NationStates Jolt Archive

The First Geletian Republic, morning of the 15th of February, 1989

"Murgomrix Pessinus Absconds!
-Forty million in nuclear capital removed!"

The value stated at the top of the flier was taken from the National Industrial Capital Survey, set up by the Geletian Communist Party after the May Revolution of 1982 and placed under the control of Graeme Igo, who was tasked with assessing the value and condition of all capital goods in the nation and calculating their efficiency under private ownership. Igo set out with the impression that the survey would pave the way for popular take-over of workplaces and the institutionalisation of his Fixed Value Tax and profit-sharing ideas.

Instead it was simply a point of reference for his young admirers, who crowded around his son, Sopworth, a student at Trevenya University, as they catalogued the depletion of national industry by criminal gangs around the fleeing nobles and capitalists of the prior epoch.

A couple of these Young Igovians were handing out word of another case uncovered recently. The former Duke of Pessinus had got out of the country and fled to Arminia -Germany to those unfamiliar with Geletian- and had managed to take much of the nation's nuclear technology, with which his defunct private corporation was once deeply involved, with him. Forty million US dollars was the value ascribed by Igo's original survey to the technologies contained in Murgomorix's labs, but it was actually impossible to say for sure that all of it had gone with him. Certainly it wasn't where it used to be, that was enough!

Since 1982, thousands had left, taking billions of dollars with them. Owing to the old class divides, most of those leaving -the rich and the regal- were also the ones who had received the best educations and opportunities, which meant the added injury of a brain-drain that had not abated in the last six years.

Today, the 15th of February, by some coincidence, a number of political rallies were scheduled on the same day, and Parliament was meeting to debate a proposed condemnation of the rogue warrior Indomartus, who was leading an insurrection in northern Ceylon and parts of southern India, against Progintern advice.

The day had begun uneasily, with pamphleteers out at sunrise and the People's Police -the national Gendarmerie- preparing to marshal the rallies due to unfold throughout the day. Soon in Geletia, something would have to give. The air was pregnant with uncertain anticipation...

(OOC Thread.) (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=566790)

15th of February, 1989.
Strainist Embassy, Akink

Yelu Teshaiko was not pleased. The Strainist ambassador to the Geletian Republic looked out the window at the winter sky over the Geletian capital, lost in thought, hand occasionally moving to the stomach ulcers which had not been there when he first took up this post in 1982.

Today was supposed to be a simple day, part of a simple week, simple month, simple year... There was an easy schedule to be followed: the Parliament of the Geletian Republic would vote to join the People's Republic of Spyr and the International Union of Progressive Parties in condemning the Tamil terrorists spreading death and destruction in the Republic of Ceylon. A few days later, the Geletian intelligence services would hold a press conference to agree with Spyran statements that the Rus were sponsoring Tamil terrorists (an obvious fact, despite the difficulty in procuring any evidence to that effect). Yelu would sit down for a chat with President Kezo and commend his leadership in the matter. There would be a round of toasts in the name of international brotherhood, and he would be driven back to the embassy past the faces of of a people smiling with the knowledge that their revolution was on the proper course towards progress.

Unfortunately, and as usual, the Geletians were refusing to keep their proper place. As a people, Yelu had come to believe, they reveled in causing difficulty for the sake of difficulty. A brawl in the midst of legislative debate, or between youthful gangs of protesters, was as much part of the Lyongese democratic tradition as it was that of the Geletians, but here it was taken to intolerable extremes. Kezo was a good man, reliable and with a proper perspective, but any country which gave audience to that insufferable philosopher Graeme Igo was in need of serious correction.

Not that the Strainists hadn't brought the subject up before... but the Geletian Communist Party did not seem confident enough in its position to follow good advice. And, Yelu was forced to admit, Strainist advice had not always turned out for the best.... 'It would be unwise to nationalize the assets of large capital investors so early, as Washington and London might view such as an attack on free market principles.' Not that there was any other choice in the matter, as the Popular Front policy had to take priority over all else until the feudal threat was eliminated, but the departure of significant assets from the Geletian Republic continued to deliver blows to the economy, and those Strainists focused on Geletia had been unable to convince the rest of the Party that significant funds needed to be diverted to prop up Kezo and prevent him from being blamed for economic failure. Most within the Party were more concerned with military upgrading to face the threats along their own border, or with the future of the neighbouring Choson People's Republic and its ongoing struggle against Roman imperialism. European revolutionaries, despite their unexpected initial success, were a secondary priority in the public consciousness.

With a sigh, Yelu turned back to his desk, glancing over a report from Public Safety on sore lack of proper surveillance within the Geletian intelligence apparatus. Quiet monitoring of the population could pass beneath the notice of London and Washington, while allowing the Republic to move in on people such as Murgomorix and prevent them from absconding with such large quantities of assets. They'd also be able to keep an eye on the anarchists for criminal activity that could be used against the Igos. He'd have to bring that up with Kezo at their next meeting...

Akink, Geletia

Michael Bevan wasn't supposed to be in Akink. If he was found by any of the security staff or the local constabulary, he'd have to do some quick talking or, failing that, some quick running. His papers listed him as a Celtic descendant and Geletian national, and to be entirely fair he did look the part. He was tall, fair haired and in good shape, and accordingly was just about average in Akink. Sitting in a cafe and reading a paper, he fit in well.

This was all very fortunate, since he was an employee of MI6 and was in the country on forged documents. He sipped at his coffee and scanned the street. His job wasn't to assassinate anyone or cause any damage, he was just here to watch and listen. There had been some alarming rumors and messages coming out of Geletia of late, and His Majesty's Secret Service very much wanted to have a man on the ground to keep a finger on the national pulse. Or perhaps two men on the ground. Or six. Bevan had no idea, really, he knew only that he communicated with his contact through a blind-drop arrangement that had served him fairly well. Speaking of which, he should probably hurry to the newspaper stand on Vercingetorix Street and Boadicea Avenue. He stood, gulped the last of his coffee, and left a reasonable tip by his empty cup before joining the hurrying people along the street, wrapped against the February chill.

Trevenya

The rallies had begun ordinarily enough on the face of it. More in depth study, probably more effective with the lenses of hindsight, might have revealed a subtle shift begun even in the morning speeches and marches. Many of the rallies were related to the up-coming Parliamentary debate on Indomartus, but in some this was actually just an adjunct, and attached to it was a subtle conversation about the nature and direction of the Geletian revolution.

In most cases there was at least one gendarme for every third protestor, to say nothing of GSIC's plain-clothes presence, and neither President Kezo nor Chairman Magigo felt especially threatened by the character of proceedings as they imagined them. The security forces were given a pretty relaxed briefing and not expected to intercede in most of the events, though GSIC would probably jot down a few names during the course of the day.

There was a pretty even split in public rallies and speaking events between the capital, Akink, and the largest city, Trevenya, on this day, with just a few minor happenings in other cities across the country. In Akink, the gatherings would tend to be outside Portmeirion's turrets and at ale houses and bars showing coverage related to the Parliamentary debate. That was ordinary and fine, since everybody was used to it and even much of the architecture was laid out to suit proper crowd management and policing. But in Trevenya, it was the gathering in the university grounds that was most interesting.

The People's Police felt unwelcome here, and GSIC was warey of stirring-up students, especially those who lived in commune on the campus. On the one hand they required the most precise attention, and on the other the risk of firing them up was great, and as they became increasingly tech-savvy, significant resoruces already had to be directed to observing traffic over the intra-university computer network, lest trouble at Trevenya University spread in an instant to a dozen other campuses across the nation. So the students and their guest speakers were watched, but uniform presence was minimal.

And, undercover Sentinels could only watch, anxiously, as Sopworth Igo, who held the Chair in a student body and campus think-tank called The Young Igovians, surrendered the podium, erected in the central courtyard, to his father. Ah, the Gremlin was in the works!

Graeme was greeted enthusiastically by a significant minority in the crowd, and politely by the rest. Clearly, the closest thing to a divide was the difference between those students who already supported the Igos and those who accepted their views as at least valid or else were yet to pay them much attention. His speech was typical of the noted orator, his tone measured and voice clear, rising and falling in a calculated manner, while his body language made the most of his relatively uninispiring physique. This time, the content, usually challenging, built in intensity and directness until it became out-right confrontational.

Assessing the split perceived by many radical Geletians as having arisen between modern Spyrian revisionist appeasement and brutally authoritarian Kurosite Thought -which Kezo and Orinoccorix were held by the Igovians to be blending in Geletia's planned future-, Graeme concluded with the assertion that, "...when asked to choose the lesser of two evils, the true revolutionary leads both to the basement... and brings his revolver!"

Akink

Parliament had descended with more than usual haste into a violent shouting match, with Communists of all leanings leading the way in bellowing at one another across the benches, while, for once, most of the pure Nationalists and Anarchists were failing to make themselves heard, apparently perplexed by the direction that the session was taking.

The debate on Indomartus was being derailled almost before it had begun. Somebody had raised the question of Murgomrix's defection, quite out of turn, but the speaker was having great difficulty returning the debate to its proper core and had, several times, threatened members with ejection, which only made things worse, especially as he seemed unwilling to act on his threats.

It was being contested by some in the 'dissident' seats, those disinclined to toe the Progressive line, that the Republic was in no position to pass judgement on another revolution while its own house was in such disorder, and that Progintern opposition to Indomartus only reinforced the increasing ridiculousness of the Popular Front approach.

A few reams of papers had been thrown in the air, insults had been hurled with them, and challenges to the authority of the Speaker and the Party leadership had reached an intolerable level after which the higest authorities would be forced to act against their own Parliamentarians, when suddenly the main doors to the debating chamber were flung open in one of the greatest instants of political melodrama in Geletia, revealing a backlit comrade Chivo, a member of Parliament whose absence had gone unnoticed in all the comotion, dressed in the manner of the Young Igovians.

Eerily, the chamber fell almost silent and hundreds of eyes turned on Chivo, who stood for a moment, a wry smile growing on his face before he finally strode down the aisle leading from the doorway to the middle of the chamber.

Not knowing what else to do other than continue the so-far useless slanging matches that had been raging all morning, and quite exhausted by them in any case, the Parliamentary body remained generally quiet, and relieved to have at least temporarily averted the need to call in Sentinels, the Speaker too surrendered the spotlight to Chivo, who just seemed to have a different aura about him today.

"Comrades..." he began...

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v148/Chivtv/NS1/prisondoor.jpg
Chivo interrupts a Parliamentary session

Thursday, February 16th 1989.
Ground Forces Base; Astrakhan

"Damn it!"
Supreme Officer Graf Vorobyov's declaration of his current mood let his staff know what the incoming call was about.
"The entire convoy was destroyed?!... No Polkovnik (Colonel) I will not order a withdrawal!... You damn well better have cleared the area by... What? yes, that's it exactly.... Yes, his imperial majesty expects better, he will be returning in two weeks Polkovnik, you have eleven days to clear all separatists from the area, I suggest you stop making excuses and just do it... Very well, but if this convoy doesn't make it though his imperial majesty will not be pleased with either of us, I don't know about you Polkovnik but I'd rather not be spending an early retirement in Siberia... Okay, make it happen." *Click*

Graf (Count) Vorobyov, the supreme commander of his imperial majesties ground forces had come to Astrakhan to personally oversee combat operation against the Georgian insurgency. It wasn't going well. The rebels controlled almost every city now and three days ago they had broadcast the execution of Prince Andrey Katzev. The Prince was the last pillar of nobility still standing and with his capture last summer all imperial control over the land was lost. The Supreme Commander could only hope his Imperial Highness would understand the ramifications of this all. "Damn it!" he cussed again. He had two weeks (less a day) to change the state of affairs or he'd have a hard choice ahead. Retirement in Siberia, or defection. Tsar Yevgeny had given him command of the ground forces less than one year ago and though the Tsar was quick to reward success, he was also quick to punish failure.

Elsewhere in the nation war was almost the last things on peoples minds. The peasants were rioting for food, the Graf's and Barron's ready to riot as the market crashed and factories were closing down daily and at this critical time the Tsar had left the country for a one month pleasure stay at secret location in central america with orders not to be bothered.

12:24hrs, 15th February, road to Vienna, western Geletia

A small convoy -the most notable participant would have preferred 'motorcade'- was making for the border. The occupants were variously unnerved, humiliated, or infuriated by the chants of countless citizens along the way.

"All Power to the Soviets!", "Traitors! Traitors! Traitors!", "Lutorix a Quisling! Arrest the Quisling!"

In the lead car, a Bentley, followed by an old Lada and a Leyland DAF truck, Lutorix urged his chauffeur, "Drive on, drive on!" But up ahead, at the border, something that made hearts sink in the little motorcade.

Coming to a halt with a whistle of tired old breaks, the three vehicles were surrounded by young people wearing white-trimmed black suits with numbered badges on their breasts. In front, the road was blocked by a newly improvised barricade. A wall of wattle and daub, a latticework of sticks coated with a cement of mud, manure, and animal blood, traditional Celtic architecture raised in absence of other materials.

"Back up." But, behind, the Young Igovians had laid-out a branch with scores of nails protruding from it.

"Show us your papers!" A shrill command from a boy hardly seventeen and scrawny as you like. "Young man, show us yours!" the wrong response from Lutorix, who was grabbed by the hair and dragged through the window of his luxury car in a most undignified fashion.

*prods*

Trevenya, afternoon of the 15th

Graeme Igo was still on the podium on Trevenya University's grounds when the first major scuffles broke out. The speaker had the crowd in rapture, and those previously undecided were being swept along in the red tide. Then one observant young woman, noticing the dour manner of one clean-cut comrade who was apparently less than inspired by Graeme's rabble rousing, alerted other listeners with a colloquial cry broadly equivalent to, "Naaaarrrrk!" and before anyone knew it, with Graeme pointing the finger from his pedestal, individuals were being accused left and right of involvement with the Party Sentinels and there was mayhem across campus.

Now the Gendarmes were called in.

Akink

That Chivo was commanding the floor in Parliament was an entirely different matter to Igo's display at the university. Chivo was a nobody, a minor representative. But he was wearing Young Igovian dress, essentially a political uniform, and whispers were going around that these people were patrolling the streets in some places like they were the police, and that Igovian students were rioting in Trevenya. Nobody had enough information on which to act, and all assumed that Chivo had... though, in truth, in everything after his dramatic entrance he was, quite frankly, winging it, hoping that the situation would develop in a favourable manner. Perhaps after years of Russian influence, everyone else had forgotten how to be Geletian!

17:00hrs, Austro-Geletian frontier

Lutorix, his driver, and five other members of his household were no more. The next party that approached the Austrian border was confronted by more than a few grouchy youths in snazzy jackets and a rather smelly section of wall. Now that wall was set with the severed heads of a reactionary traitor and the running dogs that had lived off his scraps. Most of those responsible were long gone, leaving a few younger boys to incorporate the stripped-out hulks of the nobleman's vehicles into their border checkpoint and marvel over the grissly trophies their elder brothers and cousins had made of the parasites. The culprits were off to loot the Lutorix household, judging that he couldn't possibly have fitted all of his ill-gotten gains into two cars and a small truck. It was time for some long over-due redistribution!

Akink

"...the Popular Front has failed. Genuine revolution in Ceylon is being sold-out so that we can become like the Americans. Why not simply return to the Tetrachy if we are not truly interested in modern democracy and a new economic way? This is a crisis... blood is being spilled in Tamil Eelam, and it is the same colour as stain'd our sacred banner in '82! There will be blood in the streets of Geletia if we do not bury the vestiges of reactionary society with its names!"

Chivo was responding to the first voices raised in dissent as he continued to berate his Parliamentary colleagues. Some were daring to ask from where he drew his authority to monopolise the floor, and what could possibly justify this level of disruption. Some sort of crisis? Ha!

"Never the less!" another Parliamentarian bellowed, stamping his big Geletian boot into the middle of the discourse. "Never the less... we are here, and we are strong with Russia behind us. Who is behind you? What bac..."

"...You admit it? You are a Russian whore!" Chivo charged back in. It wasn't as if anybody would be surprised by a confession of subservience to Kyiv, that had been the way since 1944, but Chivo's voice had a fresh vitriol about it. "What will you do?" His opponent challenged. "Who are you?" He genuinely had no idea. Chivo was next to nobody, in Parliamentary terms, after all. "You're an upstart student! We paid for your education! We hired your tutors!"

The Blackjacket took his time. Everyone looked on, keenly. Was this the end of that mad interruption? Were we back on track? Then Chivo's upper lip curled. He gave the honourable member a look of utter disdain. In a low tone that invited everyone in the chamber to lean forward in order to hear he finally spoke. "You hired Graeme Igo? I very much doubt it!..." a long and confused pause was followed by a sneer, "Make your will out, mate! They know the names... and they know the faces."

That was a bit gruff. Everyone sat upright and glances were exchanged around the whole chamber.

It would have meant more if they'd seen the rich men's heads stuck in barricades on the road to Vienna.

Trevenya

Later estimates would suggest that between 240 and 270 thousand people were on the streets of the city. Petrol bombs and traditional Geletian weapons sent flashes of fire and splashes of blood into the air all day. Gendarmes weilding revolvers, batons, shotguns, pressure hoses, tear-gas bombs, and bean-bag cannons were being hacked to pieces by citizens with Geletian agricultural swords, lead-laden slingshots, and composite bows, not to mention the Molotov cocktails. The city's chief of police was cut down after forgetting his Geletian self and putting two .38 calibre rounds into an on-rushing demonstrator only to be struck across the neck by a steel blade and killed without felling the attacker.

Graeme Igo was marching down the main road amidst tens of thousands of supporters, fist in the air.

The nation's largest city was slipping out of state control.

Gwehelog

Not far from the scene of Igo's blood orgy, supportive banners, shouts, and gestures were cast up with aplomb. The Silures -perhaps Geletia's most ferocious highlanders, who had charged Russian machineguns at Tsaritsyn and elsewhere- were coming down from the mountains, voicing their formidable support for the Young Igovian insurrection as it was fast becoming.

Then, in one of the more amazing spectacles of the C20th, they were piled into on one flank by warriors of the Durotrigues tribe, out of Carbantorigum. It was 1989, and the Durotrigues were utterly naked save for war paint, scowls, and swords. Several thousand Durotrigue and Siluren warriors were shortly fighting hand-to-hand in the streets of a city half full of concrete and town planning.