NationStates Jolt Archive

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The Meeting

Despite thrice holding the highest position in the land, Chairman Gary Girardi looked like a normal man. He didn't wear expensive designer suits, or shoes. His ink black hair was generically cut. He allowed his razor to barely glide against his skin, leaving a thin, yet distinct shadow around his mouth, under his nose and up to his ears along his rounded jaw line. He didn't drive multiple high end cars, or build a mansion in the middle of nowhere. Gary was never a man to flash his wealth or power, it just wasn't his style. The suits he wore were purchased for him at middle income store, as were his shoes. He hated going baby faced, made him feel too clean, too proper, too stuck up. He hated feeling like a model on display, dressing to impress. He was a man who lived way below his means. He had his toy car, his fantasy car, which he kept excellent care of, but he also had his family vehicles and a classic motorcycle, which he rode every chance he got. The house in which he lived was centuries old, in the middle of a fairly well to do neighborhood in the small coastal community of St. Clair.

Gary only became Chairman once in an election. His first time, some fifteen odd years ago, only to be defeated in the next election three years by his then Vice Chairman William H. Tanker. Following Tanker's conviction, one year after his victory, on charges of corruption, possession of cocaine with intent to traffic, conspiracy to commit trafficking as well as the charge of illegally importing a controlled substance with intent to distribute, Gary, the Vice Chairman ascended to the position of Chairman once again. In Saint Fedski, the candidates for Chairman are elected by popular vote, the second place finisher takes the Vice Chairman position. Again, election year rode around and again, Gary was defeated by his Vice Chairman and close friend, Katherine Schleicher, although not without debate. Katherine's campaign staff was accused of vote buying by the Election Committee of Saint Fedski. Allegedly her campaign director and now Chief of Staff Kremunn Voldink, threatened to reveal Sunshine Corporations illegal dumping and hiring practices if a fair amount of support was not given to the campaign. Katherine resigned as Chairwoman as following the conviction of Kremunn. The position of Chairman was once again handed down to Gary Girardi for another two years.

Gary withdrew his name from the next election, citing personal reasons. After spending the better part of a decade as Chairman or Vice Chairman to a corrupt Chairman, Gary's face started to show a little bit of age. His jet black hair was no longer entirely jet black; little specs of silver could be seen glimmering in the light. His face, always rugged, began to look weaker, his skin more pale. The stress of the job during wartime and economic hardships was finally wearing the man down. One thing he still hadn't lost was his optimistic attitude. He never frowned on a situation, only smiled that much more. Taking every dilemma and turning it around with a lot of hard work and a smile was his specialty.

Born in the small fishing and tourist town of Kirkland Lake, on the sparsely populated jungle paradise island of Girardi Island, the sense of regional pride and strength instilled in Gary since birth was strong. The region of Clearwater, the largest region, but not the most populated was somewhat detested by the rest of Saint Fedski. Maybe it was the political incorrectness that seemed to be prevalent. Or was it the fact that athletes from Clearwater seemed to have the most success? Was it because Clearwater's economy was the strongest or was it because citizens of Clearwater was as close to being the perfect neighbor as one could get, creating a sense of jealousy among the rest? Was it Clearwater's utter lack of concern or it's free spirit, work hard, party harder attitude? No one really knows. One thing was clear though, Clearwater had a sense of pride and unity that no other region in Saint Fedski, or the world could match.




Lightly strolling down the dark front steps from his front door to the cobblestone driveway beneath on which is car was parked, Gary reached into the front pocket of his black sweatshirt pulling out his cell phone.

“Answer the phone damn it” Gary muttered as he fumbled trying to find the car lock. “Answer the phone.”

“Are we ready?” The voice on the other end spoke with a hoarse rasp.

“Yes.” Replied Gary quietly, looking around before climbing into his car. “I will be there in twenty minutes.”

The car started with a loud roar, almost immediately the black armoured sport utility vehicles behind and in front sprang to life. As if under the control of one driver, the three vehicle proceeded slowly down the driveway, loose stones cracking between the cobblestones and the tires. Pausing for a brief moment while they turned onto the main road, the vehicles quickly accelerated to a quick pace, speeding down the unlit back road, led only by the daytime running lights of the lead vehicle, and disappearing into the dense jungle.

“We're here.” Gary muttered gloomily as the three vehicles ground to a halt outside of what seemed to be a small house.

Looking up into the clear night sky, he smiled as a tall, thin man stepped out of the shadows with an outstretched hand. “Glad you could make it Gary.” The man said in the same voice as on the phone. “Everyone is here. Everyone is waiting.”

“Thank you Matt. Thank you. I will be in in a minute. I just need some time to catch my thoughts here.”

“No problem Gary. I will let everyone know.”

Matt spun around and stepped silently back into the shadows.

“Wow. Sure is ironic. Not a cloud in the sky, but somewhere out there, is a storm waiting to start.” Spoke Gary in an ominous tone.

He turned around on his heel to where Matt had disappeared into the shadows, took a deep breath, then too disappeared down a narrow grass path that took him around to the back of the house and into what appeared to be a small shed. Twisting the knob with a slight squeak, and opening the door with a quiet creek, a dimly lit stone staircase, leading into a darkened pit opened up beneath him. At the bottom of the stairs was welcome mat, that stood at the base of a large, solid oak door, decorated with a massive brass handle. Muffled, and barely audible was the crackle of a fire coming from behind that door. Sternly pushing the door open, a large room, full of people staring his way came into focus. At the far side, a large brick fire place was roaring. In the middle of the room Gary counted twenty chairs and twenty people surrounding a long wooden table adorned with small candles along the length of the middle. To his right, a massive aquarium was covering the wall, a school of fish swimming gracefully near the front. To his right, two massive book shelves, separated by a large screen television and a doorway covered the wall.

“Ladies and gentleman. Thank you all for coming down here tonight.” Gary addressed the onlookers. “We all know why we are here. I think the time has come. I think the situation has reached the breaking point. 'The Government' has refused to listen. The rest of Saint Fedski ignores us, while reaping the benefits of our hard work. They criticize us, yet take advantage of our generousity. 'The Government' has refused to hear anymore talk of Independence. I feel it is now the time. We have to take action into our own hands.” Gary paused. A couple attendees shuffled their feet. A few shifted their weight. But they all had the same look: grim determination. “Now I know this won't be easy, and we didn't honestly expect it to reach this point, but we have been preparing for it just in case. Max the floor is your's.”

“Thank you Gary.” The man spoke softly, rising to his feet. He was little more than five feet tall, but built like a brick. He was very clean cut, as per usual. His uniform, that of a Saint Fedskian Field Marshall, bore the insignia of the Commander in Chief of the armed forces. His hair, somewhere between grey and black, gently combed in a neat part to his left. His crystal blue eyes gazing around the room at the nervous faces of his counterparts. “As you know, I have been so fortunate as to find great loyalty among the ranks of the soldiers from Clearwater serving with the Saint Fedskian armed forces. A great number of them have seen combat, including service with special forces and airborne units. Many more of them have seen combat fighting the mongrels on Stag Island. I can say with complete confidence that we have some of the best fighting men and women ready to support us.”

Dressed in a navy blue blouse with an equally dark blue skirt, and just as short as Max, this blonde bombshell stood up, immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the room. “Max, I like everyone else in the room have the utmost respect for you and your position. But how do we expect to overcome these odds? I mean, us in Clearwater are totally outnumbered, and out gunned. We have little in the way of tanks or aircraft. What's your plan?”

“Robynne, my dear, thank you for your concern. I was just getting there. As you know, we have some of the densest jungle in the world, not just in Saint Fedski. Our beaches are unique in the fact they are so soft and so fine. What good are tanks if they cannot be used in numbers? Not much, not much at all.”

“What do you expect the casualties to be like?”

“This will not be a walk in the park. We know they are good soldiers, with lots of experience and they will put up a fight.”

“Please let me interrupt here if I may Max.” Matt took to his feet. “First off I would like to add my two cents again. We know our population will be safe. Our contribution to the Saint Fedskian economy is way to important for them to destroy. They cannot afford to destroy our economy.”

“That's a good point Matt.” A man's grunt like series of words echoed. At the foot of the table a small giant had risen to his feet. Standing six feet, eight inches with light brown hair down to mid back and a brown beard that puts those of ZZ Top to shame, Gus Post was sweating profusely, as he was nearest the fire. “We need to be certain that our islands will not be bombed so hard we become an underwater crater. I would like to make a motion to declare our Independence from Saint Fedski effective immediately.”

“I second that motion.” Robynne squeaked from the other end.

“Any other concerns or comments?” Gary once again addressed the group. “Going once, going twice. All in favour?”

Of the twenty one people in the room, seventeen stood to their feet, leaving four seated.

“Motion passed. Seventeen to four. Max, Kenny, Jared, you have one day to get ready before this makes international headlines. Julie, I need you to make some copies of this and distribute them to whatever media outlets you can find, once we're ready. Everyone, please sign this on you way out. We have made a difference today, only time will tell.”

One by one the conference left for the dark stairwell, vanishing into the night, each ready to prepare for the storm. Left staring at the massive aquarium, Gary heard a shuffle behind him as a chair slid out along the hardwood floor. Robynne Hay, a former governor of the Sunset Islands and a former Minister of Foreign Affairs under three different Chairman, still had not left.

“Walk with me Robynne.” Gary held out his arm, which she quickly grasped. The two traitors walked arm in arm up those dark, stone steps and back into the jungle behind the house. “Robynne, tell me we made the right decision here.”

“We made the right decision Gary. The only option that was left to us.”

Upon reaching the road, and their respective vehicles, Gary took one last glance towards the sky. The stars and moon which had sparkled so bright only an hour earlier, had dimmed as wisps of clouds passed by and tiny drops of a cool spring rain began to sprinkle down. A deafening clap of thunder echoed through the forest with such force the rattle of the windows on the hut and the squeak of the starttled birds were barely audible.

“Looks like the storm has started.”


OOC: Basic idea: Clearwater wants independance from Saint Fedski. Diplomacy has come to an end, it's time to try something else. This nation is actually Clearwater, but due to the lack of availability CIearwater will have to make due. If you have any questions, please ask in a TG

The Day of the Fry

Sweat was pouring from his brows as he crept alongside a low stone and mortar wall, his binoculars hanging around his next and bouncing off his gleaming black and green chest with every short step he made. Slowly wiping two of his fingers across his forehead, he lifted the lenses to his eyes and peered into the valley below.




The hamlet known as Ominion Junction was founded where two dirt paths crossed in the middle of the Pioneer Jungle. The tiny community lies in the middle of a small grassy clearing, halfway down a small mountain, just north east of Lake St. Clair. Ominion Junction has gained a reputation for being the cultural heart of Clearwater as it is here that many an artist or author have come to paint or write. Performers and film makers come from all over the world to show off their work every other year at the Clearwater Festival of Film and Art.




Placing one bare knee on the mossy ground, he continued to peer into the village, steadying his gaze on the largest building in the land, the Ominion Junction Honey Hotel. Moving down the greened copper roof to the stained glass windows beneath it, he finally rested his view on the main entrance and it's two fifteen foot high brass doors. Sweat continued to pour down the man's face as he knelt watching doors slowly dim as the shadows from neighbouring building began to cast upon them. Letting out a brief cough, he muffled it with his free hand, not wanting to spook the wildlife.




Surrounding the Hotel were the bars and cafes that made up much of the picturesque downtown. Picture tiny little bistro tables surrounded by small little walls with tulips and roses surrounding the cafe and separating it from the brick street where horses and buggies were still travelling amidst the absence of the prohibited automobile. The hotel itself, a dozen stories high, a third of that being the roof, rose seemingly in the middle of nowhere. One on side, it looked down the rest of the hill, above the tree tops and out into Lake St. Clair, the other two sides, offered an unparalleled view of the jungle, while the front, offered the renters a wonderful view of Ominion Junction and it's tiny little stone and brick houses that dotted the upper landscape.




The doors opened slowly, then stopped, leaving a black hole in the front of the building. Gripping his binoculars even tighter he concentrated, waiting, patiently to see what would be coming out. And then she walked out. An older lady, known to many as the keeper of the inn, strolled down the four steps, her frail little hands gripping the railing as she stepped to the bottom. He let out a sigh of relief as the doors were closed behind the lady. It was too soon. It wouldn't have made sense.




Each little apartment and each little town house kept their own garden either on the balcony or outside the front window. It was almost as if it were law to have flowers of a different colour than your neighbour. Everywhere you went, someone would greet you with a smile and a handshake. That's the kind of town Ominion Junction is. It's the kind where even the new comers can immediately feel at ease. However, not everything about Ominion Junction is as perfect as it seems.




Allowing arms to drop down a little the sweaty little man fell back, placing his backside on the soft ground. Reaching up, he quietly picked a plump little green pear from a low hanging branch on the tree. As he bit into it, the sweet juice just seemed too good to be true. Here he was, sitting and crawling in the jungle with only a pair of shorts to his name, all covered in sweat, dirt and paint, biting into what had to be the juiciest, sweetest, most delicious pear he has ever had. The nectar was just oozing from the fresh fruit, and dribbling down his already soaked chin when he heard the sound of an approaching, vehicle, or two, or three. Quickly taking one last bite, he returned to his kneeling position, raising the binoculars to his drenched brow one more time.The sounds grew louder until he could hear the tires hitting the street, somewhere behind the hotel there were vehicles, at least three, maybe more. Then they stopped, still out of view. Training his eyes back to those doors, he stiffened, and took a brief look down at his watch: five o'clock, it was time.




The doors opened smoothly, once again revealing a dark void that was the doorway. Slowly emerging from the opening were two men in army dress uniform, side arms clearly visible. They took a couple of steps out, then stopped and began studying the surroundings. One of the men look directly up at the hill as if he knew he was being watched, then gave a quick nod before returning to his surveying. The the vehicles came to life again, and began rolling up the street into view. Three massive sports utility vehicles sporting matte black paint, black windows and black wheels. They slowly ground to a halt in front of the hotel, where the two soldiers exchanged glances, then parted ways. Soon another man emerged from the black doorway, this man was wearing the uniform of a Field Marshall. Everything about this man screamed magnificence, from his shiny, polished black boots through his perfectly ironed khaki pants and his crisp tan jacket, past his gleaming medallions and up to his thinly cut hair beneath the maroon beret, adorned with a gold cougar.




He began to survey the windows of the hotel and the streets nearby, looking for anything suspicious or out of the ordinary. The sweaty man began to shiver. He couldn't shake the bad feeling he was getting. There was something missing, he just couldn't figure it out. His heart beating harder and harder, he frantically scanned the area, where could it be? What could the hold up be? Suddenly he heard it. It sounded like a dozen chain saws awakening all at once. Swinging his head from side to side and up to down, he couldn't pinpoint the location of the noise. The two men at the doorway took a step closer to the Field Marshall he saw. That was not a good sign, everyone was tense.




Four buildings up the hill from the hotel was the town's general store. The only place in town where you could by tools, including chainsaws and lawnmowers, so it wasn't so surprising that such noise was coming from here, except for the fact that it was a Sunday evening and the store wasn't even open. Lurching out from a shed behind the general store, the dirt bike sputtered, then wailed as it accelerated across street towards the hotel. The men scrambled to get their sidearms but it was too late, the surprise was complete. Without even skipping a beat, the masked motorcycle bandit fired his Uzi towards the Field Marshall and his guards, chips of stone and brick flying into the air as bullets peppered the walls and steps. A beautiful chime filled the air adding a soothing effect to the assassination attempt. As quickly as it began, it was over, the bike had disappeared around the corner, the sound fading into the night.




Panicking, the man jumped to his feet, quickly looking through his binoculars to his face, trying to find the hotel in his sights. Breathing like a madman he found what he was looking for, only not in the shape he was looking for. The two soldiers and the Field Marshall were strewn about steps, blood pooling around their bullet riddled bodies. The man reached to his head, cupped his ears and began to weep. It wasn't his fault. No body else saw the man on the bike until it was too late. Surely they can't blame him. He began pacing, contemplating what he should do. Without even thinking, he reached into his holster, removed his revolver, pointed it into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

(Feel free to have news reports reporting the issue as well as private or public government reaction...something to get the ball rolling)

SFNN (Saint Fedskian News Network) Breaking News

“Joining us live from St. Clair in Clearwater province, via satellite phone, is our own Kelly Matheson. Kelly can you hear me?”

“I can hear you.”


“Tell us about what just happened. We've heard there has been a shooting, but who and how?”

“I learned of this a little more than 20 minutes ago. Field Marshall Neil Ryan has been shot and killed outside of the Honey Hotel in Ominion Junction.”

“What was he even doing in Ominion Junction, given the tension lately?”

“Apparently he had just finished addressing a group of concerned citizens about the recent military deployments to Clearwater. Details thus far are sketchy, but it seems to have been a well planned drive by shooting. Witnesses report that a lone motorcyclist armed with a small machine gun drove by at the precise moment after the meeting when Ryan was leaving the hotel to enter his motorcade.”

“Has anybody claimed responsibility for it yet?”

“At this time nobody has. But it appears to have been an inside job given the high security around this visit. It has also been reported that two of his escorts were shot as well in what has been said to have been just a hail of bullets.”

“What happened to the gunman?”

“He didn't even stop. Just kept driving. Security personnel returned fire but as of this time no one has been admitted to the hospital with gunshot wounds.”

“As more developments happen, we will check in again with Kelly. Kelly, thank you for you help. We'll be right back”



Sarnia, Sarnia Island - 5:30pm

“We need to put a stop to this shit. This has gone to far.” Louis Riel slammed his fist onto the desk, knocking his lamp off. “Ah hell.”

“You're right Lou. This is the end of the line. We need to take action and we need to do it now. I don't think we need to involve anybody else right now, let's get it done, and get it done swiftly, otherwise precious time will be wasted.”

“I agree with Harold. No need to alarm anyone, let's just get it done quick and simple” Added Sean Keane. “Let's get Ray Franks and Janice Clubb in here to get the ball rolling. We already have enough of a garrison in Clearwater.”

Louis Riel, the current Chairman of Saint Fedski has been a staunch supporter of a unified Saint Fedski. It was his order as Minister of Defence under Chairman Gary Girardi that a large quantity of military personnel were stationed and trained in Clearwater. Officially it was to take advantage of the spare population as well as the varied terrain, but secretly it was to deter and intimidate any locals from joining the growing Independence movement. Riel was a scheming little man, little more than five feet tall, he was always undermining the authority of those above him. It was in his blood to seek power and now that he had achieved it, he'll be damned if someone was going to chop him off in the knees like he had done to so many others. Controlling much of finance and public image of the military, he was able to select which units got equipped with the latest weapons and which didn't need to receive upgrades. It was in this capacity that he set his plan in motion; units of predominantly Clearwater residents were rarely upgraded while citizens from other provinces and states had priority. And as such, he had single handedly put the military options of Clearwater at a major disadvantage. Saint Fedski soldiers out numbered Clearwater soldiers in Clearwater by a ratio of 2 to 1 (including the recent, unplanned influx of Clearwater troops as ordered by Commander in Chief Maximus Obliqus).

Again pounding his fist on the table Riel began to pace as he waited for his chief intelligence officer, Raymond Franks and his favourite member of the defence staff and Chief Air Marshall, Janice Clubb. He knew Franks had a stack of binders nearly a foot high with intelligence reports from Clearwater and he knew that Janice Clubb could get her special air force airborne with just minutes notice. Until they arrived though, all he could do was wait.

“Where are they?” He demanded. “WHERE THE FUCK ARE THEY? DON'T THEY KNOW IT'S AN EMERGENCY.”

“Lou, Lou, calm down. They will be here.” Keane assured him. “They have to get their staff back on duty otherwise nothing will be happening until tomorrow.”

“Get Maximus on the line. We need him to send a general alert to all concerned units in Clearwater. Tell them it's a drill, a training readiness drill or something.”

That's when Harold Willens, the longtime Minister of Justice spoke up again.

“Just make damn sure civilians are not targeted or hurt. We cannot have another Wyoming on our hands. It will be the end of this administration, and I will not be able to stick my neck on the line again without having it cut too.”

Back under Chairman Gary Girardi, the Saint Fedskian military had been accused of over stepping it's bounds by assisting local police in a series of nationwide raids on illegal weapons warehouses. Opposition accused Girardi and his Minister of Defence of Riel of intimidation and genocide when photo and video evidence surfaced that tanks, bombers and artillery of the Saint Fedski Active Policing Reserve had been used to raid an Arms Manufacturing Worker's Union headquarters, the center of the Anti-Clearwater movement. Over one hundred people were killed as shells and bombs rained down on the compound which infuriated much of the nation. It was Harold who was able to push the story that initial police units came under heavy fire and that surveillance actions revealed large quantities of heavy weapons. In the end, it came down to his ruling that an acceptable amount of force had been used as warranted by the reports of heavy weaponry that the local police were not trained, or equipped to handle. He also pointed out that all units in the military are trained police officers and that many reserve units act as a national police force as opposed to actual front line formations.

There was a knock on the door, followed by another.

“They're here” Sean announced as he opened the door for Ray and Janice.

Ray spoke first. His hair was no longer the usual tidy, it was blown all over and it looked as though it had been infested by giant lice. His tie was loosened t he point of nearly undone, his sleeves were rolled up and his pristine white shirt covered in tomato sauce.

“What is the meaning of this Louis?” He demanded in a huff.” I was in a pleasant dinner with my family down at Miss Molly's Good Golly when a helicopter landed on the beach with this message for me. “

“Yeah I want answers too.” Janice interrupted sharply. “I've assembled my staff, many of whom were on vacation, alerted Maximus and cannot provide them with any details of what's going on. The SAF is on standby, AGAAAAIN. Are we going this time? Are you going to get cold feet?”

“Haven't you heard? Neil Ryan was shot. He's been killed.” Keane informed them. “It's been all over the news.”

“WHAT?!” Janice screamed. “When? Where? Who? How? Why?”

“Yes, a lone gunman drove past on a motorbike firing an automatic gun of some sort, his security detachment say it was an Uzi, and killed him and two of his escorts.”


“Where did it happen?”


“At the Honey Hotel in Ominion Junction, again.”

“Clearwater?” Frank asked rhetorically. “Shouldn't have gone there. I warned the bastard.”

“Who did it?” Janice asked.

“We don't know yet. No one has claimed responsibility. We can only assume it was a Puffer, one of those slimy Clearwater nationalist movements, but we don't have much proof.”

“How did they get near him?”

“His motorcade had just arrived and he was stepping out of the hotel when the attacker flew out of a nearby building and caught everyone by surprise at just the right time. We assume his security was comprised as there is still one member of his detail unaccounted for.”

“Well we're going to finally act are we? We've finally grown some balls? Louis you can't pussyfoot around this anymore. Janice was attacked there, Sean was attacked there. Ambassador Diagus was shot in a drive by. We know they are connected. Let's go in there and finish the job.”

“I agree Frank.” Louis replied softly. “That's why we're all here. I'm not seeking public approval. We're going to move at first light. Give them a chance to settle down a bit and then BAM” He punched the air. “They won't know what hit them.”

“It's about time. I will have everyone ordered ready to move at six.”

“Thank you Janice. I trust you will take care of this for us.”

“Damn right I will. They took a crack at me, now they will regret it. Frank, can you have Tufty send in a couple of teams to locate the missing member of his security detail? Hopefully that will give us some answers.”

“Already done. He sent them in once he heard.” Frank replied.

“Same plan as before. Let's get it done. Does anyone else have anything to add?” Louis waited for a minute, no one spoke up. “Good. Let's go. Good luck everyone, see you tomorrow downstairs.”

Without another word, Harold, Sean, Janice and Frank all shuffled out of Louis' office, blank looks on their faces. It was real this time. They cannot afford to change their minds now that every military unit in Clearwater is on high alert.