Thestan
19-10-2007, 08:18
(Open, MT)
The sound of heavy shouting and marching feet greeted early risers in the capital of Thestan, the city of Stanchi. For those who wandered to their windows, the sight before them was no less than spectacular: over 2,000 Thestanians marching through the narrow avenue, waving banners and chanting in unison. While the sheer volume made the words unintelligible, it was clear that the demonstration was similar to others that had taken place the previous day in its anti-government nature. The body of this march, however, was of a specific nature. Led by students and a few noteworthy intellectuals, its stated purpose was to free the state run universities of the strictly regulated curriculum which prohibited studies in such things as religion and foreign literature. This was a product of a recent movement dedicated to democratization, among other things, and with the aim of chipping away at the ruling junta’s dictatorship.
President General Dr. Idi Ibn Aziz had known about the scheduled march long before any of the stunned onlookers that morning. Already, his hands were full dealing with the political fallout from his government’s execution of famous actress Samia Maria Sorih and her husband, author Dr. Pervez Sorih, both convicted as conspirators in the shooting death of Interior Minister Jafar Kebiik.. The icons of the Popular Movement for the Democratization of Thestania had long been held aloft by the students marching today, peacefully so, for the moment. As the general-politician read the reports on his desk, though, he feared that the illusion of peaceful protest would soon be shattered.
For a military man, he was uncommonly astute in socio-political matters, a quality which had led him to the front-running in the race for head of the junta, installed three decades ago after a coup toppled a corrupt and short-lived republican regime. He had always been secretly sympathetic with the nation’s intellectuals, and while his belief in the necessity of a strong hand to head off corruption and guide the nation into the 21st century had prohibited his allowing things such as free speech and unregulated education, he had tried his best to prevent persecution of students and professors in the universities, so long as they adhered to government doctrines. He even kept his own extensive collection of foreign literature and a private museum of memorabilia that would be damning if found in the possession of an ordinary citizen.
Recent events, however, had changed everything. The wave of carbombings last November had prompted him to bring his secret police, the Special Police Initiative of Thestan (SPIT) to bear against all pro-democracy movements, and in the process had led his operatives to the home of the famous actress and her intellectual husband. Things had only gone south from there.
Yesterday, as the President read in the morning paper, a similar march of factory workers and foremen had become violent and prompted police intervention, resulting in the beating to death of two men. Still today, the students marched, unfazed. Aziz regretted it even as he picked up the telephone, a line running directly to the head of the National Guard.
“Your Excellency?”
“General Mushakar, I have a great fear that the student marches today will prompt some sort of action by the PMDT. I expect that you will do everything in your power to head off any such measure.”
“Everything is under control. Our units have been monitoring the protestors since they left their rally at the University.”
“Alright.”
The President was silent for a moment.
“Do your best to keep them peaceful. If not, use whatever force necessary to disperse them. I can’t risk chaos in my capital.”
“Understood, Your Excellency.”
He hung up the phone, and lit a cigarette. Sighing softly to himself.
As the sun reached its zenith, the march had swelled in numbers, nearing its destination, the old Parliament Building and the headquarters of the junta. The plan was to set up before the barriers that prevented people from getting too close to the building, and to broadcast several speeches from notables within the Movement, including recordings of the late Dr. Sorih, via megaphone. All was going according to plan until an explosion shook the concrete beneath the marchers’ feet.
Rattled, the soldiers before the building loaded their weapons, and waited anxiously for orders. The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. As rumors flew through the ranks both of protestors and soldiers, a group of armored cars pulled up behind the march. All was still for several minutes, and the march gradually began to move on as planned.
From a temporary headquarters, atop a nearby tenement building, General Hakim Bukari, commander of the battalion dispatched to monitor the protest, watched nervously. He had just received word of a carbomb explosion in front of the headquarters of a large foreign corporation. The situation there was under control, but a few angry civilians had got in the way and been mistaken for real threats. Two were in custody, but already a dozen were reported shot by nervous troops and police dispatched to the scene. His orders were to exercise great restraint, for fear of prompting a massacre. So far, things looked peaceful.
As so often is the case, however, there was no warning before the storm, and out of nowhere, a group of men, wearing black checkered armbands, the mark of a recently formed militant wing of the Movement for Democratization became visible. The General quickly ordered his police to move in and apprehend them amid the marchers, but the protestors, seeing this as an attempt to stop their march, barred the way. The men with armbands began shouting, taunting the police, a few waving weapons. Nearby protestors, alarmed by the militancy, tried to move away from them, but the size of the crowd prevented it. As the police forced their way through, one of the militant fired a few rounds into the air. His head exploded in a red mist as a sniper opened fire, without orders.
There was a panic, screams and shouts from the crowd, which surged either back towards the armored vehicles or in the direction of the barricade. A few more shots rang out, either from the militants or the soldiers one could not be sure. A body fell amid the masses, and was trampled, crushed into an unrecognizable pulp. Hakim sweat bullets. Frantically, he shouted over the radio to his officers, telling them to hold their fire. A bullet suddenly buried itself in the concrete ledge below his feet, and he fell to the ground with those around him.
On the ground, Captain Muktar Abd-dullah shouted to his men, who had taken cover behind the barricade, to get to their feet. Climbing onto an armored car, he shouted:
“They’ve started this! Open fire!”
There was a burst of rifle fire, into the face of the surging crowd. Dozens fell, hundreds more soon after.
“Exterminate them!”
“They’re killing us!”
“Fire!”
“It’s a massacre!”
The scene became bloody chaos. The crowd, trapped, rushed the barricades. Several militants attacked the soldiers blatantly, while other demonstrators simply tried to flee. All were targeted, shot down. The sirens wailed in the distance.
---------
President Aziz picked up the phone. He listened briefly and slammed it down again. Burying his head in his hands, he fought back a tear for his country. It would split itself apart before long.
The sound of heavy shouting and marching feet greeted early risers in the capital of Thestan, the city of Stanchi. For those who wandered to their windows, the sight before them was no less than spectacular: over 2,000 Thestanians marching through the narrow avenue, waving banners and chanting in unison. While the sheer volume made the words unintelligible, it was clear that the demonstration was similar to others that had taken place the previous day in its anti-government nature. The body of this march, however, was of a specific nature. Led by students and a few noteworthy intellectuals, its stated purpose was to free the state run universities of the strictly regulated curriculum which prohibited studies in such things as religion and foreign literature. This was a product of a recent movement dedicated to democratization, among other things, and with the aim of chipping away at the ruling junta’s dictatorship.
President General Dr. Idi Ibn Aziz had known about the scheduled march long before any of the stunned onlookers that morning. Already, his hands were full dealing with the political fallout from his government’s execution of famous actress Samia Maria Sorih and her husband, author Dr. Pervez Sorih, both convicted as conspirators in the shooting death of Interior Minister Jafar Kebiik.. The icons of the Popular Movement for the Democratization of Thestania had long been held aloft by the students marching today, peacefully so, for the moment. As the general-politician read the reports on his desk, though, he feared that the illusion of peaceful protest would soon be shattered.
For a military man, he was uncommonly astute in socio-political matters, a quality which had led him to the front-running in the race for head of the junta, installed three decades ago after a coup toppled a corrupt and short-lived republican regime. He had always been secretly sympathetic with the nation’s intellectuals, and while his belief in the necessity of a strong hand to head off corruption and guide the nation into the 21st century had prohibited his allowing things such as free speech and unregulated education, he had tried his best to prevent persecution of students and professors in the universities, so long as they adhered to government doctrines. He even kept his own extensive collection of foreign literature and a private museum of memorabilia that would be damning if found in the possession of an ordinary citizen.
Recent events, however, had changed everything. The wave of carbombings last November had prompted him to bring his secret police, the Special Police Initiative of Thestan (SPIT) to bear against all pro-democracy movements, and in the process had led his operatives to the home of the famous actress and her intellectual husband. Things had only gone south from there.
Yesterday, as the President read in the morning paper, a similar march of factory workers and foremen had become violent and prompted police intervention, resulting in the beating to death of two men. Still today, the students marched, unfazed. Aziz regretted it even as he picked up the telephone, a line running directly to the head of the National Guard.
“Your Excellency?”
“General Mushakar, I have a great fear that the student marches today will prompt some sort of action by the PMDT. I expect that you will do everything in your power to head off any such measure.”
“Everything is under control. Our units have been monitoring the protestors since they left their rally at the University.”
“Alright.”
The President was silent for a moment.
“Do your best to keep them peaceful. If not, use whatever force necessary to disperse them. I can’t risk chaos in my capital.”
“Understood, Your Excellency.”
He hung up the phone, and lit a cigarette. Sighing softly to himself.
As the sun reached its zenith, the march had swelled in numbers, nearing its destination, the old Parliament Building and the headquarters of the junta. The plan was to set up before the barriers that prevented people from getting too close to the building, and to broadcast several speeches from notables within the Movement, including recordings of the late Dr. Sorih, via megaphone. All was going according to plan until an explosion shook the concrete beneath the marchers’ feet.
Rattled, the soldiers before the building loaded their weapons, and waited anxiously for orders. The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. As rumors flew through the ranks both of protestors and soldiers, a group of armored cars pulled up behind the march. All was still for several minutes, and the march gradually began to move on as planned.
From a temporary headquarters, atop a nearby tenement building, General Hakim Bukari, commander of the battalion dispatched to monitor the protest, watched nervously. He had just received word of a carbomb explosion in front of the headquarters of a large foreign corporation. The situation there was under control, but a few angry civilians had got in the way and been mistaken for real threats. Two were in custody, but already a dozen were reported shot by nervous troops and police dispatched to the scene. His orders were to exercise great restraint, for fear of prompting a massacre. So far, things looked peaceful.
As so often is the case, however, there was no warning before the storm, and out of nowhere, a group of men, wearing black checkered armbands, the mark of a recently formed militant wing of the Movement for Democratization became visible. The General quickly ordered his police to move in and apprehend them amid the marchers, but the protestors, seeing this as an attempt to stop their march, barred the way. The men with armbands began shouting, taunting the police, a few waving weapons. Nearby protestors, alarmed by the militancy, tried to move away from them, but the size of the crowd prevented it. As the police forced their way through, one of the militant fired a few rounds into the air. His head exploded in a red mist as a sniper opened fire, without orders.
There was a panic, screams and shouts from the crowd, which surged either back towards the armored vehicles or in the direction of the barricade. A few more shots rang out, either from the militants or the soldiers one could not be sure. A body fell amid the masses, and was trampled, crushed into an unrecognizable pulp. Hakim sweat bullets. Frantically, he shouted over the radio to his officers, telling them to hold their fire. A bullet suddenly buried itself in the concrete ledge below his feet, and he fell to the ground with those around him.
On the ground, Captain Muktar Abd-dullah shouted to his men, who had taken cover behind the barricade, to get to their feet. Climbing onto an armored car, he shouted:
“They’ve started this! Open fire!”
There was a burst of rifle fire, into the face of the surging crowd. Dozens fell, hundreds more soon after.
“Exterminate them!”
“They’re killing us!”
“Fire!”
“It’s a massacre!”
The scene became bloody chaos. The crowd, trapped, rushed the barricades. Several militants attacked the soldiers blatantly, while other demonstrators simply tried to flee. All were targeted, shot down. The sirens wailed in the distance.
---------
President Aziz picked up the phone. He listened briefly and slammed it down again. Burying his head in his hands, he fought back a tear for his country. It would split itself apart before long.