Confedracia
02-06-2008, 08:46
Thousands have taken to the streets this evening, under a sea of red banners following the overwhelming victory of the PSUC [United Socialist Party of Confedracia]. Spirits are high here in the capital of Solaro, as they have been throughout the Republic following the whirlwind campaign of the PSUC and its latest shining star, Prime Minister Emilio Sotelo. Tonight-
The television was abruptly switched off, cutting the news broadcast short. General Largo Cortes tossed the remote onto the sofa, waking a sleeping young man in a green army uniform.
“Get up,” he said curtly, and the young man obeyed, adjusting his cap as he quickly rose to his feet. The General walked out of the small study, into a larger adjacent room. Brilliant reds and purples played on the man’s weathered face as fireworks exploded in the sky above. Through the large, open windows, he could look down at them, the droves of ants flooding the streets. To celebrate their paltry victory, he thought. Give them time. They won’t leave their homes, and the explosions will no longer be those of fireworks.
The General walked down the stairs, descending to the foyer of the old villa, located just off the city square, two blocks from the Parliament building. A pair of similarly dressed men, Generals Alejandro Perla and Jose Lerroux were waiting.
“The cars are waiting, General. They will take you to the airport, and you will be flown to Nueva Colon, as agreed.”
General Cortes shook each of their hands.
“Where will you go?” he asked them. “Surely, they’ll be out for blood tonight.”
“I do not fear these reds,” growled General Lerroux. “But we will go to Baracoa, and wait.”
“You won’t have to wait long,” replied Cortes. “This I swear to you.”
“Your word is your bond,” said Perla. “We know this much, and I have great faith in our men, but can we truly succeed?”
“Is your heart pure?” asked Cortes. “If it is, and if you believe in the nation, and in your duty, then we will stem this red tide.”
A siren wailed in the distance, obviously close as it was audible over the noise of celebration in the streets.
“Time is short,” said Cortes. “we must go.”
The three, accompanied by the young soldier from the study and a few additional bodyguards walked towards the back door. They exited into a dark alley. A single car waited.
“Until we meet again, General,” said Perla to Cortes as the man got into the car.
“I shall see you both soon. Here, in Solaro. Under a clear sky.”
The engine rumbled, and the car turned off into the street.
*
Emilio Sotelo shook hands with the last of his guests as the celebrations drew to a close at his mansion overlooking the hill country outside the city.
“Mr. Prime Minister Sotelo,” said a female voice. His wife put a hand on his shoulder. She was beaming, and he realized that he was also.
“It sounds good. I hate to admit it, but it sounds good.”
He put his arms around her, and laughed.
“Who would have thought,” she said.
“Perhaps now, things will change. Perhaps this country will finally be given back to the people, in whose hands it belongs.”
“I’m certain it will. But not tonight.”
The Prime Minister followed his wife upstairs, taking one last look out over the distant lights of the city.
“No, not tonight,” he said to himself.
*
At an airport in the small city of Nueva Colon, a large cargo aircraft sluggishly left the runway, escaping into the pristine night sky. Here, roughly 100 kilometers north of the capital, the city was dead quiet. There had been no public celebration; no banner-waving or fireworks.
“It’s like a tomb,” whispered a soldier to a comrade, looking out over the eerily dark city.
“What do you expect? They say General Cortes is arriving tonight. The people are whispering about grave things being set in motion.”
The first man shivered at this.
“It’s a bad omen,” he said. “That man is crazy.”
“Shh! Are you? Keep it down.”
A superior approached them.
“Hey, you lazy bastards! Get over and move those crates.”
He gestured to the stacks of wooden and metal boxes that had just been offloaded from the cargo aircraft. As the first man, whose name was Vasquez, grabbed one end of the crate, he whispered to his friend.
“What do you think is in these?”
“What’s wrong with you tonight?” whispered the other man harshly. “You ask too many questions. As if I would know what was in them. Do they tell us anything?”
In the distance, the drone of an airplane engine grew louder, until one could be plainly seen coming in to land. A small jet came to a halt in front of the stack of crates. Cortes was awoken by the jolt, and got to his feet, placing his cap on his head.
He stepped out onto the runway, taking in the cool night air; the fresh smell of pine.
“General, sir. I hope you are well?” asked a uniformed Colonel who approached and saluted.
“Very well, Colonel. Thank you. How are things here?”
“We have been ready for your arrival.”
“You have heard the news from Solaro?”
“Unfortunately, yes sir. It is a black day in the history of the Republic.”
“To Hell with the Republic,” groaned the General. “This tragedy is its own fault. It is fortunate there are still men like us who will stand up for the nation, or she would have crumbled decades ago.”
“You speak wisely, General. Your car is waiting for you, to take you to your villa.”
The General nodded, looking over his shoulder at the crates as he left.
Over the Republic, the sun had set and the stars were out in force. The half moon shone brightly over the fields, and in the cities the last of the banner-wavers were heading to bed. Silence took hold, but for some, strangely, it was not peaceful. It was a breathless sort of quiet, like being underwater and listening to your own voice. Indeed, it was like drowning.
The television was abruptly switched off, cutting the news broadcast short. General Largo Cortes tossed the remote onto the sofa, waking a sleeping young man in a green army uniform.
“Get up,” he said curtly, and the young man obeyed, adjusting his cap as he quickly rose to his feet. The General walked out of the small study, into a larger adjacent room. Brilliant reds and purples played on the man’s weathered face as fireworks exploded in the sky above. Through the large, open windows, he could look down at them, the droves of ants flooding the streets. To celebrate their paltry victory, he thought. Give them time. They won’t leave their homes, and the explosions will no longer be those of fireworks.
The General walked down the stairs, descending to the foyer of the old villa, located just off the city square, two blocks from the Parliament building. A pair of similarly dressed men, Generals Alejandro Perla and Jose Lerroux were waiting.
“The cars are waiting, General. They will take you to the airport, and you will be flown to Nueva Colon, as agreed.”
General Cortes shook each of their hands.
“Where will you go?” he asked them. “Surely, they’ll be out for blood tonight.”
“I do not fear these reds,” growled General Lerroux. “But we will go to Baracoa, and wait.”
“You won’t have to wait long,” replied Cortes. “This I swear to you.”
“Your word is your bond,” said Perla. “We know this much, and I have great faith in our men, but can we truly succeed?”
“Is your heart pure?” asked Cortes. “If it is, and if you believe in the nation, and in your duty, then we will stem this red tide.”
A siren wailed in the distance, obviously close as it was audible over the noise of celebration in the streets.
“Time is short,” said Cortes. “we must go.”
The three, accompanied by the young soldier from the study and a few additional bodyguards walked towards the back door. They exited into a dark alley. A single car waited.
“Until we meet again, General,” said Perla to Cortes as the man got into the car.
“I shall see you both soon. Here, in Solaro. Under a clear sky.”
The engine rumbled, and the car turned off into the street.
*
Emilio Sotelo shook hands with the last of his guests as the celebrations drew to a close at his mansion overlooking the hill country outside the city.
“Mr. Prime Minister Sotelo,” said a female voice. His wife put a hand on his shoulder. She was beaming, and he realized that he was also.
“It sounds good. I hate to admit it, but it sounds good.”
He put his arms around her, and laughed.
“Who would have thought,” she said.
“Perhaps now, things will change. Perhaps this country will finally be given back to the people, in whose hands it belongs.”
“I’m certain it will. But not tonight.”
The Prime Minister followed his wife upstairs, taking one last look out over the distant lights of the city.
“No, not tonight,” he said to himself.
*
At an airport in the small city of Nueva Colon, a large cargo aircraft sluggishly left the runway, escaping into the pristine night sky. Here, roughly 100 kilometers north of the capital, the city was dead quiet. There had been no public celebration; no banner-waving or fireworks.
“It’s like a tomb,” whispered a soldier to a comrade, looking out over the eerily dark city.
“What do you expect? They say General Cortes is arriving tonight. The people are whispering about grave things being set in motion.”
The first man shivered at this.
“It’s a bad omen,” he said. “That man is crazy.”
“Shh! Are you? Keep it down.”
A superior approached them.
“Hey, you lazy bastards! Get over and move those crates.”
He gestured to the stacks of wooden and metal boxes that had just been offloaded from the cargo aircraft. As the first man, whose name was Vasquez, grabbed one end of the crate, he whispered to his friend.
“What do you think is in these?”
“What’s wrong with you tonight?” whispered the other man harshly. “You ask too many questions. As if I would know what was in them. Do they tell us anything?”
In the distance, the drone of an airplane engine grew louder, until one could be plainly seen coming in to land. A small jet came to a halt in front of the stack of crates. Cortes was awoken by the jolt, and got to his feet, placing his cap on his head.
He stepped out onto the runway, taking in the cool night air; the fresh smell of pine.
“General, sir. I hope you are well?” asked a uniformed Colonel who approached and saluted.
“Very well, Colonel. Thank you. How are things here?”
“We have been ready for your arrival.”
“You have heard the news from Solaro?”
“Unfortunately, yes sir. It is a black day in the history of the Republic.”
“To Hell with the Republic,” groaned the General. “This tragedy is its own fault. It is fortunate there are still men like us who will stand up for the nation, or she would have crumbled decades ago.”
“You speak wisely, General. Your car is waiting for you, to take you to your villa.”
The General nodded, looking over his shoulder at the crates as he left.
Over the Republic, the sun had set and the stars were out in force. The half moon shone brightly over the fields, and in the cities the last of the banner-wavers were heading to bed. Silence took hold, but for some, strangely, it was not peaceful. It was a breathless sort of quiet, like being underwater and listening to your own voice. Indeed, it was like drowning.