Zarbia
28-04-2005, 04:06
Rafael Carrero was, without a doubt, the most hated man in Zarbia. Since his ascent to power almost a decade ago, his corrupt Socialist government had taken the nation into a social and economic decline. Together they had managed to drain Zarbia of its wealth and funnel most of it into their own pockets. Any opposition was outlawed and nonexistent thanks to the secret police that enforced the government's policies with brutal efficiency. It was true that education and healthcare was socialized and available to all citizens, but what use were under funded schools and decaying hospitals without supplies or personnel?
The government was not blind, they were well aware of the discontent among their people. They knew of the underground activities; the black market, illegal religious worshipping groups, and rebel factions. What they were completely ignorant about, however, was the opposition brewing right under their noses, in the military…
*****
The dim auditorium was filled to the brim with soldiers, their anxious chattering drowning out any other noise present. Over one thousand men were gathered in the cavernous room, watching the stage in front of them, eager to find out why they had been summoned. So many people were packed into the area that many had to stand, not being able to find seats.
Soon enough, the troops quieted as a tall, dark haired man in a military uniform stepped to the front of the stage and stopped shortly, his legs close together and his arms stiffly at his sides, the typical military stance. This man was the commander of the Armed Forces and an important figure in Zarbia, General Antonio Cortázar.
An officer in the front row of seats stood up straight and bellowed "¡Salude al General!" He stuck his right arm out in the air at a forty-five degree angle, both his arm and hand perfectly straight, resembling the old Fascist salute. He then quickly brought his arm back and laid it across his chest, hand on heart. It was the traditional Zarbian military salute, banned long ago by the Carrero regime.
Several other officers copied their comrade, saluting the general upon the stage. It took a few moments before the rest of the audience rose to their feet and reluctantly followed suit. Cortázar returned the salute and motioned for the soldiers to be at ease and return to their seats. Having not spoken a word yet, the general peered around at his audience before opening his mouth to speak.
“Friends, I thank you for being here,” he began. “There is no need to be so silent, we are all allies here.”
His eyes continued to move around the room. “And all allies have enemies, do they not?” Still no one spoke.
“We certainly have enemies, for they are here in our country. They are our wise and loving government, the ones who promised us so much, yet delivered so little. Do you not all agree? They have robbed us of our freedom, our identity, and of our spirits! Rarely is it that I see one of my fellow people smile for all of our faces are stamped with fear and discontent. This is no way to live!” Cortázar raised his voice almost to a yell as he said the last sentence.
The audience began to stir, soldiers began whispering among themselves while the general paused briefly.
“As I see it, Zarbia needs to change, and quickly. But remember, friends, change cannot occur without those who are motivated to bring about a change. If we are to rise up and seize the glories that we are entitled to, we must act now, strong and united!” Now the general’s tone began to speed up as he became excited. “If we want it, victory can be ours!” he belted out the last line, his eyes mad with excitement and his hands balled up into fists.
Once again the officers near the stage stood up and saluted the general, but this time every single Zarbian in the room rose to their feet and complied. The auditorium rang with ¡Victoria! as the soldiers eagerly repeated the salute multiple times. The monstrous fury hidden deep within the nation had been released and the rampage had just begun...
The government was not blind, they were well aware of the discontent among their people. They knew of the underground activities; the black market, illegal religious worshipping groups, and rebel factions. What they were completely ignorant about, however, was the opposition brewing right under their noses, in the military…
*****
The dim auditorium was filled to the brim with soldiers, their anxious chattering drowning out any other noise present. Over one thousand men were gathered in the cavernous room, watching the stage in front of them, eager to find out why they had been summoned. So many people were packed into the area that many had to stand, not being able to find seats.
Soon enough, the troops quieted as a tall, dark haired man in a military uniform stepped to the front of the stage and stopped shortly, his legs close together and his arms stiffly at his sides, the typical military stance. This man was the commander of the Armed Forces and an important figure in Zarbia, General Antonio Cortázar.
An officer in the front row of seats stood up straight and bellowed "¡Salude al General!" He stuck his right arm out in the air at a forty-five degree angle, both his arm and hand perfectly straight, resembling the old Fascist salute. He then quickly brought his arm back and laid it across his chest, hand on heart. It was the traditional Zarbian military salute, banned long ago by the Carrero regime.
Several other officers copied their comrade, saluting the general upon the stage. It took a few moments before the rest of the audience rose to their feet and reluctantly followed suit. Cortázar returned the salute and motioned for the soldiers to be at ease and return to their seats. Having not spoken a word yet, the general peered around at his audience before opening his mouth to speak.
“Friends, I thank you for being here,” he began. “There is no need to be so silent, we are all allies here.”
His eyes continued to move around the room. “And all allies have enemies, do they not?” Still no one spoke.
“We certainly have enemies, for they are here in our country. They are our wise and loving government, the ones who promised us so much, yet delivered so little. Do you not all agree? They have robbed us of our freedom, our identity, and of our spirits! Rarely is it that I see one of my fellow people smile for all of our faces are stamped with fear and discontent. This is no way to live!” Cortázar raised his voice almost to a yell as he said the last sentence.
The audience began to stir, soldiers began whispering among themselves while the general paused briefly.
“As I see it, Zarbia needs to change, and quickly. But remember, friends, change cannot occur without those who are motivated to bring about a change. If we are to rise up and seize the glories that we are entitled to, we must act now, strong and united!” Now the general’s tone began to speed up as he became excited. “If we want it, victory can be ours!” he belted out the last line, his eyes mad with excitement and his hands balled up into fists.
Once again the officers near the stage stood up and saluted the general, but this time every single Zarbian in the room rose to their feet and complied. The auditorium rang with ¡Victoria! as the soldiers eagerly repeated the salute multiple times. The monstrous fury hidden deep within the nation had been released and the rampage had just begun...