Argrimia
25-09-2008, 00:25
[CLOSED RP]
Jackson's Cross, Argrimia
At last, the sun broke through the clouds and scattered its rays over the blossoming field below. A light breeze rustled the grain crops back and forth before the crunching of the tractor destroyed their idle swaying. From a mile away, Farmer Mike Halifax watched with satisfaction. On time, yet again. He had always prided himself on the independence of his farm; there was not a single soul in the country who could give him orders, or directives; no body that could rob him of his livelihood by taxation, no rules or regulations on how or what he farmed. The only thing that directed his life were market forces, and he was quite happy with those. Better freedom under capitalism than orders under planning.
The vast expanse of his farm land rolled across the plains, stretching from Jackson's Cross to the Lacroix River in the south. Halifax took a chocolate bar from the table and cracked it open, watching attentively as farmhands scuttled to and fro. As he took the first bite, savouring the imported chocolate - the country had practically no manufacturing of its own - his eyebrow cocked up as the sight of a Land Rover in the horizon making its way towards the farm appeared. As it finally ground to a halt outside the farmhouse, a worried young man left the car, leaving the door open, and with a deep frown on both his mouth and brow walked briskly up the steps where Halifax was finishing his breakfast.
"Sir," he reported "There's some troubling news."
"Out with it then, Harry" Halifax replied, setting his chocolate bar aside.
"The gold that we've been looking at across the Lacroix - well, I went for a look-around, and there were people there."
Halifax sighed, reaching for his shotgun. "Probably from MTBC. Come on, we'll go chase them off."
"No, they're foreigners."
Both men stopped speaking. There were no immigration laws in Argrimia, and almost half the population were foreigners who had come to enjoy the freedom and the growing prosperity of the small anarchical country, but this was different. Foreigners looking at gold meant foreign Governments, and that meant trouble. The fiercely paranoid population of Argrimia were scared of only one thing: and that was foreign Governments looking with greedy eyes at their natural resources. Almost eighty percent of the country were under arms, to protect either themselves or their 'country', if it could be called that, from foreign aggression, in case it ever came. True, it was technically beyond the 'border', but if nobody was using it, Halifax had always said it was for the taking. Now, that had all changed.
"Let's go pay a visit to Alexei," Halifax said, standing up and taking his shotgun with him, grabbing the bandolier full of shells from the rest nearby. "I'll start the car up, go and tell Blohm that he's in charge for now."
Jackson's Crossing
The town of perhaps twenty thousand people was one of many that dotted the landscape were the junctions of transport met and formed a large marketplace. It was also the home of the Lacroix-Jackson Militia Detachment, and its base was Alexei Volkov's office. During most of the time he was a newspaper for The Lacroix Libertarian, but he was also the elected leader of the L-J/MD. The Land Rover pulled up outside the office and the two men pushed open the door, observing Alexei with his head on his desk, absolutely silent.
"Alexei," Halifax said quietly. Nothing. He picked up the ashtray and dropped it on the table, just enough for it to make a sound but for nothing to be damaged. "Alexei!"
"Agh," Alexei moaned, whipping a Colt .45 from his holster and blinking several times. "Oh, it's you, Halifax," he said with a sigh of relief, putting the sidearm back where it belonged. "What do you want?"
"Foreigners, six miles out the border. Looking at that gold we've been keeping our eye on."
Volkov raised an eyebrow. "You want me to raise some boys to go down there?" He reached for an address-book. "Any more details?"
Both men shrugged. "I didn't get enough time to look at them - I've no idea if they know I saw them. I was on foot because the bridge across the Lacroix doesn't handle a land rov-"
"Why didn't you take the pontoon?" Halifax asked, shaking his head.
"I missed it," Harry admitted. "I thought the walk would do me good anyway."
Volkov looked up from the address-book for a moment and observed Harry's fairly large belly. "I'll say. Now, let me make a few phonecalls. Take a seat," he said, waving his hand about. It took half an hour for him, and he scribbled down three addresses where the phone-line was broken. When he'd finished, he shouted outside. "Baker?"
A few footsteps and a younger man appeared at the doorway with a cigarette in his mouth. "Yeah boss?"
"Go to these three addresses and tell them to report here with their arms within the hour. Hurry up," he rolled his chair to the rear door and handed Baker the piece of paper. Baker nodded and a few moments later the roar of a motorcycle could be heard as Baker sped off. "It'll probably be another two hours or so until we're sorted. You boys want a game of poker?" Volkov asked, withdrawing a pack of cards from his drawer and offering round a pack of Lucky Strikes.
Lacroix River
Five hours later the convoy had arrived; a pair of six ton trucks and Halifax's land rover. Inside, two score militiamen, having taken their own arms, were either fast asleep or playing games of cards. Some had uniforms, but only for practical camouflage purposes. The favourites were either Portugese or South African bush fatigues or various mercenary patterns that had not come into official use for whatever reasons and were being sold off at surplus. In terms of arms, they were armed with a variety of small arms, from Kalashnikovs to a single PSG-1, and even a knee mortar and some rifle grenades.
They crossed the pontoon bridge, and to the surprise of the Praetonians, pulled up about half a mile outside their prospection camp. Disembarking all but ten of their militiamen, they made their way towards the camp. "As elected Militia Commander of the Lacroix-Jackson Militia Detachment, I request a parley with whoever is in charge here!"
With their fingers itching, the Argrimian militamen moved for cover and readied their weapons for possible combat. For many, it was the first time they had even come into contact with foreigners that weren't intending to immigrate (as far as they knew), and it was a somewhat harrowing experience.
Jackson's Cross, Argrimia
At last, the sun broke through the clouds and scattered its rays over the blossoming field below. A light breeze rustled the grain crops back and forth before the crunching of the tractor destroyed their idle swaying. From a mile away, Farmer Mike Halifax watched with satisfaction. On time, yet again. He had always prided himself on the independence of his farm; there was not a single soul in the country who could give him orders, or directives; no body that could rob him of his livelihood by taxation, no rules or regulations on how or what he farmed. The only thing that directed his life were market forces, and he was quite happy with those. Better freedom under capitalism than orders under planning.
The vast expanse of his farm land rolled across the plains, stretching from Jackson's Cross to the Lacroix River in the south. Halifax took a chocolate bar from the table and cracked it open, watching attentively as farmhands scuttled to and fro. As he took the first bite, savouring the imported chocolate - the country had practically no manufacturing of its own - his eyebrow cocked up as the sight of a Land Rover in the horizon making its way towards the farm appeared. As it finally ground to a halt outside the farmhouse, a worried young man left the car, leaving the door open, and with a deep frown on both his mouth and brow walked briskly up the steps where Halifax was finishing his breakfast.
"Sir," he reported "There's some troubling news."
"Out with it then, Harry" Halifax replied, setting his chocolate bar aside.
"The gold that we've been looking at across the Lacroix - well, I went for a look-around, and there were people there."
Halifax sighed, reaching for his shotgun. "Probably from MTBC. Come on, we'll go chase them off."
"No, they're foreigners."
Both men stopped speaking. There were no immigration laws in Argrimia, and almost half the population were foreigners who had come to enjoy the freedom and the growing prosperity of the small anarchical country, but this was different. Foreigners looking at gold meant foreign Governments, and that meant trouble. The fiercely paranoid population of Argrimia were scared of only one thing: and that was foreign Governments looking with greedy eyes at their natural resources. Almost eighty percent of the country were under arms, to protect either themselves or their 'country', if it could be called that, from foreign aggression, in case it ever came. True, it was technically beyond the 'border', but if nobody was using it, Halifax had always said it was for the taking. Now, that had all changed.
"Let's go pay a visit to Alexei," Halifax said, standing up and taking his shotgun with him, grabbing the bandolier full of shells from the rest nearby. "I'll start the car up, go and tell Blohm that he's in charge for now."
Jackson's Crossing
The town of perhaps twenty thousand people was one of many that dotted the landscape were the junctions of transport met and formed a large marketplace. It was also the home of the Lacroix-Jackson Militia Detachment, and its base was Alexei Volkov's office. During most of the time he was a newspaper for The Lacroix Libertarian, but he was also the elected leader of the L-J/MD. The Land Rover pulled up outside the office and the two men pushed open the door, observing Alexei with his head on his desk, absolutely silent.
"Alexei," Halifax said quietly. Nothing. He picked up the ashtray and dropped it on the table, just enough for it to make a sound but for nothing to be damaged. "Alexei!"
"Agh," Alexei moaned, whipping a Colt .45 from his holster and blinking several times. "Oh, it's you, Halifax," he said with a sigh of relief, putting the sidearm back where it belonged. "What do you want?"
"Foreigners, six miles out the border. Looking at that gold we've been keeping our eye on."
Volkov raised an eyebrow. "You want me to raise some boys to go down there?" He reached for an address-book. "Any more details?"
Both men shrugged. "I didn't get enough time to look at them - I've no idea if they know I saw them. I was on foot because the bridge across the Lacroix doesn't handle a land rov-"
"Why didn't you take the pontoon?" Halifax asked, shaking his head.
"I missed it," Harry admitted. "I thought the walk would do me good anyway."
Volkov looked up from the address-book for a moment and observed Harry's fairly large belly. "I'll say. Now, let me make a few phonecalls. Take a seat," he said, waving his hand about. It took half an hour for him, and he scribbled down three addresses where the phone-line was broken. When he'd finished, he shouted outside. "Baker?"
A few footsteps and a younger man appeared at the doorway with a cigarette in his mouth. "Yeah boss?"
"Go to these three addresses and tell them to report here with their arms within the hour. Hurry up," he rolled his chair to the rear door and handed Baker the piece of paper. Baker nodded and a few moments later the roar of a motorcycle could be heard as Baker sped off. "It'll probably be another two hours or so until we're sorted. You boys want a game of poker?" Volkov asked, withdrawing a pack of cards from his drawer and offering round a pack of Lucky Strikes.
Lacroix River
Five hours later the convoy had arrived; a pair of six ton trucks and Halifax's land rover. Inside, two score militiamen, having taken their own arms, were either fast asleep or playing games of cards. Some had uniforms, but only for practical camouflage purposes. The favourites were either Portugese or South African bush fatigues or various mercenary patterns that had not come into official use for whatever reasons and were being sold off at surplus. In terms of arms, they were armed with a variety of small arms, from Kalashnikovs to a single PSG-1, and even a knee mortar and some rifle grenades.
They crossed the pontoon bridge, and to the surprise of the Praetonians, pulled up about half a mile outside their prospection camp. Disembarking all but ten of their militiamen, they made their way towards the camp. "As elected Militia Commander of the Lacroix-Jackson Militia Detachment, I request a parley with whoever is in charge here!"
With their fingers itching, the Argrimian militamen moved for cover and readied their weapons for possible combat. For many, it was the first time they had even come into contact with foreigners that weren't intending to immigrate (as far as they knew), and it was a somewhat harrowing experience.