NationStates Jolt Archive

Between the black and white
Between what's wrong and what's right
It's where i feel myself fall upon
Between you and me
Between what's caged and what's free
And i found where i belong...


Fritz Viechal, Fuhrer of the Witzgallian Dictatorship and Empire, sat at his desk. He was alone, staring out of the large tainted glass window that rests behind his desk. He stared at the snow falling in a small flurry, not sticking to the ground. He marveled at the beauty of nature and its creations.

Field Marshal John Pimmlot, Commander of the Department of Military Intelligence, walked into the Fuhrer's office silently. The only noise came from the door shutting behind him.

"Sir?" said Pimmlot as he slowly walked towards the Fuhrer's desk.

The Fuhrer spun his chair around and stared into Pimmlot's eyes. He looked at the man's black beard and his military uniform, complete with two POW tags on his right arm and a Wounded Eagle on his left shoulder.

"What is it, Pimmlot?" asked the Fuhrer as he counted the medals on his comrade's uniform.

The Field Marshal rubbed his chin, trying to think of a way to say what he had come to speak of. Just come right out, John. he thought to himself.

"Sir...I have some bad news." replied Pimmlot, sighing inside.

The Fuhrer looked at his comrade with curiousity. Bad news? This was a shock. The Fuhrer had just come home from a magnificient restaurant dinner with his sister and her son, and he had never felt better. Despite being coldblooded, the man had feelings and felt a sense of living when with his family.

"What is it, Pimmlot? What bad news?" asked the Fuhrer as he lit another cigar.

The Field Marshal paused before speaking. He digested his own words before even saying a single one to the Fuhrer.

"It's Euroslavia. The United Freedom Forces of Euroslavia, sir." replied Pimmlot.
"What about them?" the Fuhrer said with a certain degree of disgust at the mention of that name.
"They...well, sir..." began Pimmlot.
"Out with it, John."

Pimmlot stared at his master's face, which was growing redder by the second. The man was just pissed. No other word can describe the Fuhrer's attitude.

"They supported the Thuruns." said Pimmlot, trying to get the words out as quick as he could with one breath.

The Fuhrer's face went purple with hatred. Blood was rushing to his brain at rates unknown.

"The Thuruns, eh?" replied the Fuhrer as he burned the cigar into his desk.
"Yes sir. The Thuruns."
"Damn. I knew someone was supporting those anarchist sons-of-bitches. They tried to take me out...and the Euroslavians were behind it, you say?" the Fuhrer questioned.
"Indeed."
"Send Comrade...whats his name?" the Fuhrer said, calming down.
"Comrade Patrick Maloney, sir."
"Right. Send Comrade Patrick Maloney a message...tell him I am disgusted at his acts of traitorism and his dealings with a rebel group behind my back, and tell him...tell him...we declare war on his nation."
"War? Sir, are you sure?"
"Yes, Pimmlot. Nobody attacks us without punishment. Prepare the forces. We mobilize when they respond."

Pimmlot just stood in the room, staring at his master. He stared into the Fuhrer's cold, dead, angry eyes. War? Was the Fuhrer insane? he thought. Regardless, he had an order. He sent the Fuhrer's message to Comrade Maloney, and marked it TOP PRIORITY.

.::TAG::.

for later response...

From: The Sadistic Dictatorship of Witzgall and Empirate States
To: The United Freedom Forces of Euroslavia
Subject: Urgent Message: Declaration of War upon Us

This message is authorized by the Fuhrer of Witzgall, Fritz Viechal I, under international communications code 9.82C, as written in the Declaration of Communication and Intelligence, copyright 2001.

Greetings Comrade Maloney from the Empire of Witzgall. The Fuhrer has wished to pass along a message, which is below in original form. Please take your time to read said message.

Greetings Comrade Maloney. I am Fritz Viechal the First, Fuhrer of Witzgall and all accompanying Empirate States. For the longest time you have been considered an ancient ally of my current nation of which I am in power of. However, such is not the case with what sits on my desk.

Apparently, we disagree on a number of things. Where do you get the "balls" to support the Thuruns? They killed hundreds while attempting to overthrow me. I suppose you do not care?

I have brought an issue of war in front of my council. They agree. Your actions will not go with immunity. The Witzgallian Empire hereby declares outright war upon you, Comrade Maloney, and your beloved Euroslavia.

Good day, Comrade.
~Fuhrer Viechal I~

To: The Sadistic Dictatorship of Witzgall and Empirate States
From: The United Freedom Forces of Euroslavia
Subject: RE: Urgent Message: Declaration of War upon Us

After receiving your message, we are in a state of shock. The government of Euroslavia has never even thought about aiding such a rebel faction in their attempt to overthrow the official Witzgallian regime. We find it insulting that your intelligence leads you to believe that we would do such a thing, and will not back down to an invasion.

Believe me, Euroslavia will not sit idly and listen to your empty threats, and will strike back with full force, in case of a quick strike by your military. Our forces are currently in a full scale mobilization, and will be ready. Prepare yourselves...

May your souls beg the Lord for His forgiveness,
Comrade Patrick Maloney.

To: The United Freedom Forces of Euroslavia
From: The Sadistic Dictatorship of Witzgall and Empirate States
Subject: RE: Urgent Message: Declaration of War upon Us

You are appalled? You dare lie, saying you did not do such a thing? You will die by our hands for your crimes against us. The Empire of Witzgall will not stand by you and listen to your pathetic attempts. Arm your men and try to stop us, Comrade. They will surely fail.

~Fritz Viechal~
~Fuhrer of The Empire of Witzgall~

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

The Fuhrer sips scotch as he sits in his desk, awaiting a response by the government officials of Euroslavia. He grabs a cigar out of his drawer, and lights it. He calms himself by thinking of his days as a young boy, playing in the neighborhood...

To: The United Freedom Forces of Euroslavia
From: The Sadistic Dictatorship of Witzgall and Empirate States
Subject: RE: RE: Urgent Message: Declaration of War upon Us

We await your first move, friend. It is I that knows Euroslavia will not lose such a war with the poorly armed empire of Witzgall. Your taunts do not scare us, and we shall rally together and destroy your entire armies. Their blood shall poor into our rivers, and we shall rejoice with good-tasting wine (not that Kroger brand stuff). Be fearful. Our armies have never truly been involved in a war, and will be able to test its true might against you. We await on the borders of Euroslavia, for your attacks. It is a guarantee that you will not pierce any more than 10 miles into our territory.

Field Marshal Clance rushes into the Fuhrer's office, only to find the Fuhrer sitting at his desk enjoying a fine drink and cigar.

"Sir, Comrade Maloney challenges us." says the Marshal.
"I am aware of his actions. Call a council meeting in my absence. Alert them to the war upon us as of now, and tell them I am giving orders to increase patrols and begin arming the men." replies the Fuhrer.

The Fuhrer looks out his window to see the crystalized snowflakes on his window, obscuring his view of the beautiful city.

"Yes sir. I will call the meeting as soon as I get--"
"No. You will do so now. Hurry along with haste." the Fuhrer cuts Clance off swiftly.

Field Marshal Clance salutes his superior with respect, and leaves him to his business. The Fuhrer sighs and takes a sip of his scotch which he takes dry.

"Ah, heavens be with me..." the Fuhrer says as he stands up out of his seat and goes over to his bookshelf.

The Fuhrer stops at his bookshelf and begins browsing his books of choice. He retreives War and Peace, and opens to a small piece of paper. He reads the paper to himself, and shuts it into the book once more. He places the book back to its place, and sits down at his desk.

The Fuhrer picks up the phone and hears the buzzing of the line. He sits there, hesitating. I guess now is the time... he says to himself as he dials the number that was on the paper.

"Hello?" the man who picks up says.
"General Tshus?"
"Indeed. Who is this?"
"It is Viechal. Is the line secure?"
"Very. Top notch encryption. I'm surprised you hear me clearly."
"Some static. But all is well. Order the operation, code eight. Make this your top priority." the Fuhrer says, sipping his scotch.
"Code eight, you say?"
"Yes. Code eight."
"I am assuming you are discussing Operation Haz--"
"Do not speak of the name. Tell the Initiative I have authorized the operation. We must execute this bastard before I am put on trial for war crimes." the Fuhrer says with frustration at the General's incompetence (sp?).
"Yes sir. Does the council know?"
"No. It will stay between us and the Initiative."
"Yes sir."

The Fuhrer hangs up the phone and realizes his cigar had burnt out in the ashtray he left it in. Son of a bitch, that cost me a pretty penny. the Fuhrer thinks. He grabs another out of his drawer, but decides not to smoke it and places it back.