Imperium Leathum
11-11-2007, 11:23
OOC: Continuing on from my thread depicting the rise of problems in my country centred around the Blades of Christ, a paramilitary Christian group within the Imperial Republic. However, this happens to have a twist to it. Hope you enjoy. :)
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"Terrorism has replaced Communism as the rationale for the militarization of the country, for military adventures abroad, and for the suppression of civil liberties at home. It serves the same purpose, serving to create hysteria."
~ JERRY SPRINGER, interview, Jun. 23, 2003
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Ring....Ring...Click
"Hello?"
A darkened room, lit only by a desk lamp that illuminated an ashtray like a victim of interrogation. The faint hum of traffic from afar through the closed window as the lights of a busy city hustled about their business.
"Jupiter, this is Vulcan."
A momentary pause to inhale. Thin wisps of smoke breathed gently into the atmosphere. "Go ahead."
"Jupiter, meeting is set for tomorrow at eleven fifteen hours. Package will be delivered."
A single hand illuminated by the lamp stubs out a cigarette into the ash container. "Roger Vulcan, continue as planned."
"Roger."
A dial tone whines across the room. A click as the hand replaces the receiver somewhere in the darkness. A spark of light as another cigarette is lit.
Thunder rumbles in the distance.
-----------
The warehouse on Paul Street had been abandoned sometime. Originally a storage facility for some past-imported product from Spain, the building on the water front of Bookton City was now an ageing relic awaiting the rejuvenation of Leathan foreign trade. Dilapidated plant equipment rusted quietly in the corner of the warehouse, as the far-away traffic of the main roads barely penetrated the isolated structure.
The three men stood in the centre of the room smoking nervously in the light from the overhead windows. Two of them had AK-47 rifles loosely hanging from their shoulders, whilst the centre man, a tall, bearded Caucasian with a scar across his left cheek, held a Mac-10 submachine gun in his right hand. The group surveyed the main door nervously.
Presently, the man in the centre looked at his watch. "They're late," he said in a sullen voice.
One of the others licked his lips. "Maybe they backed out?" he asked, glancing at his comrades.
The centre man shook his head. "No," he said, dropping his cigarette to the ground and crunching it into the dirt with his heel. "These guys won't let us down."
"How right you are," a voice echoed through the building. The three men spun, each raising their weapons in an instinctive reaction to the surprise as the mystery speaker stepped out of the shadows.
"Gentlemen," the speaker said, smiling politely. She was a tall, well-dressed individual wearing a two-piece suit with dark blonde hair and crystal green eyes. She also had a Colt .45 holstered on her hip. She stepped forward and reached out a hand. "Gemma Williams."
The central man lowered his weapon slowly, eyeing the woman for a moment before reaching out for her grip. "You're late," he said tersely.
Gemma waved a hand dismissively, turning away from the group and walking towards the main doors. "Patience, Mister Harding," she said with an easy-going tone. "Good things come to those who wait."
As she finished speaking, the large double doors began to open, casting a bright shaft of light into the dim warehouse. Harding shielded his eyes as he attempted to make out the large shape entering the building. The Transit rolled to a halt, engine idling before shutting down in the unsettled dust.
Gemma walked across to the van as three men climbed out from the cab of the vehicle. She kissed one of them briefly on the cheek before turning to Harding and his men as her own compatriots unlocked the side door of the vehicle. "Gentlemen," she said. "Allow me to show you what you've bought."
One of the men slid open the door, the rollers echoing in the large room. Inside the vehicle, a covered object was illuminated by the invading light, hidden beneath a dust sheet. The same man climbed inside and pulled the sheet off.
Harding stepped forward, flanked by his two bodyguards. He examined the device from a few feet's distance.
Gemma smiled. "Just as requested," she said, before turning to the device. "One authentic, mint-condition Mark One atomic explosive, identical to the design used on Hiroshima in 1945." She folded her arms like a mother boasting of a gifted child. "Specially rigged with a timed detonation device, as requested."
Harding's eyes shined as he gazed at the smooth, matt black finish of the weapon casing. "Perfect," he breathed.
Gemma smiled. "Glad you approve," she said. "We received the advance payment this morning." She turned to Harding. "Congratulations sir; You are now the proud owner of your very own nuclear deterrent."
-----------
Brutus City market was a large, bustling trading area held every weekend within the shopping district of the city centre. A notable tourist attraction, it was nearly a mile in length and sported semi-permanent booths for traders selling various kinds of wares and services to passers by. The waft of exotic spices intermingled with the smell of diesel oil, aniseed and hair shampoo as tourists would wander the lines of stalls with awe at the notable variety of products available to easy spenders.
The transit van pulled up at the edge of the market place, awaiting a change in the traffic lights as a group of children crossed the road in front of them.
Once the centre light went blue, the vehicle rolled forward into the market towards an empty stall purchased for the occasion. It took three minutes to reach the stall as the van edged its way through the market, careful not to hit anyone plying the merchants.
Harding pulled up in the van next to the stall. He took a breath, and nodded to one of his comrades, who casually climbed out of the cab. Walking around to the rear doors, the man began to unload various toys and other novelties onto the stall. At the front of the van, the canvass-covered object sat quietly, ominously.
Harding sat in the cab, hands still on the wheel. He realized he was sweating, but mentally forced himself not to wipe his brow; he could not afford to seem nervous in front of the others. His other companion sat in the centre seat of the cab, twiddling his thumbs in a nervous manner.
Harding took a deep breath. He had spent the morning confessing his sins to God, ensuring his will was in order with relatives already abroad and ensured he was in a tranquil place for his ascension. Yet still he felt nervous. Harding shook his head slightly in a physical attempt to clear his mind. He would not be a martyr if he did not have fears to overcome, he reminded himself.
His companion looked at his watch. “It’s time,” he muttered. Then he looked straight at Harding. Fear sat in his eyes.
Harding leant over, gripping the man by the shoulder and smiling slightly. “We are doing the Lord’s work, Stephen.” he said gently. “We will be lauded in heaven forevermore for this sacrifice.”
Stephen sighed, looking out the windshield of the van as various people walked past. A mother and two children weaved past the van, the smaller of the two youths skipping to a song sung by her brother. “I fear not for my own life,” he said, tapping the dashboard. “It is the innocents that we will take with us.” He looked at Harding. “The bible teaches peace, tells us not to kill.”
Harding maintained an encouraging smile for his companion. It was too late for second thoughts now, and Harding had a pistol in the door compartment for any possible setbacks. He cleared his throat. “But we must not forget Chronicles 15,” he said, looking at Stephen with a calm expression. “They entered into a covenant to seek the Lord, the God of their fathers, with all their heart and soul; and everyone who would not seek the Lord, the God of Israel, was to be put to death, whether small or great, whether man or woman.” Harding looked around. “These people do not seek the Lord,” he said contemptuously. “They follow an ancient religion that has persecuted ours for centuries.” He turned back to Stephen. “We are doing the Lord’s work,” he repeated firmly.
Stephen took a deep breath and nodded. Harding smiled back, breathing a mental sigh of relief that it had not become worse. He then turned his eyes to a specially-rigged switch on the dashboard. He reached a finger towards it. “Our Father,” he began to speak, “who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”
The market hummed with life and activity. The whole city was a buzzing hive of lives and activities, like an organic machine constantly in motion.
In the blink of an eye, the machine was gone.
-----------
http://www.reuters.com/resources/images/refreshLogo.gif
Breaking News
Unconfirmed Reports of Nuclear Explosion in Leathan
REUTERS, LISBON: Unconfirmed reports by Spanish military sources detected what is presumed to be a nuclear explosion in the neighbouring island nation of Leathan, Spanish authorities reported.
Half an hour ago, Spanish military sources announced to news media that seismic sensors had detected a large explosion in the Imperial Republic. Civilian airliners traversing nearby reported "a large cloud of unknown origin" over the island. Airline navigation beacons in Brutus City, a large seaport of the Imperial Republic, reportedly went silent at exactly the same time.
No information has been heard from the Imperial government as of yet, but Reuters expects official information within the next few hours. We will keep you informed.
David Swatch
Foreign Affairs Correspondent
-----------
"Terrorism has replaced Communism as the rationale for the militarization of the country, for military adventures abroad, and for the suppression of civil liberties at home. It serves the same purpose, serving to create hysteria."
~ JERRY SPRINGER, interview, Jun. 23, 2003
-----------
Ring....Ring...Click
"Hello?"
A darkened room, lit only by a desk lamp that illuminated an ashtray like a victim of interrogation. The faint hum of traffic from afar through the closed window as the lights of a busy city hustled about their business.
"Jupiter, this is Vulcan."
A momentary pause to inhale. Thin wisps of smoke breathed gently into the atmosphere. "Go ahead."
"Jupiter, meeting is set for tomorrow at eleven fifteen hours. Package will be delivered."
A single hand illuminated by the lamp stubs out a cigarette into the ash container. "Roger Vulcan, continue as planned."
"Roger."
A dial tone whines across the room. A click as the hand replaces the receiver somewhere in the darkness. A spark of light as another cigarette is lit.
Thunder rumbles in the distance.
-----------
The warehouse on Paul Street had been abandoned sometime. Originally a storage facility for some past-imported product from Spain, the building on the water front of Bookton City was now an ageing relic awaiting the rejuvenation of Leathan foreign trade. Dilapidated plant equipment rusted quietly in the corner of the warehouse, as the far-away traffic of the main roads barely penetrated the isolated structure.
The three men stood in the centre of the room smoking nervously in the light from the overhead windows. Two of them had AK-47 rifles loosely hanging from their shoulders, whilst the centre man, a tall, bearded Caucasian with a scar across his left cheek, held a Mac-10 submachine gun in his right hand. The group surveyed the main door nervously.
Presently, the man in the centre looked at his watch. "They're late," he said in a sullen voice.
One of the others licked his lips. "Maybe they backed out?" he asked, glancing at his comrades.
The centre man shook his head. "No," he said, dropping his cigarette to the ground and crunching it into the dirt with his heel. "These guys won't let us down."
"How right you are," a voice echoed through the building. The three men spun, each raising their weapons in an instinctive reaction to the surprise as the mystery speaker stepped out of the shadows.
"Gentlemen," the speaker said, smiling politely. She was a tall, well-dressed individual wearing a two-piece suit with dark blonde hair and crystal green eyes. She also had a Colt .45 holstered on her hip. She stepped forward and reached out a hand. "Gemma Williams."
The central man lowered his weapon slowly, eyeing the woman for a moment before reaching out for her grip. "You're late," he said tersely.
Gemma waved a hand dismissively, turning away from the group and walking towards the main doors. "Patience, Mister Harding," she said with an easy-going tone. "Good things come to those who wait."
As she finished speaking, the large double doors began to open, casting a bright shaft of light into the dim warehouse. Harding shielded his eyes as he attempted to make out the large shape entering the building. The Transit rolled to a halt, engine idling before shutting down in the unsettled dust.
Gemma walked across to the van as three men climbed out from the cab of the vehicle. She kissed one of them briefly on the cheek before turning to Harding and his men as her own compatriots unlocked the side door of the vehicle. "Gentlemen," she said. "Allow me to show you what you've bought."
One of the men slid open the door, the rollers echoing in the large room. Inside the vehicle, a covered object was illuminated by the invading light, hidden beneath a dust sheet. The same man climbed inside and pulled the sheet off.
Harding stepped forward, flanked by his two bodyguards. He examined the device from a few feet's distance.
Gemma smiled. "Just as requested," she said, before turning to the device. "One authentic, mint-condition Mark One atomic explosive, identical to the design used on Hiroshima in 1945." She folded her arms like a mother boasting of a gifted child. "Specially rigged with a timed detonation device, as requested."
Harding's eyes shined as he gazed at the smooth, matt black finish of the weapon casing. "Perfect," he breathed.
Gemma smiled. "Glad you approve," she said. "We received the advance payment this morning." She turned to Harding. "Congratulations sir; You are now the proud owner of your very own nuclear deterrent."
-----------
Brutus City market was a large, bustling trading area held every weekend within the shopping district of the city centre. A notable tourist attraction, it was nearly a mile in length and sported semi-permanent booths for traders selling various kinds of wares and services to passers by. The waft of exotic spices intermingled with the smell of diesel oil, aniseed and hair shampoo as tourists would wander the lines of stalls with awe at the notable variety of products available to easy spenders.
The transit van pulled up at the edge of the market place, awaiting a change in the traffic lights as a group of children crossed the road in front of them.
Once the centre light went blue, the vehicle rolled forward into the market towards an empty stall purchased for the occasion. It took three minutes to reach the stall as the van edged its way through the market, careful not to hit anyone plying the merchants.
Harding pulled up in the van next to the stall. He took a breath, and nodded to one of his comrades, who casually climbed out of the cab. Walking around to the rear doors, the man began to unload various toys and other novelties onto the stall. At the front of the van, the canvass-covered object sat quietly, ominously.
Harding sat in the cab, hands still on the wheel. He realized he was sweating, but mentally forced himself not to wipe his brow; he could not afford to seem nervous in front of the others. His other companion sat in the centre seat of the cab, twiddling his thumbs in a nervous manner.
Harding took a deep breath. He had spent the morning confessing his sins to God, ensuring his will was in order with relatives already abroad and ensured he was in a tranquil place for his ascension. Yet still he felt nervous. Harding shook his head slightly in a physical attempt to clear his mind. He would not be a martyr if he did not have fears to overcome, he reminded himself.
His companion looked at his watch. “It’s time,” he muttered. Then he looked straight at Harding. Fear sat in his eyes.
Harding leant over, gripping the man by the shoulder and smiling slightly. “We are doing the Lord’s work, Stephen.” he said gently. “We will be lauded in heaven forevermore for this sacrifice.”
Stephen sighed, looking out the windshield of the van as various people walked past. A mother and two children weaved past the van, the smaller of the two youths skipping to a song sung by her brother. “I fear not for my own life,” he said, tapping the dashboard. “It is the innocents that we will take with us.” He looked at Harding. “The bible teaches peace, tells us not to kill.”
Harding maintained an encouraging smile for his companion. It was too late for second thoughts now, and Harding had a pistol in the door compartment for any possible setbacks. He cleared his throat. “But we must not forget Chronicles 15,” he said, looking at Stephen with a calm expression. “They entered into a covenant to seek the Lord, the God of their fathers, with all their heart and soul; and everyone who would not seek the Lord, the God of Israel, was to be put to death, whether small or great, whether man or woman.” Harding looked around. “These people do not seek the Lord,” he said contemptuously. “They follow an ancient religion that has persecuted ours for centuries.” He turned back to Stephen. “We are doing the Lord’s work,” he repeated firmly.
Stephen took a deep breath and nodded. Harding smiled back, breathing a mental sigh of relief that it had not become worse. He then turned his eyes to a specially-rigged switch on the dashboard. He reached a finger towards it. “Our Father,” he began to speak, “who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”
The market hummed with life and activity. The whole city was a buzzing hive of lives and activities, like an organic machine constantly in motion.
In the blink of an eye, the machine was gone.
-----------
http://www.reuters.com/resources/images/refreshLogo.gif
Breaking News
Unconfirmed Reports of Nuclear Explosion in Leathan
REUTERS, LISBON: Unconfirmed reports by Spanish military sources detected what is presumed to be a nuclear explosion in the neighbouring island nation of Leathan, Spanish authorities reported.
Half an hour ago, Spanish military sources announced to news media that seismic sensors had detected a large explosion in the Imperial Republic. Civilian airliners traversing nearby reported "a large cloud of unknown origin" over the island. Airline navigation beacons in Brutus City, a large seaport of the Imperial Republic, reportedly went silent at exactly the same time.
No information has been heard from the Imperial government as of yet, but Reuters expects official information within the next few hours. We will keep you informed.
David Swatch
Foreign Affairs Correspondent