NationStates Jolt Archive

"Are you sure?" Lord Baker asked, his voice wavering. His whole body felt weak, as though several times the normal gravity of Earth was being weighed down upon him.


"Yes sir," The Intelligence Officer said. "The People's Freedom's Congress Majority Party is supporting the Blackhelm Confederacy. Several Paramilitary units are moving in to assist them in their defense."

"Dear God," Baker replied, sinking into his desk. "Among our closest allies too...they've fallen so far since those damnable Blackshirts took power in Congress."

"Indeed sir. Anything else you require?"

"Not currently. I think though that a certain element of our military will need to be consulted."

Smirking, the Intelligence Officer replied, "I under stand sir." With that he saluted smartly, and exited the Gubnatorial Office, leaving Baker alone.

Baker laid his hands upon his face while leaning backwards, trying desperately to think. Matt Booch was a good friend of his, and he knew that Matt would never support a movement in favor of the Confederacy, but his hands were tied by a partisan Congress which did not support him. Finally, Baker pressed a button on his desk which rang up the Office of Special Services.

"Hello Lord Baker," The Secretary said, "I'll forward you to General Otto."

"Thanks Enga, I appreciate it."

The General answered the forwarded call, and said, "Lord Baker, what might I do for you today?"

"Good day to you Otto. I fear that our friends in TPF have fallen decadent. We need to fix the problem with their Facist Congress."

"This is very sensitive, mein Furher," He replied wearily. "Lord, it could damage our reputation with our allies if they knew we meant to assassina-" Baker then cut him off:

"I don't intend to assassinate anyone. I plan to use our GSG-9 and their skills to help Booch gain back ultimate power from the Facists. It will be difficult, but it can happen."

"Very well then sir. What should we do?"

"I am thinking that two A-Teams, and one Kilo Team should do the job well enough. They should be dropped ashore via Zodiac boat from one of our fleets which are always in their general region. Fly the teams onto the fleet, and infiltrate them that way. From there they are to proceed to the home of President Bootch and inform him of our intentions to help him gain back total control. He is a good President and man. The Blackshirts want to ruin that nation and take away all freedom they have. We cannot allow that!"

"I understand sir. I'll assign the teams to this task and we'll get at it."

"Very well. I know you're men will do this well."

"You have my word on it."



Oberstleutnant Erwin Model was to be the Commander of this team. He was a man of medium height, only five feet nine inches, with buzzed hair and an intense face. He was quite strong, and at only thirty four, an intimidating man. He now found himself on a C-17 transport, along with the other thirty-odd men, silently awaiting its landing upon the Wanderjarian Carrier Wraith. The sun hung as a golden glow in the horizon, its majestic light reflecting brilliantly off the blue sea below, and giving a perfect glimpse of what he had assumed heaven's glory to be.

The pilot came on the intercom, and after a brief squelch, he said, "This is the pilot speaking, we are beginning our approach. The aircraft shall land with five minutes."

"Good," Model thought. "We'll soon be gathering our equipment, listening to final briefing, and then finally going out. THings are so much simpler out there, in the field." He thought with a sort of whistfulness. He had always prefered being in the field than back home. He'd never felt anything mattered back there like it did when he was on a mission. There, everything seemed so....irrelevent. But now, he decided, was not the time to dwell upon those things. It was time for a new mission. They touched down, quicker than he thought. And after a few bumps and a final groan from the aircraft against the tarmac of the carrier's runway, it was over. He stood and got off the aircraft, to be greeted by the ship Operations Officer.

"Greetings Oberstleutnant," The man in the black Naval Officer's tunic spoke. "Follow me. You are to be briefed and then equipped." The coup of ThePeople'sFreedom was about to begin.

TPF Senate Building
Senator Jacob Riley was preparing for the long arduous debate that would once again fill congress. Ever since the Nationalist party took over, things had gone downhill, fast. There was no law that passed when the Nationalists didn’t want it to. None. Every single law that the conservatives or socialists wanted passed, it would fail. This was why Riley, once a strong, competent man had slowly lost faith in the system. It was now that he would enter the hall of the Senate building where he would soon debate against the sending of troops to help Blackhelm. Even if the law had already passed, he would still fight against it. He was soon joined by Katherine Livingsten, one of his few friends that belonged to the Socialist party. She was tall, blonde, had big bosoms, and beautiful. But with this physical side also came a sharp inside. Kat, as here friends called here, was perhaps one of the most intelligent and strong-willed senator. She had been leading the charge against the Nationalists, and it was for this reason that her sister had seemingly vanished. It was hard to fight against the Nationalists and not lose someone you love. However, it had to be done. Jacob recalled the quote, “ Every once in a while the alter of liberty must be renewed with the blood of patriots.” It was for this reason that the Kat and Jacob continued to fight the Nationalists. After stopping for a cookie and soda, Jacob prepared to enter the debate area, knowing full well that his words were going to fall on deaf ears.


Public Housing Project #8
Sirens were a common sound out here. It was a place that was not full of hope only hate and lust. No one was happy, murders and rapes were common. In a place with no hope, what escape was there? Scott awoke from his slumber, unaware of his dreams, yet aware, knowing full well the damaging effect of those dreams and what he was about to do. The sun’s light went through his blinds, awaking him. He looked over at his alarm clock, and noticed it was but five o clock in the morning. Way to early for school. He wanted to go back to sleep, but his dreams and depression prevented him from doing so. His dreams haunted him. There was no escape from them. Thus he desperately and increasingly turned to ways to prevent from going to sleep. Energy drinks littered his computer desk. He slowly got up. Looking outside into hopelessness, he watched as a man was mugged. Fuck this. Fuck Life. Fuck the Fucking Government. He went to his computer. He was angry, angry at the world for being such a shithouse, angry at government for letting him down. Ever since the damn Nationalists’ took over, all the welfare projects had gone. The gap between rich and poor grew larger, prisoners labored away at factories, and every citizen had to be implanted with a microchip. He looked at his, or more accurately, under the skin where it was suppose to be. Damn you, he screamed in his tortured mind. Damn you. Typing, he recited poems about glorious war heroes. He posted his last will, which outlined what he would do. He would take his shotgun, and go to the local Nationalist recruiting station. He sent the message. Eating breakfast, he heard a crash, and tear gas canisters released their payload. Scott fell, his eyes were burning and his nose, running. Jackboots slammed into him, his stomach, his cock. They were sucking the very life out of him, the fucking governments. Taking his Freedom. When they were done, they pulled him by the hair. Look, they laughed. One man had a pistol; he pointed it at his mother’s head. No! Scott cried, but it was too late. The bullet entered, pushing the brains out through the front of his mothers head. Blood and tissue soaked the picture of Scott’s father, who died in a robbery when Scott was only three. This was life. No Hope. The people of the projects were ready for change, ready for progress, ready for someone to save them form the hopelessness, ready, for a savior. They would get one.