NationStates Jolt Archive

Prelude

His hands felt cold, as though ice water had invaded his veins. Snatching a quick look at them, he thought they looked a little more white than usual. He looked back towards the newspaper he was reading, flexing his hand slightly in the hope of warming them some. If he were looked upon by others, he’d be seen as just another ordinary working man. His clothes were those of a professional, perhaps on an early morning coffee break. His hat lay nearby on the little table, next to a simple black briefcase. Just like many others that are used everyday by many. Even the inside, in a quick glance, looked normal enough. But as the old saying goes, “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” stood true in this case.

The coffee was a good local brew, not his favorite though. Today was not a time to indulge in favorites, though. Finishing the cup, he neatly folded the paper, laid it down on the table, and gathered his things. He took care not to jerk or bump anything, not really fearful about his own life, but about not reaching his target. It was important that he reached it on time, as across Risban and Mezzia (an eastern province of Jagada) others would be heading towards other targets. Not all of them would be successful; that was just a given, a harsh reality of probability. Some would be caught. All knew the risks involved, but still went ahead. Those that met success would achieve a status nearly god-like. A smirk went across the man’s face as he thought of that, considering what he believed and was about to start.

Five minutes later found him nearing a military checkpoint, set up by Jagada after their war against Risban. He didn’t walk straight towards it, as to do so would have given him away instantly. Instead he stayed near the street side of the sidewalk, the briefcase in his left hand. His eyes were searching now for drop point, a predetermined place chosen after a couple weeks of surveillance. He saw it after a car was waved on. As he approached, he looked down at his shoe, and stopped as if to tie it. With his left hand, he smoothly moved his fingers over the combination lock, changing the numbers on it by memory to the appropriate numbers. This change sent a tiny electrical surge down a wire, interlaced in the material on the inside of the briefcase. The surge kept going till it met the timer, which was set at two minutes, just enough time for the man to walk down the street a couple hundred feet and around the corner.

Ten seconds later, the man was walking away, the briefcase semi-hidden behind a parked car’s rear tire. He had made sure the shaped charge would be pointed outward, towards the checkpoint, the more damage to cause. Time seemed to slow to a snail’s pace, though all the man was doing was continuing his walk down the street. One hundred seconds later the briefcase would go off, along with seven others like it, all headed towards targets of the Jagada military. Later today, a statement would be put out claiming responsibility by a newly formed group, Council of Social Order (CSO, pronounced see-so). Inspired by SAG in the Kahanistan-Jagada War, it promoted aethism as a cure to the religious brainwashing Jagada forced on Mezzia and Risban. While not large in active participants, support for the group had been spreading and growing by word-of-mouth, starting in slum underground meetings, but slowly gaining a few new adherents at different levels of society. All they had to do now was to keep Jagada busy, and wait for the return of SAG.

Mezzian Command District,
1200 Hours

The clear blue skies were the only positive thing that greeted Battle Commander Satoshi Mazuka as his HMMMV entered the Mezzia Command District. Mezzia wasn't offically a province in the Monotheistic Republic, rather a district within the Risban Province. Unlike the rest of Risban, it was more rebellious and often prone to some form of violence or another. A car bomb here, a random sniper there. Though the recent string of bombings that destroyed several military checkpoints in Mezzia was cause for concern, since they all went off almost at the same exact time -- only two were delayed, but then only by a few minutes. Multiple blasts meant that there was now an organized resistance. It was nothing he wasn't expecting, when he was back in Divinidom he knew the situtation in Mezzia would degrade quickly, the population had taken less of a liking of religion than the rest of Risban.

Satoshi grunted as he flipped threw the various sheets of paper, which combined were the initial report on losses, destruction, and intelligance. None of those home planted the bombs were caught, which disturbed and annoyed Satoshi since it meant beyond ballistics, there was no real solid evidence to go off of, and no Mezzian was going to tell the Jagite authorities anything. The HMMMV passed by a local Catholic church, recently constructed and noticed that it had a sizable crowd of people walking inside of the gothic-styled building. Satoshi smiled as he saw that some Mezzians were at least giving religion a chance, and always Catholicism was the first to establish roots in new Jagite territory. In fact, if the Catholic Church of Jagada didn't spread into one region of new territory, than neither did any Christian group. The HMMMV stopped momentarily at a military checkpoint to provide proper papers and show identification. Satoshi noticed that the soldiers seemed to give a crisp salute, more crisp than they would for most other vehicles. No doubt due to his presence.

The Mezzian District Command headquarters was actually the old townhall, of Roman-based design. The HMMMV stopped in front of the building, and Satoshi exited before an appoarching soldier could reach the door. When the soldier showed a sign of disagreement, Satoshi merely walked past him. He entered the building and found it both quiet and almost like a real townhall. It was to his likely -- peace and quiet. After informing the aide at the desk of both his rank and name, he was quickly escorted back to an office in the back. The office itself wasn't too big, but did have all the luxury one could ask for. On the dark brown wooden desk, there were a stack of manila folders, and inside of those folders was atleast an inch thick stack of papers. He sighed and took a seat at his desk, trying to think of what brought him here. Divinidom didn't consider Mezzia a major position, actually it labeled a training position for new recruits due to the minor hostile enviroment. The real brawl was occuring in western Risban where rebels were actually holding out in a few towns and hilltops, forcing Jagada to commit vetern forces to dislodge them. His appointment here was purely because of his 'greenhorn' status as a general -- and because he was much more meek and good humored. New Christendom wanted strong, loud, social generals to command troops in hardcore places, not in a hundred years would Mezzia ever reach that level.

Or so they thought ...

[OOC: If you want to have another attack happen ... maybe a major attack. Just don't attack Satoshi ... yet.]

OOC: This will help with the next part. Finally got a map drawn. Here it is for reference from now on. (I'll update if/when needed)


http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v711/gemini_105/mapofmezzia.jpg

OOC: Sorry about the triple post. It didn't look like it was posting. Now I know better.


The Dead of Night

“Where am I?.......”

Blackness still enveloped him, his eyelids barely fluttering open and closed. He was not fully conscience yet, awoken only by the semi-violent buzzing of his watch on his wrist. Finally succumbing to the brain’s command, his eyelids fully opened, greeted by blackness of night. A few outlines could be made out, thanks to a few lights on the street and the occasional car passing by. Five minutes passed before he could make out the dimensions of his room, but he still didn’t move. Sleep still tried to grab him and drag him back, but another buzz from his watch stopped it. He slowly pushed back the covers, swung his feet over the side of his bed, and sat up. A car’s lights beamed across the room, forcing him to put a hand up to shield his face.

“Why do these meetings have to take place at night? It’s probably more dangerous for us this way, too. Isn’t that ironic?” Mitt thought to himself. He didn’t bother with showering, as he’d need that later when he’d try to be fully prepared for his “day job,” as he referred to his cover while not having secret meetings. Once dressed, he grabbed his pass to get through any checkpoint he might encounter, or if the lowly Jagite soldiers pulled him over. His pass bore the emblem of the Mezzian Civil Police (MCP), which were kept mostly in place by Jagada “to keep the locals in line and unsuspecting,” he and his fellow cops were told by the new Jagada leadership. At first the MCP followed order, believing they would be important in keeping the peace, but some odd orders had come down from Jagada rule, questionable ones, while some members of the police had partaken in some raids that had resulted in civilian deaths. The backlash against the police was severe, so severe that most of the time they had to cover their faces when on duty, to avoid becoming targets themselves. Now, some of the police were starting to question their job, their place. Nearly all kept quiet about this, or kept it to a very close friend, but every now and then one officer would get ballsy and speak his mind. When that happened, the officer in question was usually “transferred” to a different district, but most of the time they couldn’t be located on the annuals of the transfer district.

So, slowly, a resistance had started to form. It wasn’t organized at first, just a few officers getting together in the confines of their homes to bitch about what was happening. Things progressed from there.


Western Outskirts of Mezadia
30 minutes later


“Glad to see you made it, Mitt. Don’t you look like a sorry sack, and to think you are the Second!” quipped Ron as Mitt got out of his car at the meeting point. There had been no trouble up to this point, and there were a couple of lookouts to make sure that the important people could escape if necessary.

“’Least the guys know I can lead them! Weren’t you supposed to be a drop-off guy last week? Oh yeah, you had a note from your doctor, right!” Mitt replied.

It was their way of joking with each other, one cultivated from years of knowing each other, staring down death side-by-side first in the Mezzian military, then working together in the MCP. Mitt was the second-in-command, a unanimous choice by all concerned should something happen to the First.

CSO started a year after the incorporation of Mezzia into Jagada, and all the perks or curses that came with it. Simple Mezzian traditions were the high point of its culture, with the annual holidays, and the Mezzian way of life continually evolved and progressed like civilizations before and after. But religion had never been a part of that progress. Only tales tell of why, but no one today knows how much faith to put into those. Instead, Jagada was forcing religion on those that felt content without it, indeed felt they were better off without the need to cower before some mythical being of power, whose existence could not be proven. So when Jagada forced religion on the non-religious, a backlash slowly started to build, non-violent at first but becoming more radical and violent in order to achieve the goal of an independent Mezzia once again. The use of the MCP against Mezzian civilians, and the deaths or “disappearances” that were becoming more common were building to levels of intolerance towards Jagada, no matter what “help” it said it was trying to do. The churches it was helping build were often viewed by most Mezzians as eyesores, nothing more than an affront to all they had previously believed. That some were actually giving in and trying this so called religion called Catholicism was horrendous, and those that experimented were often quickly pushed out of their social groups, demoted at work, and threatened physically.

Ron and Mitt had helped form CSO, aimed it to be a group of men willing to do what it took to realize their goal. The group started from 25 men, all ex-military, and most worked as police now as well. The group could trust each other, which was vital to what they were starting. They took it upon themselves to do for the rest of Mezzia the fighting. Mitt had been chosen as Second, while Ron was in charge of arranging for supplies and drop-points. The leader was known to the original 25 as the First. His name was never spoken, even among a small group. Only three of them actually knew his name. He had been chosen through ballet. When the group had first convened, they met Mitt and Ron, never anyone else. Mitt and Ron presented what could be called resumes’ of qualified men to lead, and the most qualified ex-military had been chosen. Now when they met, they could meet as a group, though when the First was present his face was always covered. All manner of precautions were to be taken to keep him safe from the Jagada soldiers. This time he was present, for tonight started the rebellion, of which he needed to have his men stoke the fire first. He addressed them:

“You all are here because you know, you feel this is your place. This is YOUR place! Every single one of you knew something had to be done, and you answered the call. You answered the call of every Mezzian citizen, every man, woman, and child, who cannot fight. You are here because you want to make a difference. That is the plain and simple truth……And tonight, YOU are the TRUTH! We are not slaves. We have never been slaves. We were not meant to be slaves, to anyone!

Not one of you has run from Death. You challenged Death, taunted it, demanded it do its worse, and yet you still stand. Death has NO hold over you. And after today, it NEVER will, no matter what happens tomorrow or the day after. Our history will ALWAYS remember you, no matter what Jagada or any other nation does to us!

In short time, we will start creating hell for our “masters,” Jagada. I wish I could say that all of us will arrive at the end unscathed, but that does not bother men like you. We will start a new day for all Mezzians, both now and in the future. Be safe, but make them pay! Honor Unto Death!!!

The old military creed struck the hearts of several of the men, emboldening them for the work that lay ahead. The Mezzian soil was about to become crimson with the blood of Jagada soldiers.


ooc I want to post the attacks before you reply, I just got tired from writing this post. I’ll finish it tomorrow, then you can post.

0905
Mezadia, Capital City of Mezzia

The meeting had ended hours earlier, and the men split into five groups of five men each. One target lay on each groups agenda for that day, each a vital part of the coming storm Jagada was about to pay dearly in.

Mitt took the first group and headed towards the capital, Mezadia. It was important that Jagada not be able to warn its garrisons elsewhere in the city, which meant hitting the relay station and its periphery substations in order to delay, and if very lucky, stop any orders from going out beyond the capital. Mitt’s group had the task of hitting one of the switching stations, where the orders would be routed out to the different smaller relay stations. Ron was a part of group five, which had the dubious honor of attacking the main station, the hub of it all. Mitt tried to put any worries or concerns he had for the other groups out of his mind, but truth be told it was easier said than done. He had his own task to worry about, and men he wanted to see through – not to mention himself.

The switching station was barely on the outskirts of the commercial district. It would be guarded of course, but the word was that today would be a little lighter on the rotation. Why that would be hadn’t come down with any certainty, but rumor had it that there might be a new boss in town. Not much was known about him yet, and that was being worked on, but it was thought that he hadn’t had enough time yet to set up things to his liking, which probably would’ve meant a change in the routines, and that couldn’t have been afforded quiet yet. Better to hit your enemy when they are unsuspecting, and especially hit him first.

Mitt was riding shotgun in the car as it sped towards the station. The car was a pickup truck (ooc: think Ford 250). The three other men were riding in the back, seatbelts jury-rigged to no one would just go flying out. Their weapons were out of sight, but readily available. The plan was simple: snipe the front guards first, rush the gate and avoid any warning being sent, plant the charge, and escape. Of course, Mitt knew that any “simple” plan has a chance of becoming “un-simple”, usually on the escape part. One of the men hopped out as the truck slowed near the picked building. It was an apartment house. One of the tenets with a window looking towards the station was a sympathizer, and had agreed to let the CSO men use his apartment. He and his wife were conviently gone for the time being as well, and the CSO man had been instructed to make it look like a forced entry. Couldn’t have sympathizer’s getting held or hurt right off the bat, as that would be bad for publicity.

The sniper was set two minutes later. He took care to assemble to rifle correctly. The scope went on last, and he took a minute to calibrate it to the correct distance, making sure he measured the crosswind as best he could. One the end was a flash suppressor, or at least a semblance of one home-built. Sound wouldn’t be much of a problem in a minute, but he didn’t want to get spotted after his first shot. He smoothly panned over the front gate, noting the location of two guards outside the gatehouse. One was stationary by the road, the other pacing across in front. He panned over to the window of the gatehouse. It was slightly tinted, but not enough to hide the silhouette of two soldiers inside.

Outside the building, Mitt’s group was waiting for the shot, the driver’s foot hovering above the accelerator pedal. They were out just enough for Mitt to see the gatehouse. He saw the window shatter first, then heard the “pop” of the gunshot. The driver floored it, racing towards the gate as another shot sounded, this time the stationary guard appeared to go down. The two men in the back were now spraying bullets towards the other two guards, keeping their heads down as the truck rushed by.

Inside the gate would be only technicians and maintenance workers, most of the Mezzian nationals. The truck screeched to a halt at the power substation, and Mitt bolted out the door while one of the men in back rushed to cover him. The two ran threw a door, down a flight of stairs and into another room. On the far wall were groups of switchboards, each with the Danger – High Voltage sign on them. With the door covered, Mitt drew out the C4, gently placing four, 2 pound charges on the boxes. That took 30 seconds. Bursts of gunfire could be heard outside. Perhaps one of the guards in the gatehouse had gotten a call out, but that couldn’t be dealt with now. Mitt and the guard withdrew with the timer set for one minute, which left 45 seconds for them to escape.

More gunfire as the exited the door, this time directed at them. Mitt’s cover fell hard, a bullet to his neck as blood gushed everywhere, some spraying Mitt’s clothes. The car was being riddled, the driver already wounded. Mitt pushed him into the side seat and sped through the complex, heading towards the gate. The other man in the back cried out as he was hit, and he tumbled out the back of the truck. A loud pop shot out, the sniper taking his last shot before withdrawing. Mitt sped past the gate, hoping that the blast would be more than enough to do the job of taking out this station.


0907

Two minutes after the attack in Mezadia, the other four groups were to have attacked their targets.

In Protempa, another power station was to have been hit, disrupting the flow of information north.

In Three Corners, the final attack on a relay station to stop the flow south.

In Kabual, a church was firebombed, followed by an attack on the local garrison of Jagada troops. No one was expected to have survived that attack, but it was needed.

The final attack was in Anzadia. The group dispatched there had planted a few bombs on the route the local mayor (who was in collusion with Jagada) took on his way to work. The bombs would be set of by remote detonators, though the attackers would be nearby to finish the job just in case.

Of course Jagada would retaliate. No one in CSO was exactly sure how that would be, but it was sure to be heavy-handed, thus further alienating the population from Jagada control.

Mitt could only hope that the attacks were successful. Of course Jagada would have alternative ways of getting their orders out, probably through satellites. Supposedly that was being “handled,” whatever that meant. He had heard a rumor, spoken of only once, that there were people “in high places” that were willing to help CSO out. By “high places” Mitt had hoped it referred to someone in the Jagada government, but it was best if he didn’t know.

But he had a bigger concern on his mind. Now that the dam was about to burst from his actions, he needed help. The plan had to get SAG to help, but no one was exactly sure how to get a message to them, or ask for their help. Mitt could only hope that SAG would get in touch with them.