Belizein

The large black prison bus had been exclusivly set aside for the four men involved in the Berlin fire earlier on in the month. Alek Verkinov, Dorian Kimmitz, and Josef Simon of the radical Red Guard Marxist militia had all been chained up and bound to secure restraints that held them in position. If their balls itched, they wouldn’t even be able to scratch them. Soon they would be executed in the heart of Das Furer for all to see. This was the price for terror.

The two Waffen that oversaw the transaction from Belizein Federal Prison to the Verlies des Todes in Berlin mocked the prisoners, even beat them with the butt of their rifle during the ride.

“You’re going to die very slowly for your crimes pigs!” The Waffen commander shouted at the terrorists.

The three men kept laughing which instigated the Waffen to beat them even more. If they only had any idea what lurked around the next corner. A man dressed in a camouflage jacket had been stationed around a sharp corner waiting for the bus to make it’s pass. He had previously set up dynamite around the curb that would create a natural blockade from the debris and the large trees that were around the corner. Standing next to him was partner Jolianko who had an RPG mounted over his shoulder and ready to fire.

“When we should kill one of them now.” a young Waffen hopeful said as he teased the prisoners with his PPK. “We can always say that he resisted and we had to neutralize him.”

“No.” The commander insisted, but before he could remove the weapon from the young soldier a blast suddenly rocked the area sending a large tree right in front of the convoy that had protected the bus. The lead police car had been crushed by the large tree killing the driver, and maiming the passenger. The bus was forced to slam on it’s breaks sending the standing Waffen soldiers all over. With all the chaos the PPK discharged sending a bullet through the commander’s hand. He moaned in pain as he hit the floor and his soldiers panicked.

“Perfect.” The bomber said as he dropped the remote that set off the explosion and replaced it with a M60 machine gun. Put a hole in that bus. I will take care of the rear cruiser.

The rocket launcher fired directly towards the stopped bus. The burning weapon of destruction pierced through the large hunk of metal penetrating the center of the vehicle. Meanwhile the attacker with the machine gun tore through the rear police cruiser killing both occupants, and reducing the car to a hunk of junk.

“Another rocket to the front.” he said as he dropped his M60 and took a MP5 out of his duffle bag. The insurgent put another rocket into the tube and took a second to make sure his aim was on target. The bus driver appeared to have been crippled due to the blast. In a few seconds his body would be scattered across the street. The man pulled the trigger and a second rocket slammed into the bus. The driver looked on in terror at the burning fireball that would be the last thing he saw before his remains were sent all over the bus and the road.

The two insurgents rushed down the hill they were hiding in both now armed with machine guns and made their way in through the gapping hole made by the rockets. As they had suspected the Waffen troops had been shocked by the blast. Three of the four men charged with guarding the prisoners had been mortally wounded, and would not last much longer. Feeling slightly merciful the insurgents ended all four of their lives quickly with a spray of gun fire. Taking the keys off the officer, the Marxist insurgents rushed to unchain their three comrades. Once they were free, they ran back up the hill to a jeep wrangler that had been waiting for them. The entire assault had taken only forty five seconds.
Das Furer
28-07-2004, 23:38
(If anyone wants to roleplay the Marxist radicals please TG me. I'd like to make this a bit more interactive and fun :)....oh...and bump)
Das Furer
31-07-2004, 00:41
--bump--