NationStates Jolt Archive

OoC: Amazonian Beasts, if you're still interested in sending advisers, here's the thread for you to do it. Everyone else, if you're interested in joining or want to comment (positive or negative) on my RPing, send a TG my way.

IC:

Corporal Helms Nichols carefully marched back towards the front of the rocking makeshift auditorium, trying to maintain his balance and project intimidation over a crowd of former slaves watching a basic English/Newspeak comprehension video. He had to admit, it felt a little hard to be intimidating without any bullets in his submachine gun. His stomach lurched with the ancient ship, a venerable vessel old enough to be his father... if it were human or if he was a boat.

Cameroon Wayne, the Lieutenant in charge of the whole transport operation, leaned against the wall at the front of the former cafeteria, Victory cigarette burning in one hand, rifle and spike bayonette in the other. The lieutenant caught Nichols' eye, sucked a particularly bright drag from his cigarette.

"No names," said the officer.

"What?"

"Slavers didn't give them names - or they didn't give us a list of names at least."

"Really?"

"Really." He flicked the cigarette away. "They might get serial numbers, if any are left after the shooting."

"Shooting? Seems like an odd lot for Bureauphil* to grind up." Why would the Bureau of Philosophy want foreign bodies for an ideological purge.

"Nah, no trials. You know the atrocities they've been talking up in N-Totalvic, Rifle Thirty-Eight heading into battle?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, meet the Seventh Citizen's Rifle Battalion." Lt. Wayne flipped another cigarette out of his ration packet.

The thousand illiterate slaves had barely learned their first two words of English: "Father" and "One."

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Telescreen Broadcast frequently shown in Czan

Father One
My children, you know the bliss of the Family Republic, where all are brothers and sisters guarded by my hand, by the hand of your Loving Parent. There are some, some obscene agencies, who, jealous of our bliss, strike against us, as an insect, jealous for some morsel, stings the human who rightfully owns that morsel. These agencies are numerous, within and without. Yet before we can fight those enemies surrounding us, we must purify and unify our nation, and crush those insects living in our own house.

Visual: Sweeping panorama of the Czanish Islands.

Behold, the beauty of our nation. Yet even it is not exempt from decay.

Visual: A small crowd of men in war paint, brandishing rifles.

Some, in the Northern fringes of the Island of Totalvic, cling to the ancient tribal tyrants, and hate our Family Republic. They have come from their villages to our cities, and killed and attacked without provocation. We did not go north and slaughter them. Never forget this! That, without cause save the bidding of their own despots, these men descended upon Czanish cities and killed Czanish men, women, and children.

Solemn Male Voice
Visual: A long funeral procession escorted by soldiers

Third of March: A community hike is ambushed. Fourteen men, fifteen women, and six children are shot and killed.
Twenty-First of March: Tribesmen attack a farm, killing eight agricultural technicians, including Prodis* district manager Angeline Tomkins. They steal or destroy several hundred tons of grain, leading to hardships for tens of thousands and shortages nationwide.
Eighth of April: Two women posting banners for a spontaneous Czansoc* demonstration are clubbed to death.
...the list continues for a few minutes, recounting various anecdotes of innocent Czaniards unexpectedly murdered by tribesmen.

Brassy Female Voice
Visual: Sea of marching soldiers approaching the screen.
Response will be swift and effective. Tribesmen will be offered a chance to reform, surrender, and join the Republic as Citizens, or will be destroyed by the heroic men and women of the 38th Rifle Regiment. Three thousand have chosen to risk their lives that others may live safely, and they shall bring Father One's punishment to these atrocious savages.

Father One
Visual: The calm, rugged face of Father One.
My children, we shall triumph. Czan is eternal. The Republic is eternal. Our Family is eternal.


EDIT OOC: I just remembered about all those asterisks. They're for vocabulary... Oy gevalt...

Bureauphil - Bureau of Philosophy, concerned with defining and enforcing ideological purity.

Prodis - Bureau of Production and Distribution.

Czansoc - Czanish Socialism... I don't think I have to explain this parallel...

The collection of fences, razor-wire, and squatting brown bunkers that had been dubbed "Fort Triumph" was packed with a writhing mass of humans. The air was filled with a mélange of vapors - fearful sweat, excited sweat, and urine; gun oil, gun powder, and gasoline. Every few minutes another truck drove up the highway to remove another twenty or thirty refugees to the cities. Meanwhile, thousands more waited restlessly, crouching if they could find room, standing when they could not. Military police kept them in blocks by hundreds, and Stapol* enforcers moved through the open areas, inspecting refugees. Some unfortunate few were selected and vanished into one of the bunkers.

Outside, the 3rd Citizens' Rifle Battalion continued to drill, under the watching eyes of Colonel George Kohl. He was a stout man, and bald with an abundance of purple veins snaking over his skull. He let the binoculars fall to his chest and asked, "How do they look? I mean, do you think we'll be alright?"

Lt. Colonel Doug Ginn-Weber was a thinner man, a younger man, with a smoothness to his face that gave him an effeminate appearance. Still watching the field of men still adapting to the feel of real rifles and live ammunition, he responded, "It will suffice."

Kohl did not like his subordinate's terseness. Perhaps it was not so much that he felt disrespected as he felt a sense of frustration at his own inadequacies. He was a model citizen: he led hikes, volunteered time as a recruiter, and if he did not comprehend, at least he did read the books defending the principles of Czansoc. Though he will never know it, his file in the Stapolsec archives reads simply: "Recommended Surveillance: Minimal."

But Party Men and Military Men are not always the same breed, which is why Kohl often had to rely on the opinions of men like Ginn-Weber. "Suffice?" he said, hoping to gain an elaboration, "How do you mean?"

"They can use rifles, and the Seventh will go in first. By the time the Third and Twelfth reach the unczans*, the rebels will have nothing left to fight with."

"Good, doubleplus-good... how long until these are ripe for battle?"

"A year, really. But we have a month or so... it will suffice."

Colonel Kohl lifted his binoculars back to his eyes, still frustrated.

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Kohl's jeep was approached by another vehicle, not the olive drab of an army truck, but a weary white, marked Bureaucomm's* logo. A woman exited the car, carrying a beige folder.

"Ah, the press," said Kohl, extending a gritty hand.

The woman took it, firmly returning the grip with a hand like chill marble. She flung her other hand forward, pressing the folder against the Colonel's chest. "Good afternoon comrade Colonel," she said, her face like a grim bust. "The enclosed is a list of embedded photographers who will accompany your soldiers into battle."

"Thank you, comrade."

"There will also be two helicopter units filming. We expect you to take care of them; Bureaupax will be responsible for replacing any lost equipment."

"I understand. Thank you comrade." The Colonel turned back toward his troops, and grabbed the binoculars dangling from his neck.

"The Bureau expects quality material for the screens."

"And you shall have it, I assure you! Thank you comrade, good day."

The woman looked as if she had more to say, stopped herself, adjusted her red sash and left in the car.

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Later that day, Lt. Colonel Rodney Underwood of the 12th Citizens' Rifle Battalion arrived to inform Kohl that the 12th was in position at Fort Valkyrie. Minutes later, Lt. Wayne phoned to inform him that the 7th had just arrived and was unloading.

Only three things now stood between the 38th Rifle Regiment and combat:

-First, the entire regiment must be fully equipped, a process that could take two weeks to two months more.
-Second, Bureaupax had to decide whether to await foreign advisers or engage without foreign assistance.
-Third, thought Kohl with a bitter shot of dread, he had to wait for Stapolsec* enforcers to be attached to his units. If Kohl had known that he was marked as a loyal man, it would not have calmed him.

Down the road, another white car approached bearing the logo of Bureauphil.

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OoC: Vocabulary lesson!

Stapol - State police, the ideological enforcement arm of the Bureau of Philosophy

Unczan - Derogatory term for foreigner containing the connotation "Enemy."

Bureaucomm - Bureau of Communications, source of all Czanish television, cinema, and other media.

Stapolsec - Stands for "State Police (Secret)," a branch of Stapol which operates through personal surveillance and interrogation, which relies on tips from informants and telescreen recordings to monitor potential ideological deviants. Also provides commissars to ensure ideological purity in military uniforms.

The slaves lined up in a rough series of ranks, their joints uncomfortable after a week at sea and hours at attention. Strange men with weapons examined them, speaking in a strange, reedy tongue.

It was Xan-Xan, the old market language borrowed from the ancient tribal tongues. Some of the slaves knew English, but only Czanish natives knew Xan-Xan. It was the best way for the officers to converse in confidence.

"They look quite fit, Lieutenant," Major Lloyd Wilson said, leading a party of MP's and Prodis quartermasters. Turning toward the latter, he added, "They should only require a half-prep."

Ink pencils scribbled furiously against clipboards: taking notes, listing parameters, projecting necessities. "Excellent, excellent..." mumbled one.

"Any losses?" asked the Major.

"No sir," responded Lt. Wayne, "A thousand heads on, a thousand heads off, all in excellent condition." His hands twitched, but he only had one cigarettle left and two days until the next ration would be issued.

"Great. How soon can Prodis have them ready for us?"

A squirrely, bug-eyed man responded: "We'll have them at half-prep in a week - if you want to go to full..."

"That won't be necessary," said the Major. Full Prep could take months more for an approval from Central Authority. Besides, it made troops harder to control, and control was already tenuous in a battalion of former slaves. Half-prep was much safer for the Commissars.

They reached the end of the formation and turned about. "Good," said the Major, "commence the preparations. Half-prep, rifles only." He looked to the slaves, whose knees and backs burnt from hours of strain. He looked at Lt. Wayne and said, in English, "Tell them to sit."

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Telescreen Broadcast

Solemn Male Voice:

Eight hundred thirty-four dead.

One thousand, two hundred fifty-three injured.

The measure of pain and death inflicted by tribalist malcontents escalates daily. No longer will these atrocities be suffered in silence. After futile bids for peace, Bureaupax has ordered the 38th Rifle Regiment to commence operations against the Enemy.

Brassy Female Voice

The Armed Forces of Czan are unbeatable and prepared to strike down the rebellion. Thirty Luther Attack Helicopters, twelve type-one medium bombers, and the destroyer Antilles are in position to support the 38th's glorious struggle...

General Anthony Munoz of the Federation of Amazonian Beasts sat at his desk glumly. The Tarsonian Campaigns were turning far worse than originally expected with the Imperium's entry to the war. He needed something to turn away from the carnage, so he reviewed a rather old file from Czan, determining some sort of a revolution. Though they looked more than capable to handle it, he thought it would be a good chance to test his forces still at home from the Tarsonian war. He pulled out his favorite pen and began writing:

To: Czan
From: The FedAB
Subject: Czan Revolution Support

The Federation of Amazonian Beasts has recieved word of your plight, and if you wish, we shall send aid to your nation to assist in subduing this insurrection. Please wire our government back a reply, and we shall send forces if desired upon notification.

Signed,
Anthony Munoz
General, FedAB Military

He wired the message and waited for the Czan response. It would be better than that terrible Tarsonian backstabbing...he hoped.

Official Bureaupax Response
Revised and Approved by Central Authority

Father and His Republic still welcome the assistance you can provide us. They do not wish to ensnare you in a pit of death far from your own homes. The citizens of the Republic are not a bloodthirsty people, and we do not wish for Amazonian blood to be spilled on our soil. We request only what troops may be necessary to assist in preparing our own forces, and may support Czanish infantry in bringing this conflict to a swift and painless conclusion.

The country in which we will be fighting has many thick jungles and beaches of soft, loose sand. Thus, armored vehicles will be of limited use. Interceptors and other anti-aircraft devices are largely superfluous, as we believe the rebels do not possess any sort of air combat capability. Bombers may prove useful as a psychological weapon, and any craft capable of performing close air support could prove to be a life-saver.

Transmission to Czan
To: Czan Government
From: FedAB Defense Department

As forces are returning from the Tarsonian campaign, our reserve forces are freed to assist you. We will send 20,000 infantry units and 24 StrikeViper-class attack helos to assist your forces in putting down the rebellion. Also accompanying the fleet will be 2 Leviathan-class battleships and 1 Resonance-class carrier.

Signed,
Anthony Munoz
General, FedAB Military