NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: For those interested, this is moving on from my purchase of three nuclear weapons from Leafanistan. However, because I can't pay for these devices through conventional means, I've decided to create an RP centred around the aftermath of paying for the weapons.

Obviously, the situation would be vague to the international community at the start, so economic analysis and covert interest in the situation would be most likely at the start. Once I turn the heat up later in my country, we can see where this goes.

---

Bramstoker City was a mid-sized urban settlement that effectively reflected the current state of the Theocracy. Although not overly large, Bramstoker City was industrious and well-developed, and showed signs of improving every day, despite the low economic state of the country. Years of mismanagement at the hands on multi-national corporations had seen to that.

Thus the revolution had occurred, and the majority of the population were happy with their new government. Voices were raised as to the protection of democracy, but the people had grown weary of the false promises of politicians. They wanted prosperity. They wanted a life. It was distressing that none of the people waking up to continue their lives that day had any idea as to the economic crisis to come.

The seat of executive government in the Theocracy was essentially a replica of the American White House, with the trademark water fountain in the front gardens and the tall fencing around the Georgian-style frame. The Presidential Office, with its distinctly oval shape, was decorated with paintings of famous landmarks and past Presidents, with a large Bramstoker flag at the centre of the room.

But all that Winston Vance could concentrate on was the uneasy sight of a furious Johnathon Rawlings behind the large desk. The President of the Theocracy was known for his temper, and it was currently directed at the one man in the Cabinet who, as he did not officially exist, could be removed on a complete whim. The Minister for Covert Affairs was currently feeling very worried about his future.

“How the hell did you expect to get away with this?” blazed Rawlings from his chair. He was an intimidating sight – tall, with a trim moustache and furious eyes that could snarl or smile depending on the situation. Right now, they were definitely not smiling.

Vance considered his next words carefully. “Mr. President,” he said neutrally. “I was instructed to seek alternative ways to protect the Theocracy due to the small nature of our Armed Forces. I therefore used the authority delegated to me to arrange this deal. However…” he winced inwardly at his next words, “there was a mix-up in the figures.”

“A mix-up?!” shouted the President, standing from his chair and slamming his fist on the wood. “This is a complete bloody disaster! You’ve possibly doomed the whole revolution from the first day!”

The air was tense in the following silence. Rawlings sighed, rubbing his brow in a pained way and turning to the window.

“I would like to shoot you right now,” the President said, making Vance bite his lip, “but I need you and your expertise, Winston.” He turned. “Just don’t screw it up this time. Now get the hell out of my sight.”

Winston rose, nodding profusely. He stood to attention and saluted, as was tradition in the militant UBP, and turned and walked quickly through the door.

Johnathon spent a few moments longer gazing out of the window across the centre of the capital city. He cursed Winston, a long-time friend usually competent in his job, for damaging the cause. The revolution needed to live. It needed to continue to bring unity and harmony. And the damn fool made a ‘mix-up’ with the figures.

Rawlings turned back to his desk and resumed his seat. He leant across and pushed the intercom switch, connecting him to his Chief of Staff, Frank Fletcher. After gaining an acknowledgement, Johnathon lowered his voice. “Frank, I need you to get the Cabinet here, now. I don’t care what they’re doing, but they’re to drop everything and be here in an hour.”

Once the order was given, Rawlings leant back in his chair and thought for a few moments. This could be managed, he thought. The revolution was stuck at the centre of a proverbial frozen lake. It could survive to dry land, but it would now have to walk some very thin ice to get there.

Johnathon pushed the intercom once again, requesting that a pot of coffee be brought into the room whilst he waited.

---

The Cabinet room was a long, rectangular room inside the Presidential Building, similarly decorated in neo-Georgian style and paintings to the rest of the structure. A large, oak table stretched along the centre of the room with several chairs around it. At the moment, the room was full.

Every Cabinet member sat around the table, some looking irritated or just concerned as to why they had been roused when a Cabinet meeting was not scheduled.

The President called the meeting swiftly to order. He stood from the largest chair at the head of the table, looking at the assembled Ministers, associated officials and military officers that had been invited to brief and listen to the crisis at hand. He cleared his throat and began.

“I shall come straight to the point – the revolution is facing economic crisis.”

There was a murmur around the table. The statement caused the Minister for Economic Affairs, Lawrence Yardley, to look up in puzzlement. “How can we be on the verge of crisis?” he asked incredulously. “We haven’t even done anything yet. There’s been some business movement out of the country, but well within the expected-”

The President interrupted the Minister with a simple raise of the palm. “This is concerning a deal made by one of our Ministers who shall remain nameless that…could cause some discomfort.”

The table fell silent. The ‘Minister who shall remain nameless’ usually referred to the Minister for Covert Operations, the Theocracy’s external and internal Secret Service, which did not officially exist and reported only to the President, so the Ministers present waited for Rawlings to continue.

Rawlings took a deep breath. “Acting under their own authority, this Minister procured three small nuclear devices-” he paused as the murmuring grew again. “- three small nuclear devices that have been retrofitted to be dropped from aircraft, which arrived via delivery earlier today. The problem,” he continued with a weary tone, “is that this Minister paid a higher sum than we can afford for the devices.”

Lawrence eyed the President cautiously. “How much?” he asked in a worried tone.

Johnathon met the man’s eye. “750 Million US.”

The table erupted into shouts of astonishment and outrage, with Minister calling over each other to get their opinions heard. Lawrence and Johnathon simply held each others eyesight, knowing what lay ahead. Friends for years, the two men were always on the same wavelength. Finally, Rawlings brought the group to order by banging his hand on the table.

“This is not a time for panic,” he called over the Ministers as they quietened. “This is a time for thought, a time for consideration. I want options, and I want them now.”

“What about defaulting on the debt?” Minister for Trade Quentin Tate suggested. Rawlings suspected the man was sore from not being told of the deal, as it technically fell within the authority of his own Ministry. Rawlings shook his head.

“Impossible,” he said. “Our suppliers require payment, or else…well; they have powerful friends among the nations of the world.”

The talking recommenced, this time at a lower volume. The President turned to the Minister for Economic Affairs. “Lawrence, my friend,” he said calmly. “I assume there is a Ministry plan for such an occurrence.”

Lawrence hesitated. “There is,” he said carefully. “However, it does assume that the international community does not react violently. In light of our purchase, this is a possibility.”

Rawlings nodded. “We shall consider this,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “In the meantime, please tell us about this plan.”

Lawrence took a moment to collect himself. All eyes around the table were on him. He cleared his throat. “The plan was designed as an emergency measure in the event of Bramstoker coming into massive debt that it could not pay. It essentially combines several elements of the war emergency plans with economic options.”

“The first thing we do is instruct the Bramstoker Mint to being printing the amount of dollars required to pay our suppliers. This we do, and the suppliers, whoever they may be…” he glanced at the President, whose face remained neutral, “…get their promised payment.”

“Doesn’t printing more money have a negative effect on the economy?” David Straw, Minister for Social Welfare, asked curiously.

Yardley nodded. “That is true; increasing the amount of money in circulation is going to have negative effect on the value of the Bramstoker dollar, effectively devaluing it and giving us a Balance of Payments deficit. Although this means that we’d export more, it will inevitably affect our massive imports of fuel and other necessities that we get from abroad. Bramstokerans are dependent on the food and fuel we buy from abroad to stay alive right now, given the terrible state of our economy. With prices of these essential primary materials going through the roof as a result, the inflationary effects on sections of our economy that sell at the secondary and tertiary level could be disastrous. Our economy may well collapse as a result.”

The President glanced around the table, looking at the mortified faces of each person. “So what is the plan for dealing with this?” he asked calmly. Inwardly, he cursed the Minister for Covert Operations and wished he did not need his expertise.

Lawrence nodded to himself. “The plan calls for the government to immediately nationalise the purchase of a list of essential commodities, and to enter the emergency reserves of fuel put aside in the event of war. To avoid the inflationary effects of the increased price of import on our own economy, the plan requires the government to suspend the Bramstoker Dollar and enter a system of rationing for these basic essentials, with priority given to a list of official service personnel and vehicles.”

The talking broke out again. Donald Frankson, Minister for Internal Security, looked mortified. “They’ll be riots in the streets!” he exclaimed. “The police just couldn’t cope with such an occurrence.”

Rawlings nodded. “I understand this, Donald,” he explained. “That is why we need to look at security options.” He turned to Jack Walsh, Marshall of the Self Defence Forces. “Marshall?”

Walsh grimaced. “Mister President, I would advise that such a possibility would require a state of emergency, placing the Self Defence Forces on an internal security footing to control rioters and thieves.”

Lawrence nodded in agreement. “The economic plans requires the military to secure the food and fuel stores of the country against thieves and saboteurs,” he explained to the table. “The only wild card is the international reaction to this. The economic effects will be seen on the World Currency market and the countries that trade in any way either privately or publicly with Bramstoker. If the reason for this came out…”

The President thought for a moment. “Which is why they must not know,” he concluded after several minutes. “We must ensure that all news broadcasting is placed in the hands of the Government, and that international news broadcasting stops immediately.”

The President looked around the table at the unsure faces. He cleared his throat. “Gentlemen,” he said, trying to rally the Cabinet. “We face a time of crisis and uncertainty. But we can come through this. The revolution will succeed. We will create the harmony and unity that our citizens deserve. We will prevail against the enemies within and without. All in favour of these measures?”

Each man around the Cabinet table voted unanimously for the plan. Rawlings instructed the chief Ministers involved to meet with the Self Defence Force High Command and organise the response of each. The entire plan was codenamed the “Black Protocol.”

And so it began.

Early the next morning, units of the Self Defence Force were quietly mobilised and deployed into barracks nearby major population centres, food warehouses and fuel depots. Armoured vehicles were fuelled and transported to the outskirts of the towns and cities, being parked covertly in areas just outside the city limits. An Infantry Battalion stormed the Bramstoker Broadcasting Corporation studios at 5am, and newspaper buildings were sealed off by police forces. At 5:15am, international viewers of Bramstoker television channels had their screens suddenly go blank.

By the morning news, people awoke to discover that no television channels were broadcasting, no newspapers had been distributed and a single message was being played on domestic television announcing a State of Emergency and a government message to follow. Commuters and shoppers were puzzled and angered to find that supermarkets and petrol stations had not received deliveries that morning due to ‘supply distribution modifications taking place.’

At midday, the Bramstoker Mint began producing the currency required to pay the Leafanistani Mafia for their services. Once the payment was wired, Ministry officials began watching the money markets like hawks for the expected drop in the currency rate once the money went into circulation.

Time would now tell.

OOC: Bump

The money went into the hands of the Mafia and then were converted to USD electronically. The physical bills sat in a bank account in DMG, then once the money was used to buy rifles, the immense amount of currency went into circulation via DMG. It would be slow as not many people had use for it, but it would send the currency markets reeling.

750 million USD worth, suddenly flooded the markets, and in the Port City Exchange the worth of the Bramstoker Dollar (BSD) fell dramatically.

General Resources quickly began marking up goods to be shipped to Bramstoker, mostly microwaves and other kitchen appliances, their prices nearly rose 10x.

Urushalim
Federal Capital District
Dai Yuddha Ossyria

Federal President Dr. Wilhuff Woodhelm called to order his Council of Ministers. The collection of ministers had been called to assemble only an hour ago, at the behest of the Minister of Intelligence, Tiwaz Heimat, due to recent information regarding a looming economic disaster in the nation of Bramstoker. The Ministry of Intelligence took a special interest in this nation as Dai Yuddha Ossyria had recently signed a non-aggression pact with the nation and were exchanging ambassadors. Heimat also knew that a transport carrying weapons had also recently arrived in the country, but he did not know they were nuclear and while he had a hunch these weapons might have something to do with the looming crisis, he had no physical evidence.

Heimat decided to introduce the information to the Council in Dr. Woodhelm's stead, "Good day, Ministers. Earlier today, I received an intelligence report which revealed information regarding the economic status of the Theocratic Fascist State of Bramstoker, a nation we have just established relations with. As everyone here knows, the currency of Bramstoker has undergone an incredible devaluation, which threatens the very livelihood of their nation."

Dr. Woodhelm cleared his throat, interrupting Heimat, "So, Tiwaz, what exactly does this mean for us, we have not set up any trade links or economic treaties. Is this a security risk?"

The Minister of War and Home Defense, Yosea Taruba, shot out an answer before Heimat could open his mouth, "Your damn right this is a security risk! Mr. President, we need to upgrade our defense readiness to standby for civil unrest in friendly nation. We've seen this before here, people will started taking to the streets because their money is worthless. It'll be anarchy if they can't control the people, and in time, they won't!"

The President's close friend and longtime ally, the Minister of Foreign Affairs and Cooperation, Achilles Tullio patted him on the shoulder and spoke with a calm, stoic, sober voice, "Calm down, Yosea. We don't need to ready for military action, especially if they haven't even made an official government announcement regarding this crisis. I am worried about what this means about our embassy that is supposed to begin construction. We will need to ship military personnel to protect our construction crews whenever they arrive, and I doubt Pres. Rawlings will be willing to let us station a large force in his borders, even if it is just to protect our people. Wilhuff, we should send a communique to Pres. Rawlings regarding this matter."

Heimat got back to his report before anyone could answer him, "Before we started jumping to conclusions about what to do, there is another matter I have yet to bring up. My sources have also detected a shipment of weapons, the nature of which is unknown. They could be chemical, biological, nuclear, or just a load of rifles. We just don't know. It is possible that the concurrence of this weapon shipment and the currency devaluation are related, but we lack any proof. Mr. President, I request that you authorize a formal inquiry into these matters of the weapon shipment with the Bramstoker President."

Dr. Woodhelm thought about the decisions put before him long and hard, he was well-known in Ossyria for being a very contemplative man who took his time with major decisions. This, though, needed haste on Ossyria's part. "Minister Taruba, make sure the military is ready to strike. But remember, Bramstoker is not our enemy and we are not, I repeat not intending on attacking them. I just want you to prepare a peacekeeping force in the event that Rawlings request international aid if and when civil unrest breaks out. Achilles, I will send a letter inquiring about the current status of our embassy before I leave Ossyria, but I believe it is premature to send a large armed force to the region unless Rawlings requests an international peacekeeping force. Minister Heimat, regarding these weapons you speak of, I will not let it sour relations. Whatever weapons they are, I will try to get Pres. Rawlings assurances that they will not be used against civilians and only enemy combatents. Let's just hope they are convential weapons, and not nuclear, chemical, or biological. An international incident is the last thing I want not." Dr. Woodhelm took a deep breath and stood up, dismissing the Council. He was to personally inform His Imperial & Royal Majesty before the President left for the Shogun's funeral in the Tilean Free States. "I will send a communique immediately, and then I am off. Keep the country in one piece while I'm gone." He chuckled as he left his ministers.

Official Government Communique

To the Honorable Pres. Jonathan Rawlings of Bramstoker. This message is regarding the currency devaluation that has unfortunately been brought upon your nation. We realize that times are tough and you are likely very busy, but I hope you will reply to this. Some of my people are worried that this economic crisis may result in civil unrest, which may hinder the construction of our embassy. I have been informed by my military advisors that any civil violence may lead to death or injury to my diplomatic staff on their way to your nation. I must assure you, in the friendliest terms possible, that we will not allow this, I hope you understand. We just want some reassurance on your part. My intelligence chief has also informed me that of a recent weapons shipment, and while we do not consider to be our business, we do hope that they are not used on any civilians, if they are unconventional weapons (Nuclear, Chemical, Biological). I have authorized $10 billion in financial aid to be sent to your nation ASAP.

Signed,

Dr. Wilhuff Woodhelm, Federal President

On Behalf Of
The Sanctified and August Sage-Emperor of
All Under Heaven and Defender of All Beings
Markos IV Orlan

Bramstoker Broadcasting Corporation Studios was a large building in the centre of Bramstoker City, and maintained a central hub from the state monopoly on television and radio broadcasting within the Theocracy. Essentially a large, circular structure, the BBC Studios held six large broadcasting studios, five radio broadcasting studios and three antenna arrays that broadcasted the majority of information through the state.

Normally, the building would be busy with transmission engineers, presenters, directors and other assorted personnel roaming the halls. Today, the only personnel roaming the halls were soldiers of the Theocratic Self Defence Force, and the occasionally government official as they carried papers to and fro, glancing nervously at the AK-47s slung across the bodies of the conscripted infantry.

The main studio was a flurry of activity, as cameramen fraternised with their radio colleagues to arrange a dual broadcasting and the associated distribution of audio and visual equipment. Stage staff made last minute checks, ensuring that the news broadcasting room was completely organised and ready. Government staff went over the last few parts of the speech.

President Rawlings went over his own copy, nodding to himself before closing the last page and handing it to an aide. “It’s good,” he said, precipitating a smile from his Communications Director Geoff Ford. “Take it across to the teleprompter people and feed that in.”

As the aide scurried off, Rawlings sighed, rubbing his eyes for a moment. His Chief of Staff, Frank Fletcher, gave him a sideway glance. “You okay, John?”

Rawlings smiled. Frankie Fletcher was the only man that was allowed to call him John after coming to Presidency. This was not a decree in any sense, but merely reflected Frank’s no-nonsense attitude towards people when others started being sycophantic. Frank had been a childhood friend of the President, and had been on the protests in the early days as members of the UBP New Youth organisation. Rawlings sighed, straightening his tie. “Yeah, I’m okay – just didn’t sleep too much.”

Frank grinned. He reclined against a series of packing cases, arms folded, one leg crossed over the other. Like the President, he wore the black uniform of the party, but let the collar hang loose at his neck in a slight casual sense that, compared to the straight-laced members of the Cabinet, was distinct among his company. “John, there’s no-one else I’d trust to do this,” he said in the manner reserved for long friends. “You’ve always been cleaning up other people’s mistake since joining the party. That’s why you get the top job, because you take responsibility.”

John smiled, looking at his friend. “Thanks, Frank.” At that point, an aide stepped over and let the President know that the crews were ready. The President checked his uniform once more, and then stepped forward to take a seat behind the Presidential Office mock-up on stage.

All across Bramstoker, the static that had invaded the airwaves suddenly cleared, and brief message reminded the nation that a government message was to follow. All across the nation, people stopped to examine their nearest radio or television screen, and waited to see what had caused them so much distress in the last two days.

A short stanza of the national anthem was played, and the screen was replaced with the studio and the President. The people waited – they had supported the man, and now they wanted answers for their support.

President Rawlings began. “Glorious people of the Theocracy, we face a time of crisis. Before explaining the situation in the time-honoured method of honesty that I have strived to maintain, I would first like to pay tribute to our military personnel, our emergency services personnel, the government personnel and, most importantly of all, the brave and noble people of the Theocracy for striving to continue under such difficult circumstances, proving to the world the resilience and the patriotism of the Bramstoker citizen. Now, I shall tell you the truth.”

What followed was broadcasted only on national television, the international channels remained silent, and outlined the only way Bramstoker political analysts could explain away their mistake without appearing incompetent.

“Two days ago, enemies of the state abroad declared a massive blockade against the Theocratic Fascist State, intent on strangling the economy of Bramstoker and bringing about the downfall of the government chosen by the people. This is a cruel, inhumane and intolerable act that makes you, the people; suffer for the different opinions of enemies abroad. These enemies cannot be named for security reasons.”

“Acting in the best interest of the people, I have declared a State of Emergency in the Theocracy and nationalised the import of basic necessities on a rationing basis. This basis of rationing shall be divided into four categories; official personnel or Grade A; families or people with dependents – Grade B; single people or people without dependents – Grade C; and prisoners of the state – Grade D. Instructions on how to obtain the appropriate card shall be published and distributed free of charge by tomorrow.”

President Rawlings took a moment to let this information sink in. “This is a hard time for the Theocracy. We ask that people do not panic. We ask for calm. There will be hardship, but shall prevail. We are Bramstokerans, and we shall show these enemies that Bramstokerans cannot be put down, or disgraced, or destroyed.”

The broadcast ended with the national anthem. People stood around, letting the information sink in with mixed feelings. Then, they went about their business. Time would tell as to their long-term reaction.

The President and staff were taken back to the Presidential Building, whilst the BBC began broadcasting a regular schedule, apart from international channels inside and outside of the Theocracy, and the news broadcasts, which merely repeated Rawling’s message.

Once back at the building, Rawlings met with officials from the Ministry for Economic Affairs. The analysis did not look promising. The Bramstoker Dollar (B$) had lost almost a fifth of its value against the United States Dollar in the last twelve hours. Although accurate estimates were not available, a crash economic analysis on prices of imported goods showed prices beginning a fast upward trend. Rawlings rubbed his eyes as he sat back in his chair, listening to strong warnings about the knock-on effects regarding Bramstokeran standards of living, the economic activity of companies relying on products from abroad, the inflationary effect on wages and prices in the domestic economy, and the collapse of the economy. All Rawlings could think of was one word – Weimar. And everyone knew how that went. He drafted a memo to Lawrence Yardley, the Minister for Economic Affairs, asking for continuous updates on the situation, and contingency plans should Black Protocol fail.

The second item of business when he returned was a message from the Allied States of Dai Yuddha Ossyria, a country that had the dubious honour of being the first state to open official diplomatic relations with the Theocracy since the revolution. Rawlings read the print-out given to him by the Foreign Ministry official, and drafted a response for the Ministry to send. As he sent it off, he was momentarily concerned as to how knowledge of the shipment of weapons had come into the international intelligence community. He telephoned the Marshall of the Self Defence Forces and ordered that a double guard should be placed on the weapons in storage.

The message went out within the next hour:

Official Government Message

'The Theocratic Fascist State of Bramstoker would like to assure the Allied States that the current economic situation is currently under the control of the Bramstoker government, and would like to assure the Allied States that construction of the embassy shall not be hindered. To this end, we shall provide personal security protection to alleviate your fears of harm against your personnel, provided by the Ground Defence Forces of the Theocratic Self Defence Forces.'

'Whilst we neither confirm nor deny the Theocracy having access to unconventional weapons of any kind, the policy of the Bramstoker government is not to use such weapons against civilian targets unless such use occurs to the Theocratic Fascist State first.'

'We thankyou for your offer of aid, and will consider accepting this offer in the near-future as our economic analysts organise our continued response to the current economic situation.'

By the time the message was transmitted, the value of the Bramstoker Dollar had dropped another cent against the US Dollar. Prices in the shops would look interesting the following day.

(OOC: Dai Yuddha Ossyria, please stick around - I might have a bit of a xenophobic reaction to some of your personnel as an unintended result of the broadcast which, although not killing any of your people, would be a good step in escalating the situation a little. Thanks for your participation.)

Urushalim
Federal Capital District
Dai Yuddha Ossyria

The President was gone outside of the country for the weekend, so the executive duties of his post were temporarily taken over by Prime Minister Vinzenz Tal-Utrei, head of the Council of Ministers and most trusted advisor to the Emperor. Once the message from Bramstoker arrived, Minister of Foreign Affairs Achilles Tullio brought the message to the Prime Minister immediately. "Mr. Prime Minister, Pres. Rawlings sent this for the President. Since he's out of the country, here it is for you. He has sent a reply to our inquiries, all are as we expected. Intelligence Minister Heimat believes that their refusal to deny the existance of unconventional weapons is a sure fire guarantee that they have them."

The Prime Minister looked up from the Ossyrian classic Chronicles of Blood and Ice as Tullio was finished talking, "Do you really believe that Bramstoker's possession of unconventional weapons poses any threat to us? The Emperor doesn't, in fact he believes it may strengthen their international position and, in turn, ours. They are our friends, and you and Minister Heimat should remember that rather than trying to find something to accuse them. I am sure the President would agree with the Emperor."

"I am not trying to antagonize out friends, but I do think that the international community will backlash at any weapons that may be considered inhumane entering Bramstoker. And since we are close with the new revolutionary government, we may also be targeted by any nation seeking to act as international police."

"Alright, your concern is noted. Leave me be, oh, but before you go tell Ambassador Duon Muosis to work with Theocratic Self Defence Forces who will be working with his diplomatic staff as protection. It doesn't seem like their economy's getting better any time soon. Tell Finance Minister Darkum to keep that financial aid set aside just in case they do accept it."

The situation in the Theocratic Fascist State could aptly be described as someone building a tinderbox. As the people awoke the next morning to discover instructions on receiving their rationing cards from local police stations, and as the filling high streets took scope of the sudden price hikes in the shopping centres for anything other than food, fuel and medical supplies, the attitude began to get sombre. And whilst a tinderbox could spark and be quickly subdued, any accident in managing the hot spot could result in the entire structure bursting into flames.

And the hotspots were growing…

---

“How much?!” the man exclaimed, glaring angrily across the counter at the sales clerk. A pair of blue jeans lay across the table where they had been slung down in rage at the price quote.

The clerk looked nervously at the enraged man, glancing to either side momentarily to see whether store security personnel were in the vicinity. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry sir, but we had to raise our prices overnight in order to take account of price hikes by our-”
“I don’t give a damn about your price hikes!” the man shouted again, slamming his fist on the table and causing several people in the shop to pause in their movements and look at the counter. The man waved an accusing finger. “This is blatant capitalist exploitation of a crisis situation. We’re facing a national emergency, and all you can think about is lining your pockets!”

A hand fell upon the man’s shoulder, and he looked around to see a suited shop security guard smiling in a fixed way. “Sir,” he said calmly, “would you please follow me?”

The man snorted in derision, slapping the guard’s hand from his shoulder. “Get the hell off me!” He turned back to the clerk as the guard’s face became stony and motioned to another sales person to call the police. Meanwhile, the man continued. “I think it’s disgusting that these stores are taking advantage of an enemy action against our great country to make money. And I think it’s completely destructive that people are letting you! Why don’t we just get rid of the whole damn lot of you private business types?”

The man continued ranting for several minutes, by which time a police car in the red-and-white livery of the Red Valley Police Force had pulled up outside the shop. Two uniformed officers entered the building with a purposeful stride, their hands never too far from their side arms.

Lieutenant Peter Smith sighed heavily as he took scope of the situation. This was the third callout of its kind since going on shift that morning, and the situation showed no sign of abating. He nodded to his partner, and stepped forward to the man. “Sir,” Smith said tersely. “If you will follow us outside, please?”

The man turned to look at the two police officers. “You’re arresting me?!” he shouted as realisation dawned. “Damnit, you should be arresting them!” again he pointed angrily at the salesman. “Those are the enemies of this state, and you’re protecting them?”

Smith maintained a calm face, but placed a hand on the man’s arm. “Sir-”

Again, the man’s instinct’s kicked in, and he slapped the officer’s hand away. There was a sharp gasp across the room, and Smith stepped back momentarily stunned. He recovered quickly however, and un-holstered the .22 handgun at his hip. Raising the weapon to eye level, he resumed a calm tone. “Get on you knees, sir.”

The enraged customer’s face went as white a sheet. “Okay, okay,” he said in a desperate calm. “No need to get hasty, just…” he faltered as he got onto his knees. Smith’s partner went around to his back and began to handcuff the man. As he did so, the Lieutenant glanced around the room to measure the reaction on people’s faces. Alarm, but also…disgust. Clearly a lot of people agreed with the angry citizen. Smith did not like that one bit.

“Come on,” he said, as the two officers walked the man from the shop. They had no sooner done this then a fourth call reported a civil disturbance at a supermarket over the price of a pack of cigarettes. Smith was beginning to get sick of this already.

---

The Embassy building of the Allied States of Dai Yuddha Ossyria was a construction site in the centre of Bramstoker City. Olive Lane was a quiet street, mostly filled with government offices and other official buildings, and seemed a perfect place for the construction of the first foreign embassy within Bramstoker. Construction crew from the Allied States were busy in the process of building and securing the complex. Here and there, an official from the Allied States Foreign Affairs office could be seen supervising the development and discussing with their Theocratic colleagues.

Captain Jarrod Hawkins sighed, pausing in his patrol to light a cigarette. He stared ruefully at the pack of ten carcinogens – prices had shot through the roof overnight, so he had to drastically cut his habit. ‘Maybe I’ll end up quitting after all,’ he thought with grim humour.

Someone shouted his name. Hawkins turned to see Sergeant Malchatt jogging towards him. Malchatt was a big, tough veteran of the military, having seen several times of civil unrest before the revolution. The fact that he looked worried was concerning to the Captain. Hawkins took a drag on the cigarette and exhaled. “What’s the problem, Sergeant?”

Malchatt paused, saluting in this habitual fashion whatever the situation that Hawkins still found amusing. “Sir, we’ve got a group of civvies out the front, and they look ugly.”

Hawkins sighed, extinguishing the cigarette and placing the two-thirds un-smoked into his breast pocket. He followed the Sergeant to the front of the construction site, where a group of people had gathered outside of the walled complex and were chanting nationalist slogans.

Hawkins took a moment to compose himself, and assessed the situation. Six of his Platoon were standing at the front of the gate, each holding their AK-47 tightly say for one AK-101 LMG Operator who had positioned himself on the top of the wall. The crowd looked roughly a hundred large, and seemed to be armed with bottles and stones. Hawkins licked his lips and stepped forward. In a loud voice he declared, “I am the Commander of this Platoon; please state your business for being here.”

One man stepped forward, obviously a self-declared ringleader. He wore a faded camouflage jacket and blue jeans, and held a bottle in one hand. “I’ll tell you what our business is!” he shouted. “Our business is to get these foreign scum out of our country!”

Hawkins managed to keep his face from breaking out into a mixture of amusement and puzzlement. “I’m sorry?” he said calmly.

The man was unshaven and smelled of alcohol, even at this distance. Hawkins did not like the combination. The ringleader grinned with stained teeth. “You heard me! These foreign dirt eaters are responsible for our prices being so high, our lives being interrupted! I say, they get the hell out!”

There was a general shouting of agreement. Hawkins found himself cursing the President’s broadcast. He waited until the shouting died down. “The Allied States are on friendly terms with our country,” he said as calmly as possible. “They are not responsible for-”

“Of course they are!” the man snapped. “Foreigners are foreigners, what’s the difference!” With that, he threw the bottle at the brick wall.

The next few moments seemed to happen in slow motion. Later analysis by the Ministry of Defence would clear Captain Hawkins of any responsibility for the actions of his men. Fortunately, no Allied States personnel were working on the wall that day; they stood on scaffolding high above, watching with rapt interest.

The bottle flew through the air before Hawkins could shout in protest. Instinctively, he reached for his Colt .45 sidearm, his hand closing around the pistol grip and beginning to draw the weapon. The bottle smashed against the side of the wall, spreading green, razor-like shards that sparkled in the bright midday sun and caused several of the platoon members to duck their heads and cover their faces from the falling glass. The ringleader, seeing Hawkins drawing his weapon, pulled a blade from his pocket and began shouting at the top of his voice for other protesters to “let them have it!” One Private looked up from shielding his face, saw the situation, misheard the shouting, took aim with his rifle at the man and squeezed the trigger.

The hail of bullets ripped through the lead protester like a smattering of rain against a puddle, pockets of blood jumping from the wounds like splashes from a pond. The crowd of protesters began to scream, and several threw more missiles towards the soldiers and the walls of the embassy complex. Other members of the platoon panicked, seeing their comrade fire and seeing themselves under attack, and opened up with their own rifles before either Malchatt or Hawkins could shout for a cease. That’s when Private Dolt, the Machine Gunner, squeezed the trigger on his own weapon.

The firing went on for another six seconds before either the Captain or his Sergeant could be heard over the noise of the weapons fire. The protesters had begun running, screaming in horror towards the end of the road and safety. As the silence pierced the air in the aftermath of the weapons fire, twelve bodies lay along the road from the Embassy towards the exit to Olive Lane.

Although panicking, Hawkins was later credited in doing the correct thing. He relieved the Platoon of their watch, and personally radioed Capital City Command to report the situation and request a relief Platoon to take over the guarding of the Allied States embassy and its construction personnel. What the record did not show was that he then slid to the floor, back against the wall, and burst into tears.

---

The Emergency Cabinet Meeting was the second in a single week. Present was every member of Cabinet apart from Foreign Affairs Minister Jack Harrow, who was attending the funeral of a foreign leader.

President Rawlings listened grimly to Marshall Walsh’s explanation of the embassy incident. He then drew back in his chair, rubbing tired eyes and thinking for several moments. “This is getting out of hand,” he muttered. There was general assent from around the table.

Economic Affairs Minister Lawrence Yardley hesitated. “Mister President,” he said. “You asked for other plans for dealing with the crisis?” Seeing Rawlings nod wearily, Lawrence cleared his throat and looked around the table. “Although the Black Protocol has succeeded in ensuring that people get a level of food and fuel so far to continue their lives, this will not last long. The government is being forced to spend massive amounts of money on the imports of these goods due to the currency devaluation. We cannot print more money without making the situation even worse than it is. At this rate, we will be bankrupt as a nation within three weeks.”

There was deathly silence as this sunk in on each Minister present. Food riots, massive protests on the streets; it was almost unthinkable. Even now, the Ministry for Covert Operations was reporting that its sources within the Liberal Party showed indications of organising a massive protest against the government.

Lawrence continued after a moment, seemingly shaken by his own words. “The problem is that the Black Protocol is reacting to the crisis, rather than reacting against the crisis. We need to stabilise the currency, quickly.”

Rawlings looked at Yardley. “We’re all ears, Minister,” he said quietly.

Lawrence smiled slightly. “We have an aid package awaiting our request from the Allied States. Instead of taking the aid in material form, we ask the Allied States to being buying Bramstoker Dollars from the international money market, therefore reducing the supply of money and bringing the value of the Dollar back up to a reputable standard. Once that is over, we can begin to free up the rationing system and bring the crisis to an end.”

"Won't that have inflationary effects on their own economy?" one Minister asked.

Yardley nodded wearily. "Unfortunately yes. However, if we ask for a slow but gradual purchase of Bramstoker Dollars, then the Allied States economy would have time to adjust to their new situation. It does mean that our own problems may go on for a while yet, but it does mean that long-term stability would be in sight."

The motion was put to a vote. It passed unanimously. As the Ministers filed from the room, several patting Lawrence on the back, President Rawlings watched his retreating friend with seeds of paranoia building in his body. “Marshall, stay behind a moment,” he called.

Marshall Walsh paused, waiting until the room was empty. The tall, veteran solider had been Marshall under the previous regime, and had seen several situations of civil unrest. Rawlings had at first doubted his loyalty to the regime, but saw that his loyalty to his country and duty dispelled his political beliefs. “Marshall, how is the military taking this?” he asked calmly.

Marshall Walsh considered his reply. “Sir, assuming that the crisis is brought to an end soon, we should have no problems. However, the inflation issues are making it harder to pay our troops to the same standard of living. If this goes on longer than another week, we won’t be able to pay anything at all.”

Rawlings sighed, thinking hard for a moment. “Marshall, I want you to work with the Ministry for Covert Operations,” he said. “The moment any dissention in the ranks of the troops is seen, I need to know about it.”

Walsh shifted uneasily. He disliked the idea of spying on his own troops, but his duty required him to follow orders. “Yes, Mister President.” He saluted and left the room, thoughts forming in his mind as to the current situation.

---

The Ministry for Economic Affairs was the largest Ministry in the Theocracy. The building was six stories high and effectively provided a hub for the organisation, assessment and management of the economic system of Bramstoker. It was exceptionally busy at the moment due to the current management of the rationing situation and the frequent updates on price and inflation issues.

Yardley sat in his office, having drafted the message to the Allied States for economic assistance. He was about to buzz for a messenger when his intercom sounded. His secretary’s voice came through the speaker. “Minister, you have three gentlemen to see you.”

Lawrence frowned in bemusement. “Send them in, and send in a messenger.” He then sat back and waited. He broke into a grin as the Minister for Defence, the Minister for Internal Security and the Junior Minister for Foreign Affairs stepped into the room. “George, Donald, Greg,” he said respectively, standing from his seat. “Why didn’t Gemma announce you?”

“We asked her not too,” George Hesseltine, the Minister for Defence, said in a low voice. Greg Davis closed the door, and left the room in silence.

Lawrence waited for a moment. When no-one spoke, he broke the silence impatiently. “George, I’m rather busy, so-”

George raised his hand. “Lawrence, we’re concerned about the President’s handling of the situation.”

Lawrence paused in his sentence, sudden doubts in his mind. “Oh yes?” he said neutrally.

George hesitated, looking at the other two Ministers. “This shipment of nuclear weapons,” he said. “This is the entire cause of the economic crisis, and yet the President hasn’t removed the Minister for Covert Operations from power. Also, he makes up this bull about foreign blockaders, resulting in what happened this morning.”

Lawrence took a seat again. “What are you suggesting?” he asked tersely.

Again the Defence Minister hesitated. Donald Frankson spoke up. “If the President can’t handle the crisis, we want you to agree to-”

He paused suddenly as the door opened. The messenger, a young boy, entered the room nervously and took the telegram from Yardley, before disappearing. George checked the door.

“We want,” Donald continued in a lower voice, “for you to agree to take his place, should we call a vote of no confidence.”

The room was deathly silent again. Lawrence stared at the men. “Please tell me this is a joke,” he said without humour.

George rolled his eyes. “Lawrence, we all know that you’re the one really sorting this crisis out. The economic solutions are yours to accomplish. All Rawlings has done is call in the military and make the situation worse.”

Lawrence sighed, rubbing his forehead. “President Rawlings,” he emphasised, “is doing his best to handle a difficult crisis, and we shouldn’t second guess him right now.”

Frankson leaned on Lawrence’s desk emphatically. “Lawrence, we’re not talking about calling it tomorrow, but only if things get totally out of hand. The only way the regime would survive in that instance is to replace the President before we go ahead with elections for the Parliament next month.”

Lawrence was silent. He had to admit that doubts had been forming about the President’s handling of the situation. But John was a long-time friend of his, and what the three Ministers were suggesting would be nothing less than treason. “We will see how the crisis goes,” he said calmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

The three Ministers left the room, talking in low voices among themselves. Lawrence continued with some paperwork, but his mind kept straying back to the conversation that had just taken place.

---

Official Government Message

The Theocratic Fascist State would like to request financial aid from the Allied States. To this end, we would like to request that the Allied States begins purchasing surplus currency from the international money market to stabilise the Bramstoker Dollar (B$). Taking into account the effects on your own economy, we would like to request a slow purchasing of B$ in order to minimise the effects on your own economic system.

We would also like to reassure the Allied States that the safety of its construction and diplomatic personnel is paramount to the Theocracy, and that the incident earlier today (as has likely been reported by your personnel) shall not reoccur.

Signed:

President Johnathon Rawlings
Deputy Foreign Affairs Minister Greg Davis

0930 hours
Palace of Cosmic Harmony
Urushalim
Federal Capital District
Dai Yuddha Ossyria

The Emperor Markos IV of the House Orlan, spiritual leader of millions of Dai Yuddha devotees, was a model of wisdom, ethical and moral authority, and mental self-discpline. While not having any legal or constitutional power, he did hold significant sway in how the government operated, domestically and abroad. The Old Man, as many of his close personal friends called him, was in his 50s and stood about 5'10'' with long, white hair and a long, whtie beard. He was very studious, spending most of his time cloistered away in the Imperial City of War and Peace at the heart of Urushalim, access to which was forbidden to everyone unless they had express permission from the emperor himself.

Right now, he was meditating, naked as he often did, in the Grove of the White Leaves on the grounds of the Palace of Cosmic Harmony when Prime Minister Vinzenz Tal-Utrei, one of two heads of government sharing power with the popularly elected Federal President, interrupted him with an urgent message. "Your Holiness, Master Emperor, the Foreign Ministry received a government communique regarding a disturbing incident in Bramstoker involving twelve dead protestors and the Theocratic Self-Defence Forces. Apparently the incident was regarding our presence in the country. Here is the message from the Minister Tullio, himself." He handed the letter from the Foreign Minister to the Emperor. As the emperor looked it over, he kept a calm demeanor, reluctant to show his own concern about the incident.

"This is a highly disappointing development. Of course, this is of no suprise. What would you do, Vinzenz, if the Ossyrian economy was collapsing; prices skyrocketing, people going to the streets to survive and the government is unable to provide a satisfactory answer, while at the same time a foreign government is spending millions upon millions of dollars to build an embassy down the street. Perhaps the protestors were not all that misguided, perhaps the protestors did have a good reason to vent their anger on our people."

"Master Emperor, these people may have had good reason to be angry, but that does not excuse throwing bottles at our construction crews. The Bramstoker guards did everything that they should have done." Vinzenz shuffled through some other documents in his hands and pulled out a document from the Trade Minister Ferro and Finance Minister Darkum, "Sir, the Bramstokeran have also sent a reply to our offer of financial aid. The Council wanted to authorize their request immediately, but I felt that you should be informed before he gave the go ahead."

Vinzenz gave the official Bramstoker communique to the Emperor, "Hmmmm. They denied a monetary package and requested us to purchase Bramstoker money? It seems like a solid plan, as long as the Finance and Trade Ministers agree, I have no problems with it. Send a message, along with the entire Council of Ministers, offering our sincere apologies to the families of the deceased protestors."

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

1300 hours
Ossyrian Federal International Airport
Dahleez
Ossyrian State of the Zartosh
Dai Yuddha Ossyria

Pres. Dr. Wilhuff Woodhelm had just arrived back in Urushalim after attending a foreign leader's funeral. He was being escorted to the Federal Hall in the capital by his good friend, Foreign Minister Achilles Tullio. He was brought up to date by Tullio, responding, "While at the funeral, I met the Bramstoker Foreign Minister for the first time in person. He never mentioned anything that would imply that Bramstoker's economy was in trouble, nothing. Oh, Achilles, at least all of you were able to keep Ossyria in one piece while I was gone. It's good to know that the money is going to do something rather than just sit around, at least the Emperor isn't completely dissociated from the suffering of the Bramstoker people."

"Wilhuff, our diplomatic staff need more security. I appreciate what Pres. Rawlings is doing for us, but we need our men over there doing our job. We're supposed to protect people under our care, not let others do it for us."

"Achilles, Ambassador Muosis and his staff aren't under our care. They are under Bramstoker and Pres. Rawlings' care for as long as they are serving in the Foreign Service. Just as we are responsible for protecting the good doctor, Bramstoker Ambassador Sway. Besides, one of our best and most experienced veterans is serving as Muosis' chief of security."

"Sir, did you--?"

"He owed me a favor, it's off the record that's why no one on the Council was informed. I spoke with him while at the funeral. Mr. Mas Reshurr will ensure the safety of our people, one way or another..."

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

1620 hours
Ossyrian Embassy
Bramstoker National Capital
Bramstoker

Ambassador Duon Muosis was well-known in the Ossyrian Foreign Ministry for keeping his true emotions hidden, now in the wake of the recent violence it was important more than ever. He had spoken with Minister Tullio on the phone just a half hour ago about Pres. Woodhelm's decision to assign Mas Reshurr, one of the most efficient and well-trained soldiers in the history of the Ossyrian High Guard and Special Forces. He had a long history of working in the human intelligence field and providing the government access to information the could not get their hands on through any legal channels.

Muosis wasn't especially happy about Reshurr's assignment here, and he surely didn't show it. He was a pacifist, always trying to look for peaceful and legal means to solve problems with the government he was working with, just the type of man Woodhelm wanted representing Ossyria in a foreign government. Muosis felt that Reshurr's appointment as security undermined his peaceful pursuits in the country, but of course Minister Tullio said he just had to learn to work with him.

The Ambassador was the first Ossyrian to learn about the massacre, as he called it, that took place outside his future office. He felt that it was a shame, but that the victims brought the violence onto themselves through their own violent behavior. Again, though, he did not let his personal beliefs public because of the obvious public backlash.

Muosis had summoned Mas Reshurr to his temporary office in a neighboring building. When he arrived Muosis looked anything but suprised, even though he felt it, when the man walked through the door.

Reshurr had a rough-shave, black hair and green eyes. His didn't smile once when the Ambassador met with him, understandable considering the reason he was here. Reshurr was well aware of the Ambassador's passivity and dedication to the law, in fact he admired that most about the man. What he didn't like was his blind dedication, unwilling to put national safety first even if the law denied them that pleasure.

"Listen, Reshurr. I understand fully the reason for your assignment here, but remember that I have orders to cooperate fully with the Bramstoker military forces assigned to protect us, and I don't want some singleton special forces cowboy running around like in some action movie. You are not to leave embassy grounds, unless you have my authorization. Is that clear?" Muosis kept a stern face, he had heard stories of the man before, all of which made him seem more like a myth than a man. Such as during the Peninsular War, Reshurr had to hide under bodies of corpses to escape capture and when he was discovered he killed four armed men with his bare hands. These were just stories, though, the ambassador, thought.

Reshurr spoke with a gruff no-nonsense voice, "Ambassador, I want you to remember that I am not your lackey. My orders come directly from the 5th Column (The 5th Column officially does not exist, and is the most feared intelligence service in Ossyria). I will be as ruthless to our enemies as you are friendly with our allies. I respect your orders here, and I ask that you respect mine. Now, Mr. Ambassador, if that is all I need to secure the construction site and try and make sure what happened earlier does not happen again." He stood and walked out before the ambassador could answer. Muosis felt that this assignment wasn't going to be fun.

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

Official Government Communique
To:
Jonathan Rawlings, President
Greg Davis, Deputy Foreign Affairs Minister

From:
Dr. Wilhuff Woodhelm, Federal President
Vinzenz Tal-Utrei, Prime Minister
Achilles Tullio, Minister of Foreign Affairs and Cooperation

Mr. President, the Government of the Allied States of Dai Yuddha Ossyria
would like to express our deepest and most sincere condolences to the
families of the victims of the incident outside of our embassy. If any of our
staff is to blame for this, we will make sure they receive a just punishment.
While it is unfortunate that some of the Bramstoker people feel that we are
responsible for the recent economic problems in your country, we understand
that the people are angry and we do not blame them for expressing that
anger. We also extend our condolences to the members of the Theocratic
Self-Defence Forces who participated in the incident and hope that they are
judged fairly, they should also not be blamed for what has happened. We are
sure it was just a very tense situation gone horribly awry.

Regarding the request for financial aid in the form of purchasing Bramstoker
money, all of our top leaders will consent. After all, we consider the money
yours anyway and we will use it to help your people in anyway you see fit.
Our Minister of Finance and the Minster of Trade will oversee that purchases.

We are happy to see that construction is coming along nicely and that the
embassy will be completed soon. Glory to the Theocracy and to the Allied
States!

Signed,
Dr. Wilhuff Woodhelm, Federal President
Vinzenz Tal-Utrei, Prime Minister
Achilles Tullio, Minister of Foreign Affairs and Cooperation

On Behalf Of

The Most Sanctified and August Sage-Emperor
of All Under Heaven and Defender of All Beings
Markos IV Orlan

Mysterious Dark Room

"So boys, looks like we helped fuck things up?"

"We have a responsibility to our customers..."

"Since when?"

Silence permated the room when the head of the table spoke up again.

"Look, in times like these, a black market fills the void. I say we take advantage of that."

"How do you mean, guns for rebels?"

"No, no, no. For once lets actually fill our ships with rice and beans. We'll ship them there as a normal ship picking up goods, unload the food, and sell them secretly to local markets, and people."

A bunch of grunts of approval and a box of cigarettes were slid across the table.

"What about these?"

"People need that too, so we sell."

"Good, good, lets roll."

A ship meant to pick up a dozen Bramstoker built tractors was filled to the brim with flour, rice, beans, bread, jams, jellies and cigarettes. They established contacts with a local grocery that desperately needed sales, along with several dock workers who had kids complaining of lack of school lunch and the fact that their own mothers didn't have enough bread to make them sandwiches.

By avoiding duties and taxes, they were able to sell them at a great discount. If anything, it would help things as the money was to be laundered, converted, and then 'disappear'. A silent gesture to thank Bramstoker by slowly reducing the amount of currency in circulation.

Morning dawned on the next day of the crisis. The sun rose across the tinderbox of Bramstoker as economic forces agreed the night before began to dismantle the volatile situation. But the wood could still catch.

The morning Cabinet briefing was on a more positive note than the day before. Lawrence read out reports of strength indications on the international money market as the value of the Bramstoker Dollar began to rise once again. A sigh of relief went up around the table, and several Ministers smiled and patted themselves on the back for beginning to bring things back to normalcy. Mostly however, they patted Lawrence on the back, congratulating him for a job well done. Rawlings sat with a fixed smile, adding his own congratulations to the forum, his eyes never leaving his Minister for Economic Affairs. Finally, he cleared his throat, bringing the sycophancy to a close. “So, what’s our next course of action?”

There was silence for a few moments. Rawlings bit his lip as it seemed most the Cabinet looked towards Lawrence for an idea. He smiled politely when Yardley, noticing this, spoke up.

“I would advise updating the population on the situation,” he said. “We record another broadcast explaining how things are getting better and developing towards greater stability. We claim to have broken the foreign will and we appeal for calm and resilience.”

There was a general nodding of heads around the table. Rawlings considered for a moment, and put the motion to vote. It passed unanimously. The cabinet began to file out.

After the room was empty, Rawlings returned to the Presidential Office. He sank into his chair, sighing wearily and rubbing his brow. The economic crisis looked to be soon over. The political crisis might just be beginning. The intercom buzzed at the arranged time, announcing his appointment for that hour. Through the door stepped Marshall Walsh and Minister for Covert Affairs Winston Vance.

Rawlings waited a few moments until the door of the office had closed. Silence permeated the air. Thin wisps of smoke from Rawling’s half-finished cigar floated lazily into the air like ghostly fingers, giving the room a pungent odour. “Well?” he asked shortly.

Winston spoke up first. The Minister was still eager to redeem himself in the face of his blunder, and Rawlings found this a most useful time to utilise his skills. “My Ministry has finished installing bugs in every Ministerial office as of one hour ago. All audio material is broadcast live to a specialist office I set up this morning in the Covert Affairs building, designated Internal Control. Furthermore,” he glanced at the Marshall as he spoke. “With the help of the military command, I’ve placed staff in several sensitive positions and among the troops themselves to watch for signs of unrest.”

Rawlings nodded approvingly. “Excellent,” he beamed. “Perhaps in the future we shall look at approving a specific Political Officer for attachment to the military.”

Walsh’s face remained calm, but his stomach churned at the thought of Political Officers in the military, scaring the troops into paranoia and interfering with the Command Decisions of field commanders. He hastily moved onto the next point. “There is one other matter, Mister President.”

Rawlings nodded for him to continue. Walsh cleared his throat. “Earlier today, several opposition groups launched a protest rally in Red Valley City.”

The President frowned. “Violent?” he asked.

“Not as of yet,” Walsh countered reassuringly. “However, I took the liberty of deploying troops from Red Valley Army Base to nearby areas as troops for potential quelling. But the police should be able to handle it.”

---

Red Valley City was the southern-most large settlement in the Theocracy, and one of the few of any kind to be based on the west coast. Slightly smaller than Bramstoker City with a population of two million, Red Valley City served as the regional capital for the south, and the military headquarters for Bramstoker Southern Defence Command. The city was also notorious for its militant population; the UBP had been formed in this city, and over a history of violent encounters with the police had slowly taken the civic elections before moving nationwide. Conversely, Red Valley also held several large militant communist groups. These were the people are the fore of the protest in Valley Square.

George Theodore Oxfordton glanced across at the man standing next to him on the podium. The Chairman of the Liberal Democratic Party felt somewhat uneasy next to Jack Smith, his counterpart in the Communist Party, but quashed his outward expressions of this feeling. Alliances of necessity were unavoidable in these situations. The Liberal Democrats and the Communist Party brought together almost a third of the population of Bramstoker within their combined memberships, and Oxfordton took comfort in the fact that this was proudly on display today.

Valley Square was packed with protesters. Several thousand people thronged the area, shouting and cheering so loudly that the air vibrated with the raw energy. Bramstoker flags were waved next to the yellow flags of the LDP and the Communist red banners. Oxfordton smiled. It was a sign of unity, however stable that unity was. And this was something he could use.

Oxfordton stepped up to the podium, taking hold of the mike. The noises of the protesters died slightly as he cleared his throat across the PA system. “My friends, my countrymen…my comrades,” he added as an afterthought, glancing at Smith. “We stand in a time of crisis. We stand in a situation where the fundamental concepts of liberal democracy are in danger of destruction!”

The crowd cheered in its assent to the statement. Oxfordton looked across the group. “The fundamental basis of individual rights and the protection of civil liberties is perilously close to eradication in the face of a fascist dictatorship that threatens to enslave us all!”

The crowd cheered again. Smith nodded. Oxfordton began to find his footing, and spoke more passionately. “I say, it is our civic and moral duty to stop this from happening! We shall not be enslaved! We shall march upon the capital and show a sign of solidarity against the government, a sign of protest!”

The roar sounded again. Flags waved dramatically, and people threw hats into the air and raised hands in defiant gestures to the UBP.

Oxfordton continued. “We shall take back our fair country from the fascists! We shall…” he faltered as a commotion at the back of the crowd made him frown. To his side, Smith stood and squinted towards the back.

Several military trucks had pulled up on the edges of the crowd, almost unknown. Soldiers began disembarking, checking their weapons and organising formations of platoons. Oxfordton felt the bile rise in his throat as he glanced around the crowd and saw this happening in multiple places, hemming the crowd in and creating a killing field.

The crowd began to get restless as the people on the edges reported what they saw to those out of the line of sight; soldiers lining up in squad formations, checking their weapons, loading ammunition and releasing safeties. Oxfordton grabbed the mike, declaring desperately, “Please, stay calm! They cannot do anything unless given a reason.”

The crowd was still restless, but a combination of Oxfordton’s words and the futility at trying to run created a fatalistic calm among most of the group. The infantry lined up, facing the crowd, waiting for orders.

Oxfordton then saw a break in the crowd. A squad of infantry was pushing through the centre of the crowd, insistent on getting to the podium. At the centre of the platoon was a man in officer’s uniform, several layers of braid on his chest. Oxfordton braced himself, glancing at Smith. “Let’s see how this goes,” he muttered.

Smith smiled, standing next to Oxfordton. “This should be interesting, to say the least,” he agreed.

The platoon reached the podium and stepped up. The superior officer stepped across to the two men. He was mature man, in his fifties possibly, and wore a large amount of decorations for several decades of service. A tall peaked cap denoted the Bramstoker Self Defence Forces, with a gold star at the centre of the Service Eagle, denoting a Command position. He stepped forward, extending his hand.

“Gentlemen,” he said in a soft, gravely voice. “I am General Jacob Taylor, Commander of the Southern Military Command of the Self Defence Forces.”

Oxfordton cleared his throat, standing tall. “General,” he said sharply. “You have no authority to force us to disperse from this protest. We are opposed to this military-backed fascist regime, and wish to express our-”

“Not completely military-backed,” the General said gravely. He sighed. “Several elements of the military are against the UBP, but did not have the numbers at the time to make the difference behind the scenes.”

Oxfordton blinked. Smith frowned, stepping forward. “What are you saying, General?” he asked curiously.

General Taylor smiled. “The Command Officers under my jurisdiction took a democratic vote. We felt this important at the start in order to legitimate our intentions. We were unanimous. As Commanding Officer in this region, I am hereby subordinating the Southern Military Command to the authority of a democratic executive.”

Oxfordton and Smith were silent, dumbfounded. Then they looked at each-other. Smith grinned. “Looks like we really will be marching on the capital, Comrade,” he said.

---

“This is out of hand!” George slammed his fist down on Yardley’s table. The Minister of Defence, the Minister of Internal Security and the Junior Minister for Foreign Affairs were again stood around the Minister for Economic Affairs office in a desperate attempt to get Lawrence to join them. George glanced up at Yardley. “The High Command and the Ministry of Defence lost all communication with Southern Military Command Headquarters two hours ago – you don’t just lose a whole damn military region!”

Yardley was silent. “You think the Officer Commanding has rebelled?” he asked.

“I know it!” The Minister for Defence continued, throwing his hands in the air. “I know General Taylor! He’s a staunch Democrat; he’s made several political remarks in his career that have almost cost him his position.” George sighed, slumping into a chair. “We were in the process of planning his removal after the economic crisis was over.”

Yardley sat back, thinking. “You think it may lead to civil war?” he asked quietly.

The other three men nodded grimly. “Unless we change the leadership,” the Junior Minister for Foreign Affairs added. “If we can put a new person at the top, show them some token democratic initiatives, we might be able to do something.”

Yardley sighed. He stood, walking to the window and looking out across Bramstoker City. The scene seemed so peaceful, the stoic calm of the working day hiding the fuse that fizzled underneath. It had always been Yardley’s dream to bring about true fascism – a universal, populist government that could bring peace and prosperity to the country through organised and enforced consensus according to the people’s will. Now, it seemed more and more like Rawlings was endangering that.

“Okay,” he said finally, turning to the others. “How does this work?”

George sprang up from the chair, his eyes shining with life again. “We have a Cabinet meeting tonight,” he said eagerly. “We put the motion to the vote there. I know several other Ministers feel the same as we do, but have been afraid to say anything until they knew it was possible.”

Lawrence Yardley sighed again. “Okay, let’s go.” He picked up his coat and headed towards the door with the other three men, a sense of fear and determination welling in his gut. He could still save the regime through peaceful means.

---

The Intelligence Officer switched off the microphone link, and leaned back. The small room in the basement of the Ministry for Covert Affairs was wired as a domestic listening station, one of several outposts able to listen to any number of bugging devices planted across the capital. The man sat in silence, recounting what he had just heard in the office of the Minister for Economic Affairs. “What are your orders, sir?” he asked calmly.

Behind him, President Rawlings stood silently, his eyes reflecting the light from the multiple computer screens in the room with a unnerving tint of bright blue. He didn’t move for a second, seemingly thinking. Then, without warning, he turned and began walking towards the door, giving one simple order.

“Kill them.”

The Intelligence Officer nodded to the retreating man, picking up a telephone receiver and dialling a number. “Seventh Angel, this is Heaven,” he said clearly. “The end is nigh. I repeat, the end is nigh.”

---

The three Ministers had opted to take a single car to the Presidential Palace in order to discuss matters along the way. This was their first mistake. The car busily weaved through the afternoon traffic of the capital, moving gradually towards their destination.

Yardley shifted uneasily in his seat. To his left, George patted his shoulder reassuringly. “We’re doing the right thing,” he said calmly. “We’re doing the patriotic thing.”

The other two men nodded. Yardley managed a brief smile. “We need to begin looking at planning a response to the issue in the south,” he then said, becoming businesslike. “What are our ideas?”

As the men discussed, they did not notice the car indicate and take a left turn, moving out onto the Bramstoker City Highway. This was their second mistake.

“I suggest establishing a channel through the military,” the Minister for Internal Security proposed. “It’s our most reliable method of getting into contact. At the very least, we might be able to bring General Taylor back into the fold temporarily.”

Yardley nodded. “Good idea,” he said. “I shall speak with Marshall Walsh once we…what the hell is he doing?”

The three other men looked up at Yardley’s statement. It was then that they became aware that the car was slowing and pulling off the road into a disused service station. Yardley frowned, and leant forward, rapping on the glass panel between them and the driver. “Hey, what’s going on, Fred?”

The glass barrier slowly lowered. Yardley realised his third mistake in assuming his regular driver had been at the wheel. His fourth mistake was not seeing until the last second the nine-millimetre silenced pistol in the assassin’s hand as the clip was emptied into the four conspirators.

Police would later find the car burnt out behind the abandoned office of the service station. The coroner’s report would conclude that death was instantaneous, and that the men would have not suffered in the fires that consumed their car and bodies.

And so the tinderbox erupted, the flames of passion, the fires of anger and determination rising into the darkened sky of the future like hands reaching for destiny.

(OOC: Decided to have a Civil War in my country. Feel free to post some initial intelligence report reactions here, but I will be starting a new thread for the actual war itself, so this will mostly be backstory. Civil War thread will be up in the next few days, with statistics, chronology of events and an intro post for those interested. DYO, Leafanistan, you two are automatically allowed involvement if you wish.)

(OOC: The Out of Character & Signup thread for the Civil War has been created HERE (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=506840), so feel free to continue participating if you are interested.)

Ossyrian Embassy
Bramstoker City
Bramstoker

Ambassador Duon Muosis was sitting at his desk in the newly completed embassy in the Bramstoker capital. He had just gotten off the phone with the Ossyrian Minister of Foreign Affairs, with news that the Free People's Congress had approved to open a trade ministry in Bramstoker. With news of a possible military split in the west of Bramstoker, a trade ministry seemed rather unimportant at the time. Muosis' job, though, depended on making the Bramstoker government and the Ossyrian happy. He was a man torn between what he felt was morally right, and his loyalty to the Ossyrian government.

Ossyrian intelligence operative Mas Reshurr, Muosis' security chief, had already delivered news about the coalition of the military factions and the Liberal Democrats and Communists in the country. He didn't like having man who he blamed for countless murders being responsible for his protection, but his orders came directly from the President. There was nothing that he could say about this, the Pres. Woodhelm was the boss and he got what he wanted because he had the support of the Congress, well most of it. A war was the last thing the Ossyrians needed, especially with a military conflict on their northern border. Minister Tullio was adamant that we set up a trade ministry with the Bramstokerans, despite their country being on the brink of a civil war that would compromise any efforts on completing a trade agreement.

Mas Reshurr showed up to Muosis' office without even a knock. True, he was scheduled to update the Ambassador, but Muosis still didn't like his lack of formality. He spoke in a gravelly voice, "Ambassador, my intelligence report regarding this alliance between the Bramtoker Communist Party and the local Liberal Democrats. I also finished breaking in the new guards, I'll make sure that they don't bother you in the lavatory again." He dropped the report on the Ambassador's desk and turned around to head out.

"Mr. Reshurr, I realize that you report to the President, but you are still my chief of security. I do wish that you would inform my office about recent developments before you call it in to Urushalim. I also want to know why Minister Tullio asked me to speed up the trade agreement process and establish a trade ministry ASAP, especially in the city of Red Valley. Does this have something to do with your intelligence report that they received before I did?" Reshurr stopped for a moment, and then turned around.

He spoke with a dry wit, "Ambassador, what the President and Council of Ministers decide is up to them, not to a lowly chief of embassy security as myself. I am sure that I'm not privy to such information. After all, the Fifth Column does not busy itself with concerns such as trade." This was, of course, a lie (or maybe a joke, it was hard to tell with Reshurr) since the Fifth Column concerned itself with any and everything that had to do with Ossyrian affairs overseas. The Ambassador was growing concerned about what establishing a trade ministry would mean in the eve of a civil war, in fact he was sure he didn't want to know...

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

Official Government Communique
To: J. Rawlings, Bramstoker Presidential Office

From: D. Muosis, Ossyrian Embassy

My host, I hope that the recent developments in the city of Red Valley involving a breakaway military faction is not a sign of greater problems for your nation. This has come to our attention in the course of examining locations for a possible Ossyrian Trade Ministry that we would wish to establish on your western coast. I hope that this message reaches your ears shortly. Our Ministers of Trade and Foreign Affairs await a response from my office.

Signed,

Duon Muosis, Ossyrian Ambassador to Bramstoker

On Behalf Of

Dr. Wilhuff Woodhelm, Federal President
Achilles Tullio, Minister of Foreign Affairs and Cooperation
Delbeth Ferro, Minister of Trade, Commerce, and Industry

And

The Most Sanctified and August Sage-Emperor
of All Under Heavena and Defender of All Beings
Markos IV Orlan