Bonstock
11-03-2005, 04:47
It was in the citadel of the Ste. Evremondes that today stood proud and tall. In the shade of the great, shining tower of Port Yuko, soldiers marched to beat. Clad with uniforms and with rifles on their backs, wearing helmets and boots, they marched in unison like a drum beat, their legs the drumsticks pounding at the drum below as if played by a divine drummer, beating at interval, pounding away the tempo of the piece of music that was Bonstock, their home. The drummer stood overhead, looking down at his drumsticks from a platform. Lord Harald, son of Gustav, lord of all Bonstocknians, was his name and title. Like a musician he carefully played his piece, working the drums of soldiers and the music of the city surrounding. Powerful and almighty he was in his hall, which towered above all in the great city of Port Yuko. And all who crossed him would pay with flowing blood.
Louder the drum sounded, as the soldiers approached. A sea of drab colors, helmets gleaming in the sun, faces beaming in the audience. Just then the drummer stopped his beat. Pulling out the fiery trumpet of his voice, which marshaled armies and condemned traitors, he stood and addressed his men.
“Soldiers and citizens, it is these men who today bear the tidings of victory upon us. We have vanquished enemies, and taken for us plunder to enrich us. Let this be a great day of celebration as we thank Odin and Thor for their kind dealings of our victories. Let it serve as a warning to all who cross us.”
Soldier and citizen cheered their leader. The conductor picked his baton up, and the drums beat once more. But the conductor of nations had other business to attend to; something was brewing that he needed to address. He turned about, leaving the drummers to continue their pounding, and ascended to the top of his mighty hall which pierced the sky in the shape of an upward pointed cone. There he sat at his desk of wood, and looked over his papers.
As he sat, his mind immersed in his papers, he let his mind wander. A young man he was indeed, having seized his power at a young age. Like his father before him, he was a great warrior, a skilled tactician, and a capable statesman. But even in his myriads of unsigned bills and security briefings, he could still find the time to let his mind wander like that of a schoolboy. To any observer, his room was in perfect silence. But in his mind, a chaotic battle ensued. Around him, seas of men clashed in arms, artillery thundered in the distance, tanks charged ahead, and aircraft whooshed overhead. Shells exploded, bombs fell, and shots were fired in anger; men screamed as they fell, corpses crackled as tank treads ran them over, and blood ran in pools. But in the background of this chaos, there was an incessant tapping. Three taps at a time, it tapped as the sounds of battle droned it out in Harald’s mind. It grew louder, and more distinct. What weapon of war could possibly make such noise, ran through Harald’s mind. Just then his eyes widened, and the battle disappeared. Harald was back in his office, and the door was knocking.
“Come in,” the leader of nations called out.
The door opened. A young woman entered the room, her face almost hidden by her military cap, dark hair tied back behind her head. With an accent that resonated like music in Lord Harald’s ears, she said, “I hope that I am not interrupting anything, sir.”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” His attention now focused completely on the young woman before his eyes, his mind carefully looking over her face, then going down to gaze at her figure, outlined by her green uniform. He opened his mouth to speak something, but spoke not; instead he clenched his fists in his pocket, knowing that what he wanted to say would not be good to say in such a professional environment, where his world decided the fate of nearly 4 billion souls. However, the mouth opening was observed by the young woman, who quickly spoke.
“What is it, sir?”
“Nothing, again. What news do you have, Colonel Lin?”
“Well, I believe you will be pleased to know that your approval rating has gone up yet again, and most of the pundits believe re-election for you will be a breeze yet again. However, there is something disturbing I must report. Your comments thanking Odin and Thor for victories in battle struck a bad cord with the Christian community.”
“How many Christians live in Bonstock again?”
“Not that many, of course, but they’ve managed to translate their religion into a right-wing opposition force. Their leader, Reverend Jeremiah Bluesky, said that he will ‘unseat the heathen despots who lord over Bonstock.’”
Again Lord Harald’s mind had drifted to looking at how well the woman’s face looked, but he caught himself, and responded, “That might as well be treason! I can’t have some religious whack-jobs threatening my right to lead this country.”
“Unfortunately, they are gaining popularity. Their base on the island of Lynsendarne, off the coast of western Bonstock, is churning out propaganda and sending in ‘missionaries’ to convert people religiously and politically. It is spreading like a cancer, sir.”
“Well, the Bonstocknian Special Services should have an eye on it.”
“We have two agents there on the island, infiltrating the high authorities. Agent Hammer, as he is called, is currently getting information to us.”
“Actually, here in lies a great idea. We can cut off the head of these men, in one simple fashion. We can get a political prisoner to pose as a BSS agent. Then our other agent will ‘betray’ him. If I know these Christians correctly, they will hang the man for Satanism. There in will lie our pretext to eliminate them from the face of the earth.”
“Sir, is that even constitutional?”
“It’s a nice loophole. We can’t just randomly kill people, but if they kill one of our agents, we can arrest their leader. Our helicopters will fly in to apprehend Reverend Bluesky, but he won’t give himself up. He’ll fire on our choppers, starting what constitutionally is an armed insurgency which can be crushed with the widest of measures.”
“Very well. That is our option.”
“You remember General Karl Perdon?”
“The one who surrendered his division in battle and then escaped?”
“Exactly. We will sacrifice him here, since legally we can’t actually execute him.”
“Sir, he was a capable general, a very good one. We did send him into battle with only one division against a dozen enemy divisions, and he only surrendered after nearly his entire division was wiped off the map.”
“He should have killed himself, charged at the last moment into the teeth of enemy machine guns. That would have been better for our honor.”
“Sir, we eventually did win. Perhaps we ought to give him one more chance.”
“I stand by sending him on this. We need Agent Hammer more then this disgraced general.”
“Very well, sir. I’ll go get him.”
As Colonel Lin left, Lord Harald slouched back in his chair. At heart he didn’t like sending men to their deaths, though he was perfectly willing to join them. Besides, this man had committed the gravest of all crimes, surrendered a Bonstocknian force to an enemy. His mind again drifted as he began sorting through the day’s papers.
Louder the drum sounded, as the soldiers approached. A sea of drab colors, helmets gleaming in the sun, faces beaming in the audience. Just then the drummer stopped his beat. Pulling out the fiery trumpet of his voice, which marshaled armies and condemned traitors, he stood and addressed his men.
“Soldiers and citizens, it is these men who today bear the tidings of victory upon us. We have vanquished enemies, and taken for us plunder to enrich us. Let this be a great day of celebration as we thank Odin and Thor for their kind dealings of our victories. Let it serve as a warning to all who cross us.”
Soldier and citizen cheered their leader. The conductor picked his baton up, and the drums beat once more. But the conductor of nations had other business to attend to; something was brewing that he needed to address. He turned about, leaving the drummers to continue their pounding, and ascended to the top of his mighty hall which pierced the sky in the shape of an upward pointed cone. There he sat at his desk of wood, and looked over his papers.
As he sat, his mind immersed in his papers, he let his mind wander. A young man he was indeed, having seized his power at a young age. Like his father before him, he was a great warrior, a skilled tactician, and a capable statesman. But even in his myriads of unsigned bills and security briefings, he could still find the time to let his mind wander like that of a schoolboy. To any observer, his room was in perfect silence. But in his mind, a chaotic battle ensued. Around him, seas of men clashed in arms, artillery thundered in the distance, tanks charged ahead, and aircraft whooshed overhead. Shells exploded, bombs fell, and shots were fired in anger; men screamed as they fell, corpses crackled as tank treads ran them over, and blood ran in pools. But in the background of this chaos, there was an incessant tapping. Three taps at a time, it tapped as the sounds of battle droned it out in Harald’s mind. It grew louder, and more distinct. What weapon of war could possibly make such noise, ran through Harald’s mind. Just then his eyes widened, and the battle disappeared. Harald was back in his office, and the door was knocking.
“Come in,” the leader of nations called out.
The door opened. A young woman entered the room, her face almost hidden by her military cap, dark hair tied back behind her head. With an accent that resonated like music in Lord Harald’s ears, she said, “I hope that I am not interrupting anything, sir.”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” His attention now focused completely on the young woman before his eyes, his mind carefully looking over her face, then going down to gaze at her figure, outlined by her green uniform. He opened his mouth to speak something, but spoke not; instead he clenched his fists in his pocket, knowing that what he wanted to say would not be good to say in such a professional environment, where his world decided the fate of nearly 4 billion souls. However, the mouth opening was observed by the young woman, who quickly spoke.
“What is it, sir?”
“Nothing, again. What news do you have, Colonel Lin?”
“Well, I believe you will be pleased to know that your approval rating has gone up yet again, and most of the pundits believe re-election for you will be a breeze yet again. However, there is something disturbing I must report. Your comments thanking Odin and Thor for victories in battle struck a bad cord with the Christian community.”
“How many Christians live in Bonstock again?”
“Not that many, of course, but they’ve managed to translate their religion into a right-wing opposition force. Their leader, Reverend Jeremiah Bluesky, said that he will ‘unseat the heathen despots who lord over Bonstock.’”
Again Lord Harald’s mind had drifted to looking at how well the woman’s face looked, but he caught himself, and responded, “That might as well be treason! I can’t have some religious whack-jobs threatening my right to lead this country.”
“Unfortunately, they are gaining popularity. Their base on the island of Lynsendarne, off the coast of western Bonstock, is churning out propaganda and sending in ‘missionaries’ to convert people religiously and politically. It is spreading like a cancer, sir.”
“Well, the Bonstocknian Special Services should have an eye on it.”
“We have two agents there on the island, infiltrating the high authorities. Agent Hammer, as he is called, is currently getting information to us.”
“Actually, here in lies a great idea. We can cut off the head of these men, in one simple fashion. We can get a political prisoner to pose as a BSS agent. Then our other agent will ‘betray’ him. If I know these Christians correctly, they will hang the man for Satanism. There in will lie our pretext to eliminate them from the face of the earth.”
“Sir, is that even constitutional?”
“It’s a nice loophole. We can’t just randomly kill people, but if they kill one of our agents, we can arrest their leader. Our helicopters will fly in to apprehend Reverend Bluesky, but he won’t give himself up. He’ll fire on our choppers, starting what constitutionally is an armed insurgency which can be crushed with the widest of measures.”
“Very well. That is our option.”
“You remember General Karl Perdon?”
“The one who surrendered his division in battle and then escaped?”
“Exactly. We will sacrifice him here, since legally we can’t actually execute him.”
“Sir, he was a capable general, a very good one. We did send him into battle with only one division against a dozen enemy divisions, and he only surrendered after nearly his entire division was wiped off the map.”
“He should have killed himself, charged at the last moment into the teeth of enemy machine guns. That would have been better for our honor.”
“Sir, we eventually did win. Perhaps we ought to give him one more chance.”
“I stand by sending him on this. We need Agent Hammer more then this disgraced general.”
“Very well, sir. I’ll go get him.”
As Colonel Lin left, Lord Harald slouched back in his chair. At heart he didn’t like sending men to their deaths, though he was perfectly willing to join them. Besides, this man had committed the gravest of all crimes, surrendered a Bonstocknian force to an enemy. His mind again drifted as he began sorting through the day’s papers.