BattleTech: Scorched Earth #0

Apocalypse Dawn

by:

Steve Garrett Jr.

 

Author's Note

 

     I busted my ass to write some of this material, I don't feel like letting it go to waste.  :-)  So, a little Easter gift for you guys. :-D

 

 

Chapter 0

The Blood-Dimmed Tide

 

"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned..."

- William Butler Yeats, "The Second Coming"

 

Giuseppe Family Home

Florence, Tuscany, Italy

10 July 2006

 

     Von Krager nodded slightly at the butler who met his vehicle at the front of the Giuseppe estate on the outskirts of Florence.  The home was large, about two stories, but it could have been larger considering Giuseppe's position in the Italian Parliament and the wealth he enjoyed.  He is wealthy yet modest.  Interesting, this could be useful.  Von Krager straightened the tie he was wearing with a business-like air and began to stroll toward the home.  The warm summer air gave way to air conditioned coolness upon his entrance.  The butler who had met him led him into a study-like room, prompting him in Italian to join Giuseppe in the chamber.  Von Krager stepped in and found the older Italian statesman seated in a chair, in a somewhat casual dress shirt and trousers, reading a newspaper.  "Guten Tag, Herr Giuseppe," von Krager said in salutations.

     Giuseppe looked up and nodded with a smile, his green eyes shining with a friendly tone to them.  "Good to meet you, Signor von Krager.  I was unaware that I had attracted much attention in Germany."

     "Many know of your rather heated calls for increased power in the United Nations, Herr Giuseppe," von Krager replied, easing into a seat.  Giuseppe offered him a glass with wine, which von Krager accepted.  "It has interested myself and my associates a great deal."

     "Yes, I am happy that this is true."  Giuseppe took a drink and looked out the window.  "It is a pity that the Americans, Russians, and Chinese are so damned prideful.  We worked alongside them in destroying Osama bin Laden's organization, did we not?  We destroyed most of the terrorist apparatus of the Middle East and what do they do?  They kick us out."

     "Quite ungrateful of them, I agree," von Krager admitted.  "Those I represent are interested in your future, Herr Giuseppe, and your cause."

     "My cause?"

     "Yes.  The cause of further unity between nations.  The blurring of the lines of nationalism, a pride in one's race, one's self, instead of one's flag and nation."  Von Krager took a sip and noticed a plaque on the table, depicting two upraised towers.  "That is the World Trade Center in New York City?"

     Giuseppe looked back to verify what von Krager was talking about, and when he saw he nodded and returned to his original position.  "Yes, I put capital into the rebuilding of the Trade Center and it's twin towers.  I felt it was a good thing, at the time."

     "We cannot blame the American people for the decisions of a foolish few in their government, Herr Giuseppe."

     "Please, call me Armand," Giuseppe asked, leaning forward to pour more wine into his glass.  "And you are correct, one can only hope that new leaders will see the folly of Bush Junior's actions."

     "That is all we can do sometimes, is hope.  And you may call me Reinhard."  Von Krager gazed into the red wine within the glass he had perched in his curved hand.  "But then again, sometimes action must be taken."

     "What kind of action?"

     "Political.  Diplomatic.  Financial.  Something to further our cause by influencing others."  Von Krager drew in a breath.  And now, the pitch.  "Something I can do for you."

     Giuseppe looked at von Krager, seeming to consider him and his offer.  Their eyes met during this moment, and von Krager tried to think of what would be going through the mind of the man before him over this.  "Your price?"

     "Price?  None, Armand.  You simply have our support, I will handle everything on that end."

     Giuseppe nodded slowly.  "Perhaps, an arrangement can be made.  But nothing illegal."

     "Of course not," von Krager promised.  "We will do this through perfectly legal channels."

     The door to the room opened and both heads turned.  Von Krager grinned slightly at seeing a young woman, apparently only twenty or so years of age, step into the room.  Her clothing was somewhat revealing though modest, with a red skirt covering her thighs and going down to her knees, showing her slender calves.  The green blouse she wore was sleeveless, with a loop around her neck that traveled down over her cleavage, leaving the spot in between open and most of her back bare.  Her arms were smoothly surfaced, not muscular but not thin.  Situated between her elegantly-shaped breasts was a gold crucifix pendant that glittered in the light of the study.  Her face was flat, although her patrician nose was a trait she shared with Giuseppe, with her cheekbones pulled back.  Shining teal eyes differed from his in that they were more subdued, yet with the appearance of innocence likely unfamiliar with the backbiting of the political arena.  Von Krager stood respectfully for the young lady.  "Guten Tag, Fraulein," he greeted her, having noticed the lack of a wedding ring on her hand and prompting him to use the proper salutation.

     "Hello, sir," she answered sweetly, with a lightened and high voice.  Her English betrayed the obvious Italian accent, although it was less pronounced then Giuseppe's.

     "Reinhard, this is my daughter Antonia.  Antonia, this is Reinhard von Krager, a new business associate of mine."

     Antonia gave him a gentle smile, which von Krager returned graciously.  He took her right hand and kissed her on the knuckles.  "I have heard that you had a daughter, but I never imagined she was such a fine specimen of Italian beauty, Armand."

     "You flatter me, Herr von Krager," Antonia said with a blush on her cheeks.  "I am hardly a fashion model."

     "You are still quite beautiful, my dear.  And if I were just five years younger I would probably ask for your company, provided your father agrees of course."

     Both of them turned to Giuseppe, who was simply grinning.  Antonia continued to blush.   "Sad to say, I would have declined that offer, Herr von Krager, considering that I already have a boyfriend, Pietro.  And that is why I am here."  She turned to her father.  "I am packed, Papa, and we will be leaving for Syracuse shortly."

     "You have fun, Antonia.  And be careful, I do not know if I am yet ready to have grandchildren."

     Antonia bowed her head.  "You know me better, Papa.  I will wait and see if Pietro is the one before doing anything such as that."

     "I know you will, and you will drive Pietro as mad as your mother drove me when I was your age," Giuseppe joked, his eyes showing his own recollections of his youth.  "I will see you when you return."

     "Ciao, Papa."  Antonia waved one more time before stepping out of the room.

     Von Krager observed her leaving, and thought the development of meeting her through.  As the German sat down, Giuseppe began speaking.  "Antonia is going to the university, majoring in diplomacy and government.  She already speaks English, German, French, Spanish, and Greek, and is learning Russian and some of the Baltic languages."  Giuseppe's expression brightened.  "Antonia is the light of my life, she is the one thing that keeps me fighting for what is best for our future."

     "Your wife?"

     Giuseppe's face fell at von Krager's words.  "Maria is with God," he said hoarsely, taking a drink.

     Von Krager answered him with a nod.  "You have my condolences, Armand."

     "Antonia has taken her mother's death better than I have," Giuseppe admitted.  "She has great faith, and even considered joining a nunnery before I convinced her that God gave her another purpose in life through her intelligence."

     "I agree with your assessment."

     Giuseppe took in a drink, setting the glass down with a thud when he finished.  "Now, shall we move on to business?"

     "Yes, we should."  Von Krager grinned widely.  "We should indeed, for we have much to plan."

 

 

Von Krager Family Estate

Waldkraiburg, Bavaria, Germany

12 Feburary 2008

 

     A non-descript blue-colored rental card pulled into the small parking space for the von Krager family estate, a massive hundred acre complex within the Bavarian Alps.  The centerpiece of the home was a majestic mansion, built in the eighteen hundreds by Baron Hans-Friedrich von Krager, that dominated the view with it's tall spires on the roof, and a engraving of the von Krager coat of arms above the main doors.  In addition to the central mansion, there was a complex of small buildings, most of which were originally boarding houses for the mansion's servants, with one building serving as the family armory, another being a tool shed, and a secondary guest house that featured a patio from which activities such as target shooting could be conducted.

     When the car came to a stop, Armand Giuseppe looked over at the driver, his daughter Antonia.  "Do you wish to come in, Antonia?"

     "No, Papa," she answered sweetly.  "You go see your friend, I will wait here."

     "Are you sure you wish to stay here?  It is cold outside, and it could begin to snow."

     "I will be fine."  Antonia gave her father a kiss on the cheek.  "Go, Papa, I am a big girl now and I can take care of myself for the ten minutes it takes you to speak to Signor von Krager."

     Grinning at his daughter, Giuseppe nodded once and got out of the car.  There was still some watery residue from the morning's snow fall, and the clouds that were blotting out the sun showed that more might be on the way.  His shoes were doused with water by the time he went up a flight of stairs to the main door.  The hard oak door loudly echoed the rapping of his knuckle on it's surface.  Within five seconds, the door opened, and a stout elderly woman in casual work clothing and an apron answered the door.  "Ja?"

     "Hello, madame, I am hear to speak with Reinhard, can you show me where he is?"

     The woman nodded, obviously pleased that Giuseppe had used German instead of his native Italian.  "Come this way," she answered, "he is in his office."

     Giuseppe tentatively followed the maid into the vast home.  The central room, where the staircases to the upper floors were located, was a massive chamber, with several plush couches and chairs available, along with a massive TV screen that was connected to a video disc player and a room-wide stereo system.  The elderly maid led Giuseppe past the room and up a second flight of stairs near the back to the second floor.  They took a left and entered what seemed to be a secretary's office.  The room was somewhat spartan, with only the pictures on the desk of the secretary, who had even more girth than the maid.  The appearance of the girl caught Giuseppe off guard for a moment.  He put an arm in front of the maid who was escorting him and asked, "Excuse me, Frau, but was Reinhard's secretary not a younger woman, in her early or mid-twenties?"

     "Ja.  Claudia.  But she died about ten months ago," the maid stated.  "She and her cousin had a fatal car accident.  The mountain road was wet and they fell down the side.  That is why there are reinforced guard rails now."

     "I see.  You have my condolences."

     The maid did not respond to Giuseppe's statement.  "Gertrude?  Is Herr von Krager available?"

     The plump woman picked up her phone and spoke into it.  After the response, she placed the phone and kept her gaze on the keyboard.  "You may go in," she said in a curt tone.

     Giuseppe gave the woman a respectful nod of the head, and entered von Krager's office.  Von Krager himself was seated behind his desk, and small bit of brown hair was visible from one of the chairs facing the desk.  Von Krager looked up at Giuseppe and gave a welcoming grin.  "Hello, Armand, what a delightful surprise."  The person seated in the chair, now identifiable as a man about von Krager's age, stood up, and von Krager added, "This is Johann Streicher, one of my associates.  Johann, this is Armand Giuseppe, Italian representative to the United Nations, and, I believe, the current favorite to replace Isoruku Takashita as Secretary-General.  Come, have a seat"

     "Your words are too kind," Giuseppe insisted, shaking the hand of Streicher.  "There are others to compete for the spot."  He eased into the chair opposite Streicher.

     "Perhaps, but none with the same power in their words as you hold, Armand."  Von Krager looked over at a map of the globe, current as of that year, and it showed some interesting trends compared to the beginning of the century.  Taiwan was now completely labeled as an independent nation, with Taipei no longer on the map.  A united Korea was ruled by the government of Seoul, and a chunk of what had been Chinese Manchuria were now held by Russia.  "It has only been three years since the US, China, and Russia brought the world to the brink of nuclear destruction.  Their withdrawal and arrogant dismissal of the UN, and other international organizations, has brought fear to the rest of the world.  Fear that Beijing, Washington, and Moscow will do as they desire without regard for their neighbors.  In these times a powerful voice can reach out to them, as you have done."

     "Reaching is one thing I have tried to do."  Armand cupped his hands together.  "I have already sent my own condolence letter to the United States following the deaths of Vice President McCain and Secretary Powell.  Such a tragic loss.  I feel that these men might have been more reasonable than that illiterate Texan cowboy that runs things in the White House now."

     "Yes, sad thing," von Krager agreed, nodding his head and glancing toward Streicher for a split second.  "And, from what I've heard of American politics, this could be a disaster for their Republican Party.  Without McCain and Powell, there is no one credible who can run against Denise Saunders, who will likely carry the non-Caucasian and female voting blocks."

     "Yes, what do you know about this woman?", Giuseppe asked.  "Would she be the type to return a US presence to the UN?"

     "Considering her leftist views, or as left as the Americans come, I would think she would want to, but I do not see the American Congress doing much to aid her.  As a protege of the late Hillary Clinton she has not earned many friends in American politics."

     Giuseppe answered with a disappointed nod.  "Ah.  And that leaves one more thing, something I'm reluctant to mention for fear it will offend you."

     Von Krager laughed loudly and spread his arms, before plopping them on the chair.  "Do not fear offending me, Armand, I have very thick skin.  What is wrong?"

     Giuseppe swallowed and raised his head.  "I have been given reports from our Director of Counter-Terrorism, and I have noticed that some of the groups you have opened dialogue with, for the purpose of supporting me, are listed as terrorist organizations on our master list."  Giuseppe handed a list to von Krager, who began reading it.  "I cannot work with violent terrorists, so I was hoping you could shed some more light on this subject?"

     "Of course, Armand.  I will acknowledge that a handful of the groups I work with have factions within them that conduct terrorist activities, but I have explicitly informed that if they are involved in any terrorist actions I will be forced to cut them off.  But I also know that a few groups on this list are not actually terrorists.  It is likely that they are only seen as terrorists due to American or Russian propaganda."  Von Krager put the list down.  "Those countries are still quite paranoid after all, and will consider any group opposed to their interests, no matter how peaceful they are, as terrorists."

     "Thank you for your explaination, Reinhard."  Giuseppe stood and looked over at Streicher.  "It was good to meet you today, Herr Streicher.  I will hopefully be seeing more of you in the future."

     "I am looking forward to it, Ambassador," Streicher replied.

     "Take care, Reinhard," Giuseppe stated as a farewell.  "I hate to leave so soon, but I wish to get back to Antonia.  She decided to remain in the car."

     "Be careful, Armand, while driving down the mountain.  My old aide Claudia and her cousin were killed because they took the turns improperly after the road had gotten wet."

     "Yes, I had heard from your maid about that.  Very sorrowful to hear that, was Claudia not the one who you brought to Rome for my appointment celebration?"

     Von Krager nodded stiffly.  "Yes, that was her.  She was a lovely young woman."

     "You have my condolences.  Ciao."

     "Auf Wiedersen," von Krager responded, returning to his work as soon as Giuseppe left the room.

 

 

Leuven, Brabant, Belgium

9 May 2009

 

     Loud techno music greeted the young dark-haired male who had just stepped through the doors of a night dance club, where several pairs of young couples were dancing the Saturday night away.  The dance club was a large inner chamber with a bar and several booths, and an open dance floor.  Most of the individuals inside were dressed formally, with some kind of suit or dress for the women inside.  There were many nice-looking ladies to look at, but for Arne Vanbiggine, only one mattered.  A recent graduate of a technical university, Arne was a medium-sized male with some height, about six foot two in height and just under two hundred and thirty pounds in weight.  His light brown eyes had a friendly air to them and his nose had a gentle sloped shape with a minor point at the end.  He made his way through the sea of people into the dining area. There were some older groups there, even a couple of families, and a young six-something girl ran by him and nearly bumped into his leg.  He stepped out of the way at the last moment.  He found his the object of his attention in a secluded booth on the end and walked up to the booth.  "Hello my lady," he stated.

     Alynna Berganne was a good school friend and a fellow graduate from his technical school, a young and sexy blond with a perfect Flemish accent, fluent in German, French, and English, and best of all for him, she had a similar taste in beer to his.  Her dress was low cut, showing her ample cleavage before it disappeared into the gold material.  Her arms were long and graceful, every fingernail perfectly maintained and red.  Beneath the table he could imagine her silk smooth legs and tight posterior, which he had seen on previous occasions.  She raised her head to look at him and her shining green eyes coupled with her small nose and bright red lips to allure Arne.  "Hello Arne," she replied cheerfully, letting him slip into the booth.

     "Alynna, you look absolutely beautiful," Arne complimented her.  "I'm glad you could make it tonight."

     "So am I.  I got admitted to one of the new technical firms in Namur."  Alynna grinned and put an arm on his neck.  "So, where will you be going?"

     Arne swallowed.  "Britain.  A firm in Manchester has hired me on as a programmer."

     Her face fell.  "I see.  So, you will be moving across the Channel?"

     "Correct."  Arne turned his head for the waiter and ordered a couple of beers.  "I will be getting a very good contract.  I could get the same for you."

     "No, Arne, I promised my friend I would take the job.  She worked so hard to get it."  Alynna bowed her head and let him put his chin on her forehead.  "So this is good bye?"

     "I leave in three days," he answered, "and the next two days I have to be getting my things together to be sent to my new apartment."

     "I am sorry."

     "Don't be.  Even if we cannot be together, we still have our honor by keeping our word."

     He was answered by a quick nod.  "That is one of the things you are consistent about, Arne," she said in a subdued tone, "you are always concerned with your honor."

     "Sometimes it's all a man can have."  The two went on to talk about other things, old friends, beer when they began drinking, and the tools of their trade.  Minutes became hours very quickly.  After at least two hours of talking Arne placed money on the table for a tip.  "Alynna, would you like me to escort you home?"

     She smiled at his offer.  "I would be honored.  Let me tell Annette that I will be going with you."

     Arne nodded and paid the bill while Alynna was gone.  He admired Alynna's posterior as she walked away, grinning at how undeniably beautiful she was.  She was everything he would want in a soul mate.  Intelligence, beauty, charm, honesty, and a good dose of wit.  He felt tempted to find another job, one more local, but his English employer had put money into arranging his transport and his apartment, and his sense of honor demanded that he follow through with his promise.  From where he was seated, he could see Alynna standing beside a young woman with short red hair, Annette, and he gazed at the site.  Annette was a lovely woman in her own right, with well-defined cleavage and thin legs to go with her regal face, but somehow her beauty seemed less appealing compared to Alynna.  Arne eased himself to his feet and deftly made his way over to them.  Annette noticed him approach and grinned.  "So, you are as good-looking as Alynna has said you are.  Perhaps even more so.  Can I borrow him for the night, Alynna?"

     Alynna giggled while Arne took Annette's right hand and kissed her between her index and ring finger knuckles.  "If things were different, my lady, I would gladly stay the night with you.  But, I am a man of honor, and currently my heart calls for me to be with another."  Arne released the hand and took Alynna's hand.

     "How romantic," Annette teased.  "You enjoy him, Alynna."

     Arne felt his heart quicken when he saw Alynna return her friend's statement with a simple grin.  Alynna seemed so breathtakingly beautiful that his own male instincts were beginning to come into play.  But he kept his calm, Arne was a refined gentleman, and while he enjoyed her company, he was going to let her decide how the night ended.  He went so far as to guide her out into the parking lot and open the door for her before going to his side to get in.

 

 

     The squat apartment building where Alynna lived was in what seemed to be a quiet neighborhood, judging by what Arne had seen when he had parked his car and followed Alynna in.  It was a quick journey up a small flight of stairs to her second-story apartment.  The door was in open air, with a mailbox beside it that had a couple items of mail in it and made it obvious that she had recently been short on time at home.  He stopped at the door as Alynna entered, and found her pulling on his arm.  "Come in, Arne," she urged him.  "Take a breather before going home."

     "If you insist."  Arne stepped into the small apartment.  The kitchen was an alcove in the left side, complete with an electric stove and oven, refridgerator, sink, and a small microwave.  A pile of dirty dishes were beside the sink, and a smaller pile of clean ones were on the other side waiting to be put away.  The living room was the largest area, with a couch and a pair of chairs all pointed toward a medium-sized television, connected to a small stereo, video disc player, and video tape player.  Groups of discs and tapes were around the floor beside the TV, some stacked in neat piles and others strewn about chaotically.  This and some other items around the living room showed that Alynna was hardly immaculate, but her home was still better kept than Arne's tiny apartment in a nearby section of the town, so he felt a tinge of envy that she had managed to balance home upkeep with school work, her job, and her personal life.  Alynna sat down on the couch and smiled.  "Come, sit down," she asked him.

     Arne reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, pager, and cell phone.  He was somewhat certain of what would come next, and he had gone through the embarrassment of having a pager or cell phone go off during an intensely romantic moment, or even worse, had the keys stick his would-be mate from within his pocket, so he was going to avoid any possibility of that.  He grinned widely at Alynna, desiring her with every beat in his heart, and understanding that this night might be the perfect night.  He gingerly sat down next to her, and their eyes met.  Her green eyes reflected the light of her lamp well, causing the light to dance tantalizingly.  "Arne, I've always had strong feelings for you," she admitted.

     "Strong feelings?"

     "Yes."  She nodded slowly.  "You are such a handsome, brilliant man, so charming and full of chivalry."  Alynna smiled a little.  "I hate seeing you go."

     "We will see each other again one day," Arne promised.

     "That is what I hope."  Alynna pressed herself against him.  "Arne, I don't want us to walk away like this.  I want it to be more."

     His heart skipped a few beats and desire crept through his stomach toward his heart.  "How much more?"

     "Much more..."  Alynna put an arm over his neck and placed her lips up against his to where they rubbed.

     "Alynna, you're not asking me to..."

     "I am not asking you to do anything, Arne, I am merely making the offer," she said in response.

     A conflict raged within him over whether to accept her offer.  Arne wanted her too much to simply say no, but he was going to leave, and what if...

     His lips pressed against Alynna's mouth, and the rest of the night melted away between the two.

 

 

     The clock was flashing 2:13 when Arne finally settled down from their intense love-making and rolled on his side in Alynna's bed.  "Alynna, that was unforgettable," he said to her.  "I wish things were different."

     "You do?"

     "Yes.  I wish we could be together for this more often."  Arne rubbed one of her bare breasts with his right hand and tried to fight off the weariness from hours of sexual activity.  "I will miss you."  His thumb pressed against the nipple and gently brushed against it.  Her skin was wet from the sweat of physical exertion from sex, much like his, and his fingers easily slid over it.

     "Is there nothing left for us, Arne?", she asked.  "No hope that we can do this again?"

     "Of course there is hope."  Arne kissed her on the neck, feeling his heart still pulse from the sweet scent of her perfume.  "And did we not give our promises to our employers?  We cannot break our word."

     Alynna turned on her side and gave him a wearied look.  "Is honor worth not having each other?"  Her stare, and the cold sorrow in her voice, told Arne that every feeling he had for her was shared between them. 

     "What else do we have if we hold our word so cheaply, Alynna?"  Arne pulled himself close enough that their bodies brushed against each other and caused their sweat to mingle.  "And there is always hope for us to meet later, and I promise you, if neither of us is otherwise engaged," he kissed her on the lips and gazed deeply into the eyes of the woman he found his heart pounding with love for, "I will make you mine forever."

 

 

12 May 2009

 

     Arne looked out of the window of the small passenger liner lifting off from the Brussels International Airport and saw his homeland slowly began to grow smaller as the aircraft gained altitude for it's short hop over the English Channel to Britain.  A long sigh escaped his lungs and prompted him to draw out a photo from his pocket.  It was a picture of Alynna, from a hiking trip in the Ardennes a few months before during the last days of their schooling, and he could mentally see the image of her nude body despite the way the heavy clothing obscured the shape of her form.  For a moment he wondered about what they had promised each other, in the hushed whispers of impassioned love-making, and he realized how much this particular woman meant to him.  Alynna was not his first woman, it had been some years since Arne had first experienced the pleasure of another woman in bed, but unlike his previous flames and conquests Alynna was someone he loved with every bit of his heart.  She was the one, the woman that every man dreamed of meeting.  Silently he swore that he'd come back for her as soon as he could, lest he lose her to some other lucky soul.  He brought the picture up to his face and let the pleasant memories flow through him again.  He took another look out the window at the now-distant Belgian soil before turning his attention to his notebook computer.

 

 

General Assembly Chamber, United Nations Assembly Building

Geneva, Geneva Canton, Swiss Confederation

14 February 2010

 

     "You look excellent, Papa," Antonia congratulated her father while helping him pull on his bowtie.  "This is a great day for us." 

     "Yes, my sweet girl, a great day for us all."  Giuseppe touched his daughter's cheek lovingly.  He looked over at Reinhard, who was standing in a tuxedo as well.  "And I have you to thank, Reinhard.  For these three years you have stayed with me, through all of our trials, to accomplish our final objective."

     "I knew from the beginning that you would come this far, Armand," von Krager replied.  "You could have done this on your own, through the force of your will.  I am only happy that I was able to make sure you achieved that which you were destined for."

     "I can never thank you enough.  Because of this, we have a chance to make this world a better place.  To defeat the imperialists of Moscow, the arrogance of the United States, and the bitterness of China."  Giuseppe looked back at his daughter and touched her right shoulder, which was bare due to her dress's shoulder strap having fallen partly down her shoulder.  "I am still wondering when you will give me grandchildren."

     "When it is time," Antonia answered with a large smile on her face.  "I must find a man to love first, Papa."  She took his hand with her right hand, and used the left to pull up the shoulder strap holding her glittering green dress in place.  She did not notice Reinhard's slight grin at her words.  A beautiful and untouched woman, the German considered, is the greatest of all prizes for a man.  Sadly, I do not think this flower would be the one for me.

     "Signor Giuseppe," his personal security advisor stated from the doorway, "your audience awaits you."

     "Yes, I will be right there."  Giuseppe turned back to his daughter and sighed at the vision of loveliness his little girl had grown up to become.  "You look just like your mother when she was your age."

     "But I have your eyes, Papa," Antonia reminded him.  "Now go out there and begin to create a good world for the grandchildren you want so dearly."

     Giuseppe kissed his daughter on the cheek and walked out with her behind him.

     As he stepped up to the podium, a wave of applause came from the assembled ambassadors and dignitaries.  Giuseppe smiled and actually waved as he stepped up to the podium.  "Greetings, my fellow ambassadors, members of the United Nations and it's component councils and organizations, and greetings to the people of the world.  It is my honor to have been named Secretary-General by the United Nations, and it is my hope that with this position I can further the goals of mankind throughout the world, no matter what boundaries or flags these areas come under.  There is no greater cause than that of peace, and we stand here today as the last bastion of peace on Earth, and defense from those who would enslave us with chains of fear, chains of economic control, and chains of military aggression.  Throughout history, mankind has grown itself, coming from small and scattered nation-states and city-states to great and powerful nations.  But we have failed to take that final step."  Giuseppe lifted his hand and pointed his finger outward.  "So far, we have not cast off our ethnic, religious, and national differences, to realize that no matter where we were born, how we belive, or what language we speak, we are the same.  We are Humanity, and we are one!  There are those who maintain these divisions, their goal being to maintain their own power.  But we cannot let them win!  We must stand up and say no, you may not keep us divided anymore!  And we must stop fearing other nations!  What stands in the way of the Russians rolling their tanks into their neighboring nations?  Nothing!  Alone, against the might of the Russian bear or the American goliath, we cannot stand, but together, we can!  We can stand and we can make renegade nations realize that a new day is dawning.  I am now placing a resolution within the General Assembly that will do two things.  First, it will eliminate the one-veto rule of the Security Council, so that a minority cannot oppose the majority for it's own selfish reasons.  Second, we will work toward establishing a seperate branch for the United Nations, the Ministry of Defense, so that we are no longer beggars seeking handouts from other nations.  This Ministry will buy and lease military bases, equipment, and even shipyards and arms factories, it will negotiate contracts with arms manufacturers, and in this, we will ensure that the bullies of the world can no longer ignore our calls for justice!"

     A louder wave of applause answered him, although his words had caused the British delegate's face to fall somewhat.  "I do not want conflict, my friends!  I want a world at peace with itself.  But in history we have learned that the powerful and the aggressive must be confronted with power, we have learned that appeasing a conquerer only makes his appetite for conquest that much stronger!  These resolutions will send a message to the imperialists in Moscow and the corporate overlords of Washington that they can no longer count on the United Nations having to sit idly by as they flaunt international law and do as they please without regard for the people of the world.  And I swear to you, the people of the world, that starting today, the United Nations will no longer remain passive and weak, but dedicated and strong!"

     Giuseppe's speech brought the delegates to their feet, and he nodded and basked in their adulation.  Antonia stepped up beside her father and he put an arm around her.  "This world I build," he began again, "is not just for us, but for our children, like my dear Antonia, and for their children, and on!  We must turn back the bloody flow of history and bring about a new era when national passions are replaced by respect and love for all people on this world!"

     The clapping continued on as Giuseppe stepped down and took a seat.

 

 

Office of the Secretary-General, United Nations Assembly Building

Geneva, Geneva Canton, Swiss Confederation

24 March 2010

 

     As soon as he took the office over, Giuseppe had moved in many of his most personal belongings from his original office in the nearby ambassadorial office complex.  The room was dominated by pictures of his family.  The first pictures were of his parents with him as a child and then a young man, progressing into pictures of him and his late wife Maria in their twenties and thirties.  A little girl joined the photos as they got progressively older, until finally Maria disappeared altogether and all that remained was their daughter Antonia, who went from a cheery-looking toddler girl to a beautiful young woman.  Giuseppe had personally arranged them in this order, showing the progression of his life.  More recent pictures displayed Antonia's occasional boyfriends, all of which had ended up parting ways with the celibate young woman.  Religiously devout and very kind-hearted, Antonia was torn between her promise to bear grandchildren so that Giuseppe could again feel the joy of seeing a child grow, and her spiritual demand that the father of those grandchildren be a man she can live her life with.  In the month and a half since his rise, Giuseppe had seen his daughter made into a media darling.  Men across Europe, and even the world, found themselves transfixed by the virgin princess of the United Nations.  He was certain that even now, with her in India helping to feed the victims of a famine, there were many suitors trying to win her heart.  Giuseppe picked up one especially good picture, showing Antonia standing beside him at her college graduation, and grinned from feeling just how much he loved his daughter.

     There was a buzz on his desk, causing Giuseppe to set the picture down and return to his desk.  "Yes?"

     "Director von Krager is here to see you, Mister Secretary-General."

     "Yes, send him in!"  With almost child-like glee Giuseppe rose to his feet and greeted his friend as von Krager entered the office.  "Reinhard, how..."  He stopped for a moment when noticing the gloomy appearance on von Krager's face.  "What is wrong?"

     "I have most distressing news, Armand.  The British and the Australians have... pulled out of the United Nations."  Von Krager drew in a sigh.  "Director Monsieu and I have come to the conclusion that they made this announcement over the vote to establish the Defense Directorate and the UN Defense Forces."

     Giuseppe's face fell.  "I can't believe they would leave us in this position."

     "It grows worse, Armand."  Von Krager swallowed.  "Yesterday, the Russian government called up over four hundred thousand reservists, and issued 'requests' to the Belarussian, Ukrainian, and Baltic governments for the possession of military bases within their borders.  We have further reports that some of the Russian Army's crack divisions have been transferred from Manchuria and the Central Asian protectorates to Western Russia and the Caucauses."

     "Damn them," Giuseppe muttered.  "The British left us out of fear of Moscow, then."

     "Perhaps, or they merely gave in to pressure from Washington to not approve.  You know how silly the Americans are about their hatred of the UN," von Krager stated.

     "Whatever happened, we have to make up for this."  Giuseppe rubbed the back of his head.  "At least the EU's missile shield is up.  That way, we do not need to worry about the Russians firing nuclear missiles at us."

     "Yes.  Which had me thinking, if the need comes, we can defeat the larger Russian Army through the use of tactical nuclear warheads."

     Giuseppe's eyes widened incredibly.  "You cannot be serious!  The use of nuclear weapons would be terrible!"

     "Only as a last resort, Armand," von Krager assured him.  "I am confident, however, that the EUDF, and any reinforcements we get from our African members, can be enough to contain Russia until the economical collapse of a war forces the people to overthrow Viktor Zhakov."

     "How can you even think of it, Reinhard?"  Giuseppe shook his head.  "Nuclear weapons are barbaric!"

     "I know, Armand, but I was simply stating our options.  I hope to God it never gets that far."  Von Krager took his arm re-assuringly.  "But perhaps we are reading too much into this.  I will have our army buildup continue at the same speed it was before, and we will see if the Russians are rattling the sabers or if they really do intend to make a play for their former Soviet territories."

     "I hope this is nothing, Reinhard."  Giuseppe turned toward the shelf with his family pictures.  "I do not want to see this world forced to endure more bloodshed."

 

 

     Ha ha ha ha ha...

     The voice cut through the darkness of Giuseppe's sleep-filled mind and burrowed through to his heart.  "Who is there?!"  Giuseppe looked around in his bed, trying to think of what voice was speaking to him.  It sounded like him, but it couldn't be, the voice was too deep, too dark...

     Poor pitiful Armand, how does it feel with your dream falling apart in your hands?

     "My dream is alive!  It will be fulfilled!"

     Is it?  With Britain and Australia leaving and the other powerful nations still dragging their feet, you still think you can win by simply asking them nicely to go along with you?  What about the Russians, the Chinese, and the Americans?  They will not stand for this, you will have to make them accept your dream.  You will have to go to war with them, pulverize their armies, oppress dissent from their peoples, and make them see the wisdom in your unity.

     "Impossible!  I cannot permit a war!  Too many people will die!"

     Do you not understand, Armand?  Not everyone will join the new United Nations willingly, they will have to be forced into it!

     "No!  No, I can't..."

     If you are not strong, your dream will die.  Humanity will forever remain fractured.  Do you want that, Armand?  Do you want to admit you are wrong, that there can never be unity, or that you are unwilling to take the necessary measures to create that unity?

     A crash of thunder woke Giuseppe from his sleep.  He sat up in his bed and took a quick look around.  Rain pelted the window of his suite, leaving a trail of water on the window, the only thing he could see in the pale light.  He took a deep breath before laying back down.  The voice had chilled him to the bone from it's callous disregard for life.  Bloodlust was something he was supposed to be above, yet the voice had sounded too much like his own.  As if he were staring into the abyss of his subconsciousness and made contact with a dark part of him hidden deep within it's recesses.  He wanted to believe it was a nightmare he had been in rather than it actually being a part of him speaking out.  "Could I have such a violent streak within me?", he asked himself.  Yet, that seemed impossible for him to contemplate.  He was a man of peace.  Someone who wanted to see humanity embrace a new destiny apart from the blood and chaos of the past.  Why would a man of peace desire to force others into something, to use violence to achieve his aims?  Such a thing seemed self-contradictory to him, and he dismissed it as only a nightmare.

     And yet, it still took Giuseppe about thirty minutes to forget the voice's chilling words and attitude enough to return to sleep.

 

 

The Oval Office, The White House

Washington D.C, United States of America

1 April 2010

 

     April Fool's Day had started out poorly for Secretary of State Donald Tresanger.  In the morning the press had once again hounded him about policy now that Russia was on a seeming collision course with America's traditional European allies.  As the day continued on, President Saunders' military reforms had once again been challenged by Congress, including the proposed scrapping of the still incomplete CVX-78 supercarrier, and it seemed to be that time of month for the United States' first female President when she chewed out Secretary of Defense Colleen Hadwick over the matter because Secretary Hadwick had allowed Senator Jason Andrews of Iowa to completely take control of the Senate Armed Services Committee meeting from her, control which he used to rake her and Saunders' reforms over the coals.

     President Denise Saunders was a powerful woman and that was in more than just the political sense.  She was tall, still just over six feet, and somewhat lanky, but her long arms helped with the impression that her reach was long and unyielding, which it was.  As an administrator she ran her staff like a tyrant, quashing any dissent, and overruling anyone who disagreed with her on how to solve a problem by shouting them down and sometimes even threatening their job security.  She was every bit the queen she appeared to be.  In fact, Tresanger knew that Saunders' ego was such that if she could get away with having the title of "Queen of America", she would.  Like all egocentric leaders, Saunders believed that her vision of America was the proper one.  Little to no military spending was one of her centerpieces, with most of the meager amount given going to the US Air Force and their Special Weapons Branch, responsible for the deployment of recent weapons breakthroughs.  Unlike her Republican predecessor, she had the rest of the nation's available budget going to social programs instead of tax cuts and breaks, which she used as further political controls over party rivals, and to undermine Republican Congressmen in various key states.  Despite her hard-nosed attitude and her military policies Saunders retained a fair amout of popularity, enough that she would likely beat whoever the Republicans threw at her in 2012 by riding the minority and female votes.  What bothered Tresanger is that even as someone who had gotten such an important job due to her influence and will, he couldn't really decide if it was a good thing or bad that she be re-elected.

     Of course, with her cold brown eyes freezing his soul, Tresanger wasn't about to voice his feelings.  He preferred his eardrums intact.

     "Secretary Tresanger," Saunders' deep voice, gravelly from some years of smoking, droned, "I expect you to explain just why the hell the UN is actually standing up to Russia.  And, I want an explaination on why nobody could see just how big his intended reforms were going to be.  I've got the right wing gripers screaming out of their lungs that Giuseppe could be a threat to our interests, hell, even some of our Congressmen are getting jumpy about this."

     "Well, Madame President," Tresanger began, feeling as if at any moment she would point toward him and her Secret Service bodyguards would behead him for apparently insulting royalty, "I think it's because Giuseppe himself did not divulge the full scale of his intentions to the general public.  We knew he was an internationalist, but we did not know that he would actually recommend such a thing, much less get the UN and it's member nations to agree."

     "And, why did they agree?"  Saunders' eyes remained settled on him.  "Giuseppe's a direct threat to their national sovereignty.  It's quite obvious that he's laying the foundation for the United Nations to become a true government instead of just an organization with international clout, like NATO once was."

     "I'm quite sure you're aware of the popularity he enjoys worldwide.  With China again becoming an isolationist state and Russia throwing it's weight around, the world needs someone who stands for stability and all that other touchy-feely stuff, and Giuseppe has taken that spot."

     Saunders groaned.  "Zhakov is getting too ambitious for his own good, and our good."

     "Well, that's true Madame President, but we really don't have a choice in the matter.  The only thing that's keeping Congress in check about your military reforms is the alliance with Russia.  We provide the hardware and technical firepower, they provide the grunt work."

     "Yes," Saunders agreed, "but that was in regards to China.  Can we afford to let the Russians and Giuseppe get on a collision course when most of our former allies are in Giuseppe's camp?"

     "Perhaps you could offer for us to mediate?", Tresanger recommended.

     Saunders put her fingers on each end of her chin as if she were considering it.  "I'm afraid that won't do us any good, and the political cost is too high.  I need the leverage I have for more important matters," Saunders stated.  "Damn Bush and his arrogance, with our old Security Council seat we could have nipped this thing in the bud before Giuseppe became a problem."

     "Nobody ever accused him of foresight," Tresanger noted.  "What shall our official position be?"

     "Nothing."  Saunders crossed her arms.  "I want Zhakov to stew a bit.  If he wants a war he'd better damned well be ready to tell me about it first.  And as for our traditional allies, I really don't care for them at the moment.  They've got their problems, we've got our's.  I'm going to concentrate on pushing through our needs first, then worry about the situation with Giuseppe and Zhakov."

     Tresanger nodded.  I wonder if she can really talk about Bush's arrogance when she has such arrogance herself?  My God, I work for her, but I'll be damned if I don't recognize when she's being a thick-skulled fool.  And ignoring this will blow up in our faces, I just know it...

 

 

Field Headquarters, UN Army Training Command

Outside of Poznan, Wielkopolskie Province, Poland

13 July 2010

 

     The sun of the Polish summer was not visible inside the windowless command center vehicle sitting along a roadside in the Polish countryside.  The light of the room was provided by a handful of roof fluroscent bulbs and by the monitors of the various computer screens displaying the battlefield.  Each computer, which was responsible for observing set units of the ground troops deployed on the field, was manned by an officer of the top command staff.  Colonel General Wolfgang Berssaus oversaw his staff's operations from a central chair, from which he could see the entire field of simulated battle between the East and West forces.  The Western force was commanded by Lieutenant General Pietro Baligni of Italy, the Eastern by Lieutenant General Pavlo Shendenko of the Ukraine, with each side showcasing the military styles of their component nations.  Troops on the Western side came from Western Europe, the Netherlands, France, Germany, Italy, Spain, with a division from India, while the Eastern side mostly contained nations from the former Warsaw Pact.  Because of this they had preference to Soviet styles of planned warfare, while General Baligni's troops tended to the initiative-based warfare.  This was merely the first exercise, for in the next combat, the officers would switch forces and thus the tactics and general strategy would be switched about.  Finally, he would mingle the two forces into Forces A and B, giving each an even split of West and East, and let them fight again with a style decided by the officers.  This way, Berssaus could improve coordination and cooperation in the new UN Army, and hopefully find a balance with which his troops could perform.

     However, this was not his primary concern at the moment.  He was already standing and preparing to salute when the door opened and admitted Giuseppe and von Krager.  Berssaus saluted at them both.  "Secretary-General, Director," he greeted them, "it is an honor to myself and my troops for you to visit these exercises."

     "You may lower your hand and ease your stance, General," Giuseppe answered, extending a friendly hand.  Berssaus lowered the hand with which he saluted and shook Giuseppe's hand.  "I wished to come and personally express my gratitude for the work you have been doing toward coordination of our Army.  Director von Krager has been most generous in his appraisal of your work."

     "The Director has been very kind, perhaps too kind, Secretary-General."

     "It is well earned, I assure you, General," von Krager stated, shaking Berssaus's hand next.  "Never before has an officer attempted to create such an army.  It is like writing a whole new book on warfare."

     "Yes."  Berssaus walked the two men over to a large screen.  It showed that the West side was currently moving a pair of battalions to the northern flank of the East side, where their data confirmed that the Eastern force was weak.  "Not only are we dealing with multiple operational mindsets, but the language barrier has been quite severe.  Most of my troops have been communicating through translators.  In a battlefield situation, we cannot rely on this.  We need a common language that all of the troops can use."

     Von Krager nodded in agreement while watching a computer screen displaying information on a battalion that was fighting in the center.  "Yes, so I have been asked by other General Assembly members.  They think the UN Armed Forces will be a failure without a common language."

     "Yet," Giuseppe began, "by enforcing a common language we are going to need to lower the number of available soldiers for our army, as not all can speak multiple languages, and training them to do so could be expensive and cause resistance in their home nations."

     "Yes, Secretary-General, and I have put thought into this."  Berssaus took a moment to look at a nearby screen.  "Inform Oberst Braun that his brigade needs to tighten up it's forward formation if he is to make a flank maneuver," he ordered the operator of the computer.  "I apologize for that," he quickly added for the benefit of Giuseppe and von Krager.  "I have been trying to give advice from this position to all field commanders.  If we are to fight Russia, we will need to be capable of both coordination and flexibility."

     "General, why do you think we will be fighting Russia?", Giuseppe asked.

     Berssaus put his hands behind his back.  "To be frank, Secretary-General, my analysis of the situation indicates that Russia may very well decide to attack us before the Army can be fully ready.  They have already stationed enough troops near the border to drive us out of the Baltic States and likely take Helsinki and Kiev.  Our strategic situation worsens if Belarus remains as their puppet, because General Shivosky can deploy some of his troops from there and threaten Warsaw.  And we would be too occupied driving his forces back from there to hold Finland or the Ukraine.  Without forward deployment and a well-integrated force, Shivosky can enable Russia to reconquer the former Soviet Republics in Eastern Europe and threaten Finland, Poland, Romania, and Hungary."

     Giuseppe answered with a concerned nod while von Krager added, "Shivosky's record is most impressive.  If you were forced to face him, General Berssaus, what would you use against him?"

     Berssaus bit his lower lip.  "Director von Krager, Yuri Pavelovich Shivosky is the best Russian army commander since Aleksandr Vassilievsky.  His conquest of Manchuria during the China War was a prime example of modern maneuver, a rout that has not been seen since the Second World War.  I fear that if we are forced to engage in war with Russia while Shivosky is in charge of her armies, we will see a repeat of what happened the last time Russia had a war on her western border.  We could very well see Russian tanks again rumble through the streets of Berlin."

     "I will not see any war happen, General, do not worry," Giuseppe assured him.  "My cause is one of peace."

     "Although said peace requires us to have a good defense," von Krager added.  "And forming a common army is the first step."

     "I have had ideas on this, Director, Secretary-General."  Berssaus cleared his throat for a moment.  "We could keep battalion-sized formations that are from the same nation, easing the language and coordination problem.  For a central force, we set up volunteer units who will learn English and German as well as receive training in NATO-standard tactics.  The first volunteers will be allowed from the armies of member nations, but we could eventually allow for civilians to volunteer for direct enlistment into the UN Army."

     "Very good ideas, General," von Krager said warmly.  "I will see what can be done."

     "Even if we are at peak performance," Berssaus continued, "I do not feel confident in a war with Russia.  I could beat back Shivosky, but he is a dangerous commander with a keen mind.  And his command is the most flexible in the Russian military.  He regularly trains his officers to act independently if the general plan is not working correctly.  This is a dangerous mix of the Russian form of operational coordination and what we know of operational flexibility."

     "Do not worry about this, General Berssaus, I am quite certain the Russians will be open to negotiated settlements," Giuseppe stated.  "I am happy you have given me this time, I will let you get back to your duties now.  Auf Wiedersen."

     "Auf Weidersen," Berssaus replied.

     Von Krager did not bother to add his own farewell, instead stepping out of the door.  The Polish sun was warm in the summer, warm enough so that his suit was somewhat uncomfortable.  He could not wait to get back into the comfort of the air conditioned Mercedes limousine waiting for them to ferry them back to the regional airport.  He considered going straight there when Giuseppe stepped out, the sound of applause inside the room before the door closed and blocked out everything that could be heard inside the command vehicle.  "He seems very concerned with the situation, Reinhard," Giuseppe stated.

     "Which is why I recommended him, Armand.  Berssaus has understated his own potential as a commander, and while he is being pessimistic I am fully confident that he can put together a force that can defeat the Russians.  If it came to that."

     Giuseppe nodded as the two strode up to the limo, where a bodyguard awaited them.  "You think he can defeat the general who almost single-handedly crushed the Chinese army in Manchuria?"

     "If Shivosky is Zhukov, then Berssaus is Rommel."  Von Krager nodded to the bodyguard, who opened the door.  He allowed Giuseppe to get in first, and then took the seat beside him.  The bodyguard shut the door and walked over to the other side of the car, sitting in the front seat with the chaffeur.  The car gently began to move.  Von Krager reached forward and flipped a switch to put a soundproof slider between their portion of the car and the front seat.  "I requested his record from the Bundeswehr when I was going through our candidate list.  He's been with them as an officer for over thirty years.  He has extensively studied military history and is well-versed in military treatises from Sun-Tzu's Art of War to the memoirs of Guderian, Manstein, and Patton.  He helped formulate several of the Bundeswehr's emergency operational plans in the past decade and wrote several good course studies for their new military academy in Liepzig.  I heard that a military publisher even asked him to write his own treatise on modern warfare and he refused.  A very cautious man, which makes him even more dangerous to whomever we may be forced to fight.  I actually feel pity for those who would try to lead an army against him."  Von Krager looked over and saw that Giuseppe seemed shaken.  "Something wrong, Armand?"

     "It seems, Reinhard," Giuseppe stated nervously, "that you are eager for him to be forced to apply his talents.  War with Russia is not something I desire.  I am a man of peace."

     "I know, Armand, but the truth is, a man of peace needs to have a powerful defense if he wishes to further that peace.  Otherwise, aggressive nations like Russia could destroy the peace."  Von Krager put his hands together.  "Military strength is peace, military weakness is war."

     Giuseppe nodded and looked out the window at the passing countryside.  "This is such a beautiful place, I would hate to see it again ravished by war."

     "It will not be, Armand.  Trust me," von Krager laughed.  "We will tame the Russian bear and the Chinese dragon, while Denise Saunders roots out the reactionaries in her government and prepares the way for the United States to rejoin the United Nations.  Not as a leader and dominant member, but as an equal to the rest of the world."

     "You are so confident about Russia?  Surely the Russians know how good Shivosky is and understand they have a potential advantage, something they could press now."

     "Well, I have a surprise."  Von Krager laid back in the chair and looked at the ceiling of the limousine.  "You see, I doubt that Shivosky will remain in his current position for much longer.  The Russians have an old habit of sacking good officers because of political considerations.  Shivosky has gained decent political sway within Russia's dominant Nationalist Party and is a direct threat to both President Zhakov and Premier Sakhirov.  If they were to go to war against us with him in command of their Western army, it would likely seal their fates and put him in charge at the Kremlin.  They will have to get rid of him first."

     Giuseppe looked over at von Krager with a furrowed brow.  "They would need something to discredit him first since he is so popular with the Russian people."

     "Yes."  Von Krager cleared his throat.  "You see, Armand, a friend of mine in Japan told me something interesting.  It seems that in 2005, while in Harbin, Shivosky took a mistress.  A young Chinese girl, in fact, and one who had relatives in Chinese military intelligence.  Not close relatives, my friend actually had to go back two generations to find a common family member, but close enough so that it could prove a sufficient embarrassment on top of the fact that he cheated on his wife.  And that will destroy his worth in the eyes of the increasingly-conservative Russian populace."

     "I see.  And you think Zhakov will use this?"

     "Perhaps.  It's more likely he will blackmail Shivosky into a 'retirement', or perhaps have him reassigned to Russia's Far East command.  It allows him to put someone likeable in charge.  I'm not sure who, there are several Russian generals or admirals that would lack the ability to credibly challenge Zhakov's standing."  Von Krager grinned a little.  "Russia may be little better than the United States.  And at least Saunders is honest about her firing of general officers who oppose her reforms, Zhakov lacks that honesty.  So don't worry, Armand, we will do nothing that will lead to war with Russia while Shivosky is in charge."

     "Hopefully we will not do anything that will lead to any war at all," Giuseppe added.  He turned his head to look out of the window and watch the Polish countryside pass by.

 

 

United Nations Complex, Café Unité

Geneva, Geneva Canton, Swiss Confederation

13 December 2010

 

     A gentle December snow had coated the streets and rooftops of Geneva, providing a soft pillow on which the people of the city walked as they went about their business.  The sun hung low on the western horizon and allowed the stars to show in the eastern sky, where the sun's light was slowly receding to show more of the night sky.  The setting sun's rays played over the large fourteen story building that held the United Nations' General Assembly and their offices, illuminating it's graceful windows and the slight curvature of the building.  Around the main building was a complex containing a smaller cluster of buildings with rented condominiums and apartments for the ambassadorial staffs assigned to the UN.  Meshed in with the buildings were various recreational facilities.  Indoor and outdoor play areas for children, a handful of cafés and resturants, play courts for various sports, and a youth dance club were all present in the complex area.  The proprieters of the businesses of the section, and their employees, were at least moderately versed in English due to it's universal use amongst the ambassadorial staff, although French was the language of choice among the Swiss citizens and was commonly used in casual conversation between themselves and those who understood the language.

     On the first floor of the largest of the residential buildings was a special café, the Café Unité.  It was operated by Henri LePenieu, a former member of the French delegation to the UN and a prominent supporter of Armand Giuseppe's reforms and goals.  LePenieu was an older man, well into his fifties, with a receding hairline and a face increasingly worn by years of mentally strenuous diplomatic service.  While Parisian, LePenieu split his living time between a room within the main residential building and a modest home between Bonneville and Geneva, on the other side of the Franco-Swiss border.  Despite his age, his face was a ray of light when he saw a familiar Mercedes limousine pull up, complete with fluttering UN flags on it's corners.  He exitted the doors of the café and was the first to greet Armand Giuseppe as he stood to his feet.  "Secretary-General, it is an honor to have you dining with us," he greeted him in English, setting the tone for the conversation.

     "You flatter me," Giuseppe answered with a blush.  He turned and reached into the car, helping Antonia out of the car.  In a direct contrast to the manner of her father's tuxedo, Antonia was wearing a brown parka jacket and a long black skirt with no special marking and made of simple polyester.  LePenieu nodded courteously and did not seem to care at Antonia's simple dress, stating, "You are as lovely as I remember, Mademoiselle."

     "Monsieur, you are too kind," she replied in turn.  She allowed Giuseppe to hook his left arm around her right while his security detachment gathered around him.  They walked toward the entrance together while the limousine drove away, taking time to greet and exchange courtesies with the employees and patrons who were waiting for them at the door.  On the inside of the resturant the interior had been bedecked in holiday ornaments, with garland and lights strung along the corners of the walls and roof, and a Christmas tree in the room on one side.  Antonia pulled her jacket off and revealed a black sleeveless blouse with a V-cut neck line that ended at the top of her cleavage and a similar, but deeper, cut on the back.  As was her custom, Antonia was wearing her crucifix necklace, and it hung elegantly to a position between her neck and her cleavage.  Even though her clothing was physically modest compared to some of the other young ladies in the resturant, Antonia quickly found herself the center of attention.  It was to be expected for the daughter of the visionary Secretary-General of the United Nations, who also happened to be a woman of remarkable physical beauty and intellect.  Just as visible to the others as her physical attributes was the lack of a wedding ring on her finger.  Antonia ignored every single one of them, intent on smiling at her father and speaking gently with LePenieu.  She did acquiese to allowing LePenieu's son Paul to kiss the knuckles on her right hand as his way of being courteous, and no doubt his way to trying to get his way into her bed.  Which was something that Antonia had absolutely no intention of letting him have.  Despite her steadfast refusal to accept the flirting and come ons that Paul was showering her with, Antonia was deeply flattered by his remarks, to the point of blushing.

     They sat down at a table in the middle of the room, still flanked by a handful of bodyguards, and LePenieu personally took their order while his son gave them each a glass and menus.  Once this was done, Antonia took the time to drape her jacket on an unoccupied chair.  Giuseppe exchanged pleasantries with a passerby, the wife of the Uruguayian UN ambassador, and turned his attentions back to his daughter as she got comfortable.  "You have made many ladies jealous tonight."

     "I should have worn something different," Antonia replied.  "But, I did not know that even this would..."

     "Antonia, you are like your mother, nothing you wear can hide your beauty."  Giuseppe smiled weakly.  "I can see her when I look at you."

     "Papa, I... about Mama," Antonia took a moment to hold off the tears she felt for her deceased mother, "why did she have to go while she was so young?  All of my friends still have their mothers alive.  It does not seem fair that Mama had to die so quickly."

     "Mama was special, Antonia, and perhaps she was so special that God became envious that Earth had her and not Heaven, so He brought her to Him so that He might be blessed in her presence."  Giuseppe sighed and looked down at the table.  "There is not a day that goes by that I do not think about her.  Your mother was my inspiration for everything.  She blessed everything she touched.  Including us."

     "But you have gone on so far without her, Papa.  You are just like her."  Antonia's expression softened into a smile.  "You bless everything.  Just ask Signor LePenieu, or Director Monsieu, they'll tell you how important you have become to everyone.  And all because you followed your dream."

     "I wish I could say the same, Antonia, but in following my dream, I have encountered many hardships."  Giuseppe nodded to the waiter who had come with a bottle of red wine, prompting the man to pour the red liquid into his glass and then Antonia's.  "Sometimes I believe that the only thing that has kept me going is you.  You are my rock, Antonia, your tender soul is what gives me the strength to meet my challenges."

     Antonia blushed deeply.  "Papa, you exaggerate."

     "I do not.  Whenever I hear about you helping people, and doing it in my name, it invigorates me.  It makes me stand up and do that which must be done to continue our work."  Giuseppe took a sip.  "Perhaps you deserve this position more than I do?"

     "No, Papa, because I could never do what you do."  Antonia's eyes centered on him.  "You have a great talent, Papa, because people listen to you.  They hear your words and it makes them feel good, it gives them hope that the future will no longer have war or hardship.  That we will finally see peace for the people of the world.  They want to believe in your future, Papa, and as long as you continue to speak of it and work for it, so will they."

     Giuseppe listened to his daughter's words and felt the healing effect they had on the turmoil within him.  Even the UN still had it's divisions, divisions Giuseppe was endeavoring to heal, but those divisions also hurt his morale.  He sometimes doubted he could bring about his future.  But Antonia's words warmed his soul because of their sheer beauty.  She smiled warmly and put her hand on his, the flat and smooth skin of the back of her hand a contrast to the slightly wrinkled and worn skin on his.  "Let us enjoy this dinner together, Papa, and talk about the season.  I was hoping you could return to Florence for the holiday."

     The thought of returning to his home, Maria's home, pulled at Giuseppe.  But he knew he could not go, not with the situation concerning Russia remaining tense.  He needed to be here, in Geneva, to keep the peace of the world intact.  "Hope is a good thing," Giuseppe answered, "but I am afraid I cannot go home."

     "It's the Russians, isn't it Papa?"

     "I wish I could say definately, but I cannot.  I am sorry."

     "Papa, don't be."  Antonia reformed her grin to make it somewhat wider.  "I know whatever it is, you will solve it.  You can solve anything."

     His daughter's gentle prodding of his ego was beginning to lighten Giuseppe up, enough that he changed the conversation on her.  For the rest of the meal, they spoke of happier times, and of Antonia's future.  A future that both hoped would include bright and happy children, grandchildren that Giuseppe could also build a future of peace for in his position.  A couple of interested young men took turns trying to chat Antonia up and walked away only with the satisfaction of having made her smile and blush.  Antonia giggled delightfully as LePenieu called for the assembled patrons to toast Giuseppe, something that she had convinced him to do without her father's knowledge.  It was Giuseppe's turn to blush, and after the toast he gave a quick motivational speech to the patrons.  After the meal was finished Giuseppe left a generous tip along with the bill and stood to his feet.  Paul LePenieu was immediately at Antonia's side to help her put on her jacket, showing only a large smile on his face as she thanked him.  She zipped the jacket up and put her arm around her father's.  "That was wonderful, Papa, but I think I miss some of the places in Florence."

     "So do I, and I promise you, as soon as the crisis passes, I will come back to Florence."  Giuseppe grinned and accepted LePenieu's farewells as they approached the door.  When they opened the door, they saw that the snowfall had increased slightly.  Each took careful steps toward the limousine, slipping through the small crowd that had gathered outside to give the Giuseppes holiday wishes.  Both Antonia and her father shook hands and thanked the people for their good will while the bodyguards worked to get back in front of them.

     Antonia looked up from the hand of an older Swiss woman and saw a dark-haired man in a parka and trousers walk up toward her father.  His left hand was in his jacket pocket with a gloved right hand out in the open.  Giuseppe greeted the green-eyed man with a warm handshake.  "How are you, sir?", he asked kindly.

     "Quite well," he answered with a definite hint of a Slavic accent.

     Giuseppe nodded in response and was about to move on when he was slammed by something on his right side, an impact that made him lose his balance.  He had not yet begun to fall when a pair of gunshots rang out.  He landed in the snow on his side, the icy touch of it's surface creating a burning sensation on his warmer facial skin.  Screams had broken out and pierced the haze that filled his mind as a result of the shock of his fall.  A loud voice proclaimed something in what sounded like Russian, followed by the sounds of a scuffle.  Giuseppe forced himself to sit up.  He found Antonia slumped in the arms of one of his bodyguards, blood pouring from her stomach and right side from a pair of gunshot wounds.  The horror of what had happened to her quickly seized his mind.  His paternal instinct overcame all other thoughts and emotions and drove him to crawl over to his daughter.  Her eyes were clouded with pain, the same lips that had previously formed warm and friendly smiles now contorted from the agony caused by the bullets that were now embedded in her body.  She cried out when Giuseppe put his hand on one of the wounds.  Her warm blood spilled out into his fingers.  "Help!", he cried out.  "My daughter has been shot!"

     Antonia looked at him while he and another bodyguard frantically pulled at her parka to get it off.  "Papa," she mumbled.  "Papa, are you okay?"

     "Antonia, my God, what happened?"  He looked up to look for the other bodyguards.  "What happened?!"

     "Here, sir."  The bodyguards lifted the shooter to his feet, his gun now laying in the snow.

     "Who are you?  Why did you have to shoot my daughter?!", Giuseppe demanded, his eyes now aflame in anger.

     The man smirked in return.  He flexed his jaw and gnashed his teeth.  A cracking sound came from within his mouth.  His body began tremoring in the grips of the bodyguards who were holding him and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head.  Giuseppe paid him no more heed, turning his attention back to Antonia.  Her blood-stained parka was now in a pile beside her.  Her blouse's black material hid the blood it had absorbed well, while two relatively small holes showed her mangled flesh beneath them from where the bullets had entered.  Blood was still pouring from the wounds.  Giuseppe pulled off his right shoe and the cotton sock he was wearing underneath.  The skin on his feet protested the cold shock of the winter air and the snow with pain that went all the way up his spine, but his concern for Antonia had blocked out all of Giuseppe's pain senses.  He raised the blouse she was wearing to show her bare stomach and enable him to use the sock to try and stop the bleeding from the worst wound.  She screamed and clutched at the sock, trying to push it off.  It wounded Giuseppe's soul to hear his daughter howl so terribly while he tried to keep her from bleeding to death.

     A man in a formal suit pushed his way through the crowd, carrying a case.  "I am a doctor," he assured Giuseppe in German.  He opened the case and took out a sterilizing cloth to debried the entry wounds.  In the distance, the howl of a siren pierced the night sky.  "This is bad," the doctor muttered to himself.  "We must get her on a table inside until the paramedics arrive," he stated to the bodyguards and Giuseppe.  "She will not survive in this cold."  The one who had grabbed her when she was shot lifted her into his arms and carried her inside.  Giuseppe followed closely while keeping his distance, allowing the doctor to attend to Antonia.  The doctor removed her crucifix necklace as the lights of the approaching ambulance began shining through the window.  He handed it to one of the bodyguards, who promptly handed it to Giuseppe.  Giuseppe looked at the small figure of Christ on the cross, and grasped the pendant.  Oh please, I cannot lose Antonia, not now.  Please don't take my little girl!  He began to weep, and continued doing so even after the paramedics had stabilized Antonia and put her in the ambulance.  His bodyguards helped him to his feet, which threatened to give out under the weight Giuseppe felt in his soul.  He nearly limped outside, where the bodyguards now surrounded him completely to prevent another attack.  A second limo drove up, and he was quickly pushed into it by his protectors.  The limo drove away from the café in a flurry of snow.  Inside one of the bodyguards took out a cell phone and began dialing a number.  Giuseppe tried desperately to regain his senses, and finally barked at the driver, "Follow the ambulance to the hospital!  Now!"

     "Mister Secretary-General, I would advise against it," the lead bodyguard stated.  Giuseppe knew the American-born woman as Jennifer, and she was a security expert that von Krager had recommended for his protection.  Her hair was a dull red color, neatly cut kept down to shoulder length.  Cold gray eyes contributed to the cold expression she wore on her face, while her athletic body professed her physical acumen.  "We do not know if another assassin could be after you as well.  Until we find out, you should be kept in your office on the complex grounds."

     "Then call the hospital and have the security staff ready for my arrival, if you must," Giuseppe barked back, "but I have to be with my daughter!"

     Jennifer bit on her lower lip.  Her eyes betrayed her frustration despite the emotionless expression she kept on her face.  After a moment, in which Giuseppe stared intently at her, Jennifer took out a cell phone and began dialing.

 

 

     The waiting room for the Intensive Care Unit of the United Nations Complex Hospital was lushly carpeted  and filled with comfortable chairs and a pair of couches, plus build in wall TV screen.  Sadly, the comfort of his chair did nothing to aid the dread feeling Giuseppe had in his chest.  He could still see the pained expression on Antonia's face and feel her warm blood on his hands.  His entire world seemed to be teetering on the edge of destruction, and if Antonia did not survive, then it would definately be pushed into that dark abyss.

     Around Giuseppe, the waiting room was relatively empty.  It was already late, and those few who were keeping vigil for loved ones in the ICU unit had been kindly asked by Jennifer to vacate the room.  Giuseppe wanted to protest her actions, as he felt they had just as much right to be in the waiting room as he, but Jennifer had stood firm this time.  The room had to be isolated and tightly guarded to ensure that a second assassin would not act after the first one's failure.  This left Giuseppe in the room, alone, brooding while waiting to hear if his precious daughter would survive.  His mind was still reeling from the intense impact of the night's events while he prayed fervently for the first time in years, seeking divine assistance so that his daughter might live.

     The door opened and admitted von Krager, with Jennifer standing behind him.  Von Krager's face was a display of intense concern as he stated, "I came as soon as I heard, Armand.  How is she?"

     "I do not know."  Giuseppe buried his face in his hands.  "What happened to the assassin?"

     "Suicide by cyanide tablet built into a tooth," Jennifer answered.  "Identification says he's one Boris Hershakov, but we can't be certain on the authenticity of the ID.  He had two weapons on him, a Petrokov .40 and a Petersen .40."  Jennifer exchanged a glance with von Krager.  "One is the standard sidearm of Russian Federal Security agents, the other is widely used by American field agents in various services, including the FBI and CIA.  He used the Petrokov on your daughter."

     Giuseppe frowned and felt his heart freeze.  "So, the Russians are behind this?"

     "Or the Americans," von Krager replied.

     "If it was the Americans, it makes sense that they'd try to shoot you with the Petrokov so they could pin it on Russia," Jennifer stated.  "And if it's the Russians, it still makes sense to use the Petrokov, since the American gun puts them on the suspect list and could make it look like the Americans did it anyway.  It's also possible that a third party, particularly the Chinese, would pull off such an operation, but I have my doubts.  So, without knowing more about the man, and I doubt we'll learn much from whatever rooms he was using, there's no way to know who actually pulled this off."

     "Whoever it was did not want to be singled out as the only suspect," von Krager agreed.

     The door opened again and admitted a young female orderly.  The brunette orderly spoke with a thick French accent when she stated, "Secretary-General, your daughter is out of surgery."

     Giuseppe looked up at the woman with weary eyes.  "And?"

     "The doctors believe she will make a full recovery," she replied.

     An exasperated sigh came from Giuseppe.  "Thank God," he said in a thankful tone.  Von Krager gave him a smile to meet his own weak one, while Giuseppe got to his feet.  "When can I see her?"

     "I will ask the doctor now."

     The orderly turned and walked out of the room.  When the door closed, von Krager put a hand on Giuseppe's shoulder.  "I promise you, Armand, I'll make sure that those responsible for this are found.  And, I'll make sure this can never happen again."  He was answered by a nod before Giuseppe stepped out of the room.

 

 

The Oval Office, The White House

Washington D.C, United States of America

14 December 2010

 

     The sound of the day's edition of the Washington Post thumping on President Saunders' desk filled the office and rattled the nerves of Tresanger and Hadwick.  "This," Saunders began in an irritated voice, "is an unacceptable occurence."  Her finger pointed to the headline "ASSASSIN STRIKES AT UNITED NATIONS SECRETARY-GENERAL" with the subline "SHOOTS DAUGHTER INSTEAD: ANTONIA GIUSEPPE IN CRITICAL CONDITION IN GENEVA HOSPITAL".  "The article goes on.  Someone on Giuseppe's staff leaked info on the assassin's weapons.  He was carrying a Petersen .40.  A gun used exclusively by our intel agents.  So I want to know how in the God damned Hell did this happen?!"

     Tresanger noted the apprehension in Colleen Hadwick's expression.  Unlike Saunders she was a small woman, a brunette in her mid-40s, and she still seemed somewhat attractive despite her age.  Her face was somewhat weathered from age while pale blue eyes showed her soft-heartedness.  Her legs were thin and somewhat nicely toned, barely visible due to the looseness of her trousers.  Her business coat and the blouse beneath it were tight enough to give the basic shape and size of her roundish breasts away, but were almost as loose as the trousers and thus did not show the exact form of her body underneath.  Hadwick's expression was also more gentle than Saunders thanks to her not having a bloated ego.  Her lack of ambition was the reason Saunders had gotten her in as Secretary of Defense.  Hadwick had almost no spine, she was easily rolled over, and while Saunders preferred her that way when she was in conversation with Hadwick, she had also found Hadwick's softness vexing when Senator Andrews and his ideological kin raked her and Saunders over the coals.  Her meek nature was visible in her soft voice when she answered, "I... I don't know, Madame President."

     "You're my God damned Secretary of Defense, Hadwick, you'd better find out!"  Saunders' rage oozed from her face, and the sweat that her anger induced on her body caused her makeup to streak slightly.  Tresanger almost wanted to groan in frustration that she was so vain as to bother with that kind of thing even in private conversations with her Cabinent.  "But don't bother," Saunders added quickly when a light appeared on her phone base.  She pressed down on the adjacent button, activating an intercom to her secretary.  "Yes?"

     "Deputy Director Spender is here to see you, Ma'am," the secretary's voice came through with a static-filled response.

     "Send him in."  Saunders looked up at the door.  It opened and admitted an older man, apparently in his sixties and maybe even seventies.  His expression was emotionless as he stepped into the room and placed his hands behind his back.  Tresanger noted that his stature was worn and his expression fatigued, giving him the appearance of someone who knew far too much and could speak far too little about it.  "I'm glad to see you suits at the CIA respond so quickly," she said sarcastically.

     Showing absolutely no sign of fear related to Saunders' position, Spender replied, "I figured you would be calling when the news hit of the Giuseppe assassination attempt, Madame President.  So I was prepared."

     Saunders turned a little red.  "You knew about this assassination attempt beforehand?!"

     "It is our job, Madame President, to be keeping tabs on things.  Last night I got the report straight from our men in Geneva.  I believed that the NSA would brief you."  Spender shrugged.  "I apologize if he did not, that is outside of my power."

     "Well, let's get straight to the point then," Saunders stated gruffly.  "Did you do it?"

     Saunders' question prompted no emotion in Spender's face.  "Ma'am?  Do what?", he asked quizzically.

     "Did you and your flunkies try to assassinate Giuseppe?!", came Saunders' enraged reply.  "Don't toy with me!  I'll have your ass on a silver platter, you'll be writing articles for right-wing scum papers by the time I'm through with you if you don't give me my God damned answer!"

     "No, the CIA is not responsible for this assassination attempt," Spender replied.  "I don't know why you would think we were behind it, either, since it would take an executive order.."

     "Oh please, spare me the speech," Saunders grunted.  "Do you think I'm stupid?  Or do you think I buy the story that terrorists killed Ninpa Timbala?  If you could get away with it you would assassinate the entire Chinese Peoples' Congress without my permission."  This caused Spender to grin slightly, and that grin sent chills through Tresanger's spine.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.  When he went to pull one out, Saunders lifted her hand in a "stop" gesture.  "No smoking in my office," she  ordered.  "I don't want to get lung cancer because of people like you."

     "My apologies, Madame President," Spender answered, pushing the cigarette back in and placing the pack back in his jacket pocket.

     "I've seen the file on your Black Knights, Spender, and I know that they could pull this off."

     "I should point out, Madame President, that the Black Knight Special Operations Group is gone.  My field agents were wiped out by Timbala's own services, remember?"

     "I seem to recall one agent making it out alive," Saunders pointed out sardonically.

     "One agent does not make a task force," Spender responded.

     "He'd still be skilled enough to pull off an assassination."

     "True.  However, in this case, the assassin killed himself after failing to kill Giuseppe and instead wounding his daughter."  Spender finally showed a hint of dark emotion when he added, "If I had sent my man to kill Giuseppe, we would not be having this conversation.  Giuseppe would have been found dead in his bedroom one morning from an unfortunate case of cardiac arrest that came in his sleep.  If we wanted to be this violent about it, Giuseppe's brain matter would have been decorating some wall in Geneva, with the assassin making a clean getaway, and the ballistics evidence proving damning to the Russians."

     Saunders nodded.  For a moment Tresanger wondered if she would accept Spender's explaination.  When she nodded in agreement, the tension of the moment passed.  "Okay, I'll buy it," she said coldly.  "I want you to find out who did this, though.  You may go."

     The old man nodded and headed toward the door.  Before he opened it, he turned back and stated, "Considering his bad security, Madame President, I'd have to say that Giuseppe's would-be killers are either incompetent or have something else in mind."  With that, he closed the door.

     Saunders smirked and sat down.  "That Cold War dinosaur should be in a nursing home, not behind a desk at Langley."

     "Quality at the CIA is going down," Hadwick replied.  "The DIA's having to take over more of their responsibilities as it is.  Spender's one of the few CIA heads with any significant experience and understanding of the business."

     "Point taken," Saunders said in an almost disappointed tone.  "It's a shame we can't get rid of him.  Anyway, I need to prepare my official response to this whole damned mess..."

 

 

Intensive Care Unit, UN Complex Hospital

Geneva, Geneva Canton, Swiss Confederation

14 December 2010

 

     Giuseppe was sound asleep in a chair beside Antonia's bed when von Krager returned from the emergency Security Council meeting that had been called in light of the recent events.  A unanimous decision had been reached to condemn the government responsible for the assassinations and impose trade and travel sanctions until those who planned the attack were turned over for trial.  Provided, of course, they found out which government had sponsered the assassination.  There was no question that one had, considering that the would-be assassin wielded guns used by US and Russian security agents and opted to commit suicide with a surgically-installed cyanide tablet, and if it had been a criminal underworld hitman or a crazed gunman that would not have been the likely method of suicide.

     Antonia was no longer in the clothing she had worn to dinner.  Only a sleeveless and back-opened hospital gown covered her otherwise nude body.  A sheet had been placed over her up to her stomach to cover her bare legs.  Breathing tubes were on her nose and an IV pumped liquid antibiotics into her body.  Underneath the gown, sterile bandages covered the bullet wounds.  Von Krager walked up to her and looked at her face, which seemed peaceful despite the agony she had been in the previous night.  Giuseppe had put her crucifix necklace back over her neck and that added to the psychological aspect of her appearance.  Von Krager reached his hand down as if to touch Antonia's forehead, but when the finger made contact he quickly pulled his hand back, almost as if he had touched a hot stove.  He took another moment to examine her lovely face before pulling up his own chair and waiting for Giuseppe to wake up.  As ten minutes became twenty and then thirty, von Krager became a bit restless in the small and somewhat comfortable chair.  At the forty minute mark, a nurse entered and asked him to leave so she could take Antonia's gown off and check the wound.  Respecting the woman's wishes, and needing to relieve himself anyway, von Krager went to the nearest restroom.

     When he returned, Giuseppe had already woken up.  Antonia's position had changed slightly from the nurse's work.  "Armand," von Krager said when he stepped into the room.  "How did you sleep?"

     "Sleep?"  Giuseppe blinked.  Dark bags had formed beneath his eyes and his speech told that his rest had not actually been restful.  "I have not slept."

     "I see."  Von Krager gave a leery look at the uncomfortable chair and opted to stand.  "The Security Council sends you their best wishes and prayers for Antonia's recovery."

     "I shall have to thank them."

     "The Geneva police and my people are still investigating.  They've found the man's apartment and are going through it now.  But if this was a state-sanctioned attack, there likely won't be any incriminating evidence."  Von Krager looked over at Antonia.  "How is she?"

     "They have her sedated for now, and she will remain this way until she's stronger."  Giuseppe ran a shaky hand through his gray hair.  "How could this have happened?  And why did it have to be Antonia?"

     "Antonia has a good heart," von Krager answered.  "And she's stronger than she appears, remember that.  I know I will," he added with a grin.

     "What have I done wrong, Reinhart?", Giuseppe pleaded.  "Why must people treat me like an enemy?  Like I'm such a threat that I must be killed?  I only want peace."

     "Peace, Armand, is something that must be fought for," von Krager reminded him candidly.  "Your peace threatens the power of hundreds of power brokers in Beijing, Moscow, and Washington.  They're going to oppose you, and do it in every way they can.  I admit, some of this is my fault.  I should have anticipated this."

     "No, do not blame yourself," Giuseppe mumbled.  "I... I will have to stop going out like this.  And I will have to bring more bodyguards."  His eyes looked distant when he raised his head, his expression filled with pain and regret.  "It seems I will not be able to go home to Florence for Christmas like Antonia had hoped."

     "I am sorry, Armand.  The things we must sacrifice to achieve our bright future can be trying on us all."  Von Krager grinned to try and raise his spirits.  "Would you like something to eat?  The hospital workers have offered to let you and your protectors eat the food they keep in their surgeons' mess."

     "Nothing to eat, I could never keep it down the way I feel."  Giuseppe turned back to Antonia.  "But some coffee would do me well, so I can wait for my little girl to wake up."

     "I'll be right back, then."  Von Krager nodded with a smile, and stepped out.  Giuseppe buried his face in his hands, and soon began weeping.  Weeping over everything, the attempt on his life, the political crisis, his daughter's injuries, everything that seemed to be going against him.

 

 

 

Director of Defense's Office, United Nations Complex

Geneva, Geneva Canton, Swiss Confederation

14 December 2010

 

     Von Krager stepped into his office and found Jennifer Dausche waiting for him.  The chief personal bodyguard of Armand Giuseppe was standing in the middle of his officer with her hands clasped behind her back.  She turned upon hearing the door open and appraised von Krager with her cold gray eyes for a moment.  Von Krager's own eyes did the same, observing the black business suit and ankle-length trousers she had opted to wear.  They hid her body's figure well, only her arms' developed musculature testified to her physical shape.  "Aren't you supposed to be watching the Secretary-General?"  Von Krager's tone was slightly challenging but mostly inquisitive.

     "I have my best team on it, but I needed to talk to you about him," Jennifer replied coldly.  "Last night he was very rash, he was more concerned with his daughter than himself.  A man of his position shouldn't be like that."

     "Armand cares very deeply for young Antonia.  She is the only family he has left."  Von Krager looked out the window at a black car across the walk.  "So, you said Director of Security de Fleur was suspicious as to the true target of the assassin?"

     "Yes, he is."  Jennifer looked out at the car.  "He has also recommended that we step up our security measures for all of the Directors in the Secretary-General's staff."

     "Very prudent of the man.  I always admired that about Director de Fleur.  His prudence."  Von Krager watched the man they were speaking of step into his car.  De Fleur's gray-haired head disappeared into the dark windows as he slammed the door, apparently in an irritable tone.  "Yes, very prudent indeed."

     The car exploded.

     As the firey wreck of Director de Fleur's car threw debris about the complex street a tower of fire erupted from the car, disappearing into smoke and settling into a normal burn using the vehicle's gasoline as a fuel source.  The fire danced in their eyes.  "You seem attracted to Antonia, Reinhart," Jennifer stated.

     "She is a very alluring young woman, but I am afraid she is not quite my type."

     "So I've noticed.  You must admit, though, that she is far tougher than she appears.  That or the assassin was a very bad shot."

     "Yes, poor Joachim.  At least he had the sense to end his life."  Von Krager sat down in his plush leather chair.  "Dammit, she should have died.  That would have sent him over the edge.  Well, at least de Fleur is out of the way, this should make the old man take notice.  And get you into de Fleur's position."

     Jennifer took her seat on the opposite end of von Krager's desk and put her graceful legs up on the wooden surface.  "Such a silly man, the Secretary-General is.  Very very silly."

     "With the increased security providing a hindrance to his normal life, he will become more irritable.  Then, we will have to wait for another opportunity to provide the proper incentive for him to change his ways."

     "Do you still want Antonia dead?"

     "Perhaps, or perhaps not.  Killing her at the wrong time will simply depress him, he may even leave office and thus we are deprived of our chance.  No, if she dies it must be at the opportune time."  Von Krager picked up a globe on his desk and twirled it about in his hand.  "Our peaceful, peaceful little Earth..."

     "Or not so peaceful.  Especially after we are finished pushing the old man in the right direction."

     "Quite true, Fraulein, quite true.  And it's coming soon."  Von Krager continued to twirl the globe intently as he studied it.  "Soon.  Soon we shall plunge the Earth into cleansing tides of fire.  And humanity's future will be guaranteed."

 

Suite 102, Main Residence, United Nations Complex

Geneva, Geneva Canton, Swiss Confederation

14 February 2011

 

     The first anniversary of his rise to power did not have the same festivities Giuseppe had hoped it would just three months before.  His day consisted of average meetings, discussions with the General Assembly, and more work concerning the coordination of the new UN Ministries that were beginning to take on some governmental duties not before associated with the UN.  Russia was still poised to conquer Eastern Europe, the US was being abnormally quiet, China's silence was expected, and worst of all for Giuseppe, they had not found out who sponsered the assassination attempt that could have killed him and nearly cost him Antonia.  Antonia had remained in the hospital for two days after her shooting, and another week after that had her on bed rest as her body recuperated from the horrible shock it had suffered.  When Christmas came she was again about, championing her father's cause, attending Christmas Mass at the Vatican on his behalf, and campaigning through Europe and Africa to rally support for him.  Wherever Antonia went, reporters followed.  The rich and wealthy young men of Europe poured great money into the causes she supported, mostly in an attempt to win her eye so they could claim her as their own.  And with her typical charm Antonia had warded off her would-be suitors, never appearing impolite or ungrateful yet always refusing due to her personal need to meet someone she could eternally love.

     Her lovely face filled the wall screen in Giuseppe's living room.  A Central African-style shawl was wrapped around her body with her bare shoulders visible in the African daylight.  She looked quite stunning in the native dress, and a wide smile was plastered on her face and the faces of the African women her age and older that were standing by her.  "The people here are wonderful, Papa.  I've been able to talk with them for the past few days and they all like what you're doing.  They all want you to succeed.  You have the hopes of everyone in this entire country, Papa, that your dream will become reality."  Antonia looked off the screen after a voice shouted something in Greek, and she retorted with a giggle.  "I must go now, there is still work to be done before I go on to South Africa.  Besides, too many of the European boys who are following me think I look good in this, and I don't like tormenting them.  So goodbye Papa.  Keep your strength, we're all behind you, and we'll win this."  The wide and innocent grin on her face was the last thing on the message before it bleeped out.

     My darling, you are so full of goodness that I could not possibly keep you bottled up here.  Giuseppe sighed.  He wanted to be there with her, helping the common people, basking in the light of her soul as she found her joy in the aid of others.  Maria had been the same way, and daughter was fully following mother.  He could only hope that she would find the soulmate she yearned for, her heart deserved that.  But Giuseppe's soul felt pain.  He was being resisted at every turn, the British had pressured many of their Commonwealth members to either vote against him or force him into concessions on UN power that would be fatal to his dream.  And they were likely marching to the drum of Washington, where President Saunders, every bit the power mad woman she was, continued to enforce her own small tyranny on her government and keep them focused internally instead of externally.  Russia was overtly being aggressive, aching for an excuse to attack him.  China remained quiet and withdrawn, not responding to his overtures.  Giuseppe could not understand why so many people would oppose him when all he wanted was world peace, and a stable foundation on which it could be built.  What was so wrong about that?

     Apparently more than he saw.

     After a few moments of being in despair, he walked toward his bathroom, fully aware of the constant surveillance he was under to protect him from another assassin.

     They tried to kill you, Armand.  Can you not see the folly of keeping peace with these monsters?

     It was the same voice, the dark one within the bowels of his soul.  Go away.

     When will you wake up, fool?  When they put a bullet in you?  Maybe when some crazed assassin kills Antonia to get at you?  When will you realize that humanity needs to be remolded to reach the pinnacle you aim to reach?

     Whatever.

     Do not dismiss me so easily, Armand!  Deep down, you know I'm right!  You know that eventually, you will have to use force!

     Giuseppe turned on his bathtub and began shedding his clothes.  He thought of when he was young, when he had Maria in his arms, and the joy they felt together.  The beauty he was allowed to behold while with his late wife.

     You cannot think about Maria and ignore me, Armand.  Not forever!

     Giuseppe stepped into the tub and felt the warm water ease his body, aching from stress.  He closed his eyes and remembed baths of twenty years before, with Maria beside him, the two kissing and on occasion making love in their own tub, simply because they could.  Sometimes Giuseppe wondered what he would give to be young with Maria again.  To be able to stay up all night cuddling under the sheets, kissing and touching and making love, and then watching the sun rise over the Italian countryside before falling asleep.  And then he thought of how cute and sweet Antonia had been as a little girl, when the first traces of her beauty had appeared.  His heart yearned for the old days of life, when everything was simple.  No diplomacy, little politics, and best of all, no assassins.

     The dark voice had quieted, and Giuseppe finally smiled as he fell asleep and thought about the good times of his life with his family.

 

 

Office of the Secretary-General, United Nations Assembly Building

Geneva, Geneva Canton, Swiss Confederation

15 June 2011

 

     A dread feeling came into Giuseppe's stomach as he watched von Krager burst into the main office, having ignored his secretary, and walk up to him with an emotional and disbeliefing expression.  "What happened?", he asked, dreading any of the answers that sprung to mind.  Months of peace overtures and gestures by Giuseppe and other European Union officials had done nothing to end the threat of a Russian invasion of Eastern Europe.  This situation was coupled with more Balkan problems, namely, increased tensions between Montenegro and Serbia within Yugoslavia, and increased agitation by the Kosovars for both full independence and territorial concessions from Macedonia, there had even talk of a political union with Albania proper.  The Middle East was also an expected flashpoint, Arab-Israeli relations at their worst in decades as both sides continued to vie for his support or the support of Russia.  Giuseppe had tried without success to mediate another peace treaty, but the various Arab nations had made demands for concessions concerning the Palestinian question before they would ever set foot at a negotiating table, concessions that Israel would never agree to, and the borderline-paranoid Israelis were against any concessions anyway, no matter how small.  And then, finally, there was Africa, which had imploded into a multi-sided civil war as various alliances and powers vied for supremacy on the continent in the wake of a failed pan-African movement in the end of the previous decade.

     "It's begun.  In Montenegro, the Montenegran president and legislature have broken away from Yugoslavia," von Krager informed him.  "The Serbs are going mad."

     Giuseppe audibly groaned.  That had definitely been one of the things he did not want to happen.  No, not the Balkans.  Not now!  Not with all of my peace initiatives there going so smoothly!  "Have they sent troops in?"

     "Part of their agreement with the Montenegrans last summer was to keep main Army units out of Montenegro and the immediate area," von Krager replied, "so the Yugoslav Army will have to redeploy from other positions to face them.  We have time."

     "Yes.  I wish to speak to Preisdent Myclavic..."

     "You misunderstand me, Armand."  Von Krager kept his hands behind his back and straightened his spine.  "The Serbs want blood now.  Talking will do nothing for us.  No, I recommend that we send in the Army."

     Giuseppe's gaze shot daggers at him.  "If we do that the Russians will attack."

     "Perhaps, Chairman, but recall that the Americans also consider themselves the self-appointed protectors of the Serbs' various enemies.  Saunders has not changed her stance, thus, the Russians may find opposition from their allies on the issue of Montenegran independence.  Finally, Russia will not fight if we swiftly and utterly crush the Yugoslav Army through force of arms.  They will be angry, they will definately move up their timetables for aggression, but they will not fight now."

     "There must be another way."

     "There are no others, Armand, unless you abandon the Montenegrans.  And then we will have opened a Pandora's Box in the region, your entire network of treaties and peace accords will collapse as the various ethnic groups begin bickering and fighting again.  They will believe you incapable of upholding your own treaties and agreements and the threat of Serb aggression will send the region into instability not seen since the fall of Communist Yugoslavia in the early '90s."  Von Krager lifted his chin and drew in a breath before continuing to speak.  "We must act, Armand, or all will be lost."

     Giuseppe threw the pen he had held in his hand to his wooden desk with a sharp clack before burying his face in his hands.  "I just talked to Antonia," he stated.  "I told her everything was fine.  And now this..."

     "Armand, I understand.  There will be stresses like this, not everyone wants to see your future come, but..."

     "Why not?!"  Giuseppe slammed his hands on the table.  "What have I done wrong?!  Why do people wish to oppose me?!"

     "Armand, you must not give in to despair.  Things like this take time, people must see that change is good and begin to change.  We will work toward that, beginning here."  Von Krager stepped up and put a hand on his shoulder.  "And sometimes, we must show willingness to use force.  Appeasement cannot be permitted.  So let me get the Army ready, and tomorrow we will go to the Security Council for approval."

     Giuseppe stood up and leaned against the table.  "Yes, the Security Council.  You do that."  He looked back to the wall and heard a voice in his head say,  See?  Your dream is again threatened by the nationalists and imperialists.  Crush them, Armand, gain your future!

     "Immediately."  Von Krager turned hell and walked out.  Giuseppe walked up to the wall and leaned against it with his left arm, clutching his head with his right hand and feeling his gray hair as it slowly became filled with sweat.  No, I can't let this damned voice get to me again.

     You can hear me, Armand, and you know I'm right.  You know that if you do not utterly destroy those who oppose you your dream will die here.

     Be quiet!  Be quiet!  Giuseppe hit his right hand on his head.  He wanted the voice to stop, and to stop now.  It was annoying him, pulling him into darkness, and he could not let that happen.  He had to think about Antonia, and all the people that any violence could hurt.

     You will learn, in due time...

     After that last comment, Giuseppe spent several moments listening, but all he could hear was his own breathing and the pumping of his heart.  He shook his head and stumbled back to the desk.  He had to prepare himself for the next day, the day when it would all go on the line.

 

 

Security Council Chamber, United Nations Assembly Building

Geneva, Geneva Canton, Swiss Confederation

16 June 2011

 

     General chaos had gripped the Security Council Chamber by the time Giuseppe and von Krager entered the room.  On the wall, a computer map presentation of the Balkans was laid out for all to see.  The focus was on Yugoslavia, where the obvious division of Kosovo, Serbia, and Montenegro was widely visible.  The different Yugoslavian republics were colored differently, and for good reason, as von Krager would expound upon as he stepped up to address the Security Council members.  Following the withdrawal of Britain and Australia, then New Zealand and the rest of Australia's Oceanic Alliance, the Security Council had been reshuffled and now found itself dominated by France, India, and Germany.  In addition, the military buildup of the Ukraine and other former Soviet Republics in anticipation of conflict with Russia had left those nations on the council in a superior position to the less powerful nations, including Vietnam.  Brazil had the distinction of being the only Western Hemisphere nation on the Security Council, as they were the only South American nation powerful enough to assert it's will across the world and politically strong-willed enough to resist American opposition to increased UN powers.

     Giuseppe was first up to the speaking platform, with von Krager at his side.  "I thank you for attending this urgent meeting, fellow delegates.  As you may well know, fourty-eight hours ago, the Republic of Montenegro broke away from Yugoslavia, citing the Serb-centric policies of the main government and mistreatment of non-Serbs in the nation.  Through satellite observation and resources within the Serbian government, we have learned that the Serbians are mobilizing their army to forcefully re-integrate Montenegro into the Yugoslavian nation.  Similar measures will likely be taken against Kosovo.  For a more detailed analysis, I turn this meeting over to my Director of Defense, Reinhard von Krager."

     Giuseppe stepped back, and von Krager stepped up to the microphone.  "Security Council delegates, within the past day, satellite photography has confirmed that at least one half of the Yugoslavian Army has begun movement to the southwest, at Kosovo and Montenegro, and they will likely strike as soon as they have a guaranteed advantage over the Kosovars and Montenegrans.  Both of these regions have little to resist with, as the Serbians were certain to keep their contributions to the Yugoslavian army in their territory, and thus they have either been detained or reorganized into more ethnically-concentrated units to free up Serbian troops for operations against Montenegro.  The Montenegrans know this is coming.  And they have requested that we deploy the divisions of peacekeepers we have in Croatia and Macedonia to attack Serbia first."

     "Director von Krager, what of Russia?"  Ambassador Quataluja of Brazil raised a hand and began speaking.  "Russia has affirmed her mutual-defense treaty with Belgrade, if we act against them it might cause war."

     A storm of murmuring filled the Council Chamber.  Von Krager appealed for calm with a silent gaze, not bothering to speak until they quieted, which they did about two seconds after they began.  "Ambassador Quataluja has a very good question.  I can only say that I do not think Russia would risk war with Europe when China has over five hundred thousand troops waiting to reclaim Manchuria.  And, it would be wise to remember that we have spent nearly fifteen years trying to protect the other ethnic populations of this region from Serb aggression.  We cannot simply abandon them now.  Even without Britain we have sufficient military capability to force the Serbs back and make the Russians think twice about aggressive conflict.  And, we need not worry a nuclear strike against Europe by the Russians, thanks to the European Union's new ABM shield."  Von Krager coupled his hands together.  "The commander of our local forces is General Wolfgang Berssaus of Germany.  I have already drafted orders from him to begin offensive operations against Serbia in support of the Montenegrans and Kosovars.  All I require is your authorization.  This briefing is completed."  He stepped back from the podium and allowed Giuseppe to step in.

     Upon stepping up to the podium, Giuseppe began speaking.  "Friends, the thought of armed conflict chills me to the bone.  But, as I stated in my inaugeration address, we cannot repeat the mistakes of the past and appease aggressors.  We must act, and act decisively, to ensure that the violence does not spread.  I ask for you to vote on releasing the troops to protect the people of these nations from Serbian aggression."

     It was about three minutes before the Ukrainian ambassador made the first vote with an aye.  The rest of the ambassadors followed suit within the next three minutes, each with an aye vote.  Finally, all that remained was Ambassador Quataluja.  He looked over at his aides, seeming to dislike the attention that the rest of the room riveted upon him.  "This decision," he finally stated, "is too great for me to make alone on behalf of Brazil.  I will abstain until my government gives me an answer to make."

     "Then, we have fourteen in favor of, none against, and one member abstaining.  Now that we have decided to take action," Giuseppe continued, "we should decide on the wording of our resolution.  I am open to suggestions..."

 

 

Outside the Swiss Embassy

Belgrade, Serbia, Federation of Yugoslavia

19 June 2011

 

     All day the TVs showed the same images.  The images of UN tanks and APCs firing on Serbian forces, UN aircraft from the EUDF dropping bombs on Serbia.  The efforts of an entire world to forbid Serbia from regaining Montenegro and keeping the Federation strong.  To keep the Serbian people downtrodden, oppressed.  For Branislav Kajic, and many other young teenage Serbians, it was a horrendous crime, an attempt to destroy their future.  And they would not take it.

     This was the reason that the brown-haired seventeen year old with baby blue eyes and a quick smile now had a scowl on his lips, dirt in his face, and a fully loaded AK-47 in his arms and strapped over his right shoulder.  The heat wave that had rolled into his homeland had brought temperatures up past thirty degrees Centigrade, and sweat was plentiful on his bare chest and back.  The heat made him feel a bit miserable, and increased the anger he felt as he joined a crowd of a few hundred other Serbs, most young and of both genders, trying to break into the Swiss embassy.  The Swiss, the nation that hosted the UN, and accomplices in the crimes being committed against the Serbian people.  The name made his heart pound with rage.  They had no right to mistreat his people for they had suffered enough in the past hundred years.  And they would be punished.

     The gate that stood between the street and the embassy was strong, and the weight pressing against it was not enough to move it.  Branislav thought he heard some people shouting for a vehicle with which to ram the gate open.  He looked around to see if anyone was getting something but eventually brought his gaze back to the embassy.  On top of the building, the twin flags of the United Nations and Switzerland fluttered quietly in the light breeze, even as the people inside stayed away from the closed windows.  Just a few minutes before, some of Branislav's compatriots had put bullets into the external air conditioning unit, meaning that the people inside were by now baking in the summer heat.  For a moment, he could not blame them, because he knew that the instant a single head appeared at the window a hail of gunfire would come.

     A hand touched his sweaty soldier, and he turned to see a larger and well-built Serb dressed much like himself standing beside him.  "You, can you help me get some people over the wall?  They can open the gate from the inside."

     Branislav nodded gleefully and joined the young Serb near the gate.  Being fairly strong and well built, Branislav was immediately selected by the older twenty-something in charge of the group near the gate to help lift other Serbs clinging to wooden poles appropriated from a nearby construction site.  They climbed onto the top of the wall, holding on to the bar at the top, and began hoisting themselves over.

     From the corner of his eye, Branislav saw a bright flash from one of the windows.  A spurt of blood came down on him, followed by the boy they had been lifted up.  His forehead was a bloody mess, and his aquamarine eyes were devoid of life.  Branislav held the boy, who could not have been older than fourteen, in his arms, only to have him snatched away by another young man.  He watched in horror as the boy was brought to an older woman and man.  The woman began crying histerically, screaming out a male name with anguish.  Watching the mother and father of the boy grieve, Branislav's rage grew.  He felt his heart pound with anger and his mouth went dry.  He looked down and felt tears roll from his eyes as he saw some of the boy's blood on his hands.

     And then, the gate opened.

     Branislav turned just in time to notice the gate begin to crack, and immediately broke into a run to join those at the forefront of the advance into the embassy.  He shouted with the crowd at the top of his lungs, adulation for their accomplishment pushing him past the bullets coming from some of the windows without allowing fear to register in his mind.  Some of the others fell with bullets in their bodies, the wounded crying out in agony while the dead remained silent.  Branislav thought he felt a bullet whiz by his ear, and later, he would actually see the blood of a near miss on his shoulder.  But the rage within him kept him moving.

     Once inside the embassy, the gunfire began going two ways.  Branislav joined two other Serbs around his age in moving to the right wing of the embassy, looking for the Swiss embassy guards firing on them.  As the pointman, a blond Serb, entered a doorway, a hail of bullets cut him down, and he was dead before he hit the floor.  Branislav and the other Serb stepped into the doorway firing.  The AK-47 in his arm, set to full automatic fire, would have been impossible for any other sixteen year old to aim, but Branislav had the fortune of a father who had served faithfully in fighting the insurgents of Kosovo, and knowing Branislav would also be doing this had prompted his father to teach him to fire automatic weapons.  He kept the assault rifle as steady as he could considering the recoil, sweeping his fire over an embassy guard crouched by the window.  Blood exploded from the guard's chest and neck as the rounds from Branislav's tore through his body.  His heart stopped after a round blew open the left ventricle, the cause of the blood now spewing out of the hole in his chest.  Branislav would have moved the gun to kill the other guard, but his comrade had taken care of that.  The young Serb blinked at Branislav with a pair of gray eyes, and then fell to the floor.  A pool of blood formed under him from where the guards' guns had blown holes in his lungs and chest.  Branislav kneeled by the other teenager, rolling him on his back, and could tell that he had died.  He looked up and saw the bullet-riddled corpses of the embassy guards.  The only regret I have is that two Serbs had to die to kill these pigs, he thought angrily as he reached into his army trouser pocket and retrieved another clip for his gun.  He stepped out into the main hall, following a flood of Serbs up the stairs.  He could hear shouts of fear and the sound of gunfire throughout the building, but eventually the gunfire began to subside.  Branislav stepped into an officer room and found a trio of people in summer clothing huddling together at the far corner, between the wall and a chair.  Two of them, a man and woman, were older, and the teenage girl between them was obviously their daughter.  The girl shouted "Papa!" as the older man got up.  In Serbian, the older man demanded, "What do you think you are doing?!  You have no right to attack us!  We are..."

     Before he could finish, Branislav slipped his gun into semi-automatic fire mode and pulled the trigger.  A geyser of blood erupted from the man's chest, and he fell to the ground.  The two females kneeled down beside him, screaming and crying in a language that Branislav did not recognize, but assumed to be French.  Branislav did not stop to consider their gender, his anger over the deaths of so many of his countrymen still raging in his heart, and put a bullet in the older woman.  The young girl now went over to her mother's body, weeping histerically.  Branislav raised the gun at her, hate in his eyes as he went to pull the trigger.

     And then, he stopped.  He watched her huddle, in her low-cut sleeveless blouse of blue and knee length red skirt, and admired the shape of her body.  He took a step toward the girl and lowered his gun.  She noticed the shadow from him standing over her and looked up.  Her eyes froze in fear as she saw the intent in Branislav's eyes.  She raised her arms and began screaming in whatever language she spoke.  Branislav grabbed her wrist with his left hand and pulled her to her feet.  "Shut up!", he screamed at her, tired of hearing her crying.  When she grew worse from the pain in her wrist, he used his right hand to punch her in the mouth.  The force of his blow knocked the girl backward and into the chair.  His punch had caused two of her teeth to fall out and onto the floor in front of him, and Branislav angrily stomped on the teeth.  Branislav looked around the room for something better suited to hold her down.

     Two other young Serbs entered the door, both wearing shirts and knee-length trousers.  Each held a gun or had one tucked away at the waist.  The first one was smaller than Branislav, appearing somewhat unkept thanks to his shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes that were dark with anger.  The second, with a wolfish grin crossing his face now that he had noticed Branislav's prize, had no hair, and someone had colored the flag of Serbia on his bald crown.  His blue eyes told of just how pleased he was to see the girl that was now trembling in the chair, with blood flowing down her chin.  "She is pretty."

     "I know."  Branislav grinned.  "How many of them are left?"

     "We have gotten onto all of the floors.  Some are dead, others..."  A female scream came from outside the door, likely in another room or in the nearby hall.  "...are being taken care of."  The second male looked over at the two dead bodies.  "You killed them both?"

     "Yes.  Just as I killed the two guards in the room on the right."

     "Little bitch!"  The small male walked up to the girl in the chair.  He crumpled up the fabric of her blouse with his hand and lifted her up.  "Do you think you are better than us?!  Do you enjoy watching our people die from the bombs and bullets of your people?!  Answer me!  ANSWER ME!"  The girl whimpered with fear, and he belted her across the mouth angrily, and then threw her onto an office desk.  That action, in turn, caused papers to fly off the desk and flutter onto the ground.  She rolled on the desk, and spit blood and another couple of teeth onto it's wooden surface.

     "Loji, calm down," the larger one said, getting between him and the girl.  He looked over at Branislav.  "You, boy, have you ever had a girl before?"

     "No," Branislav answered, walking up to within a meter of the desk.  "Not at all."

     "Well, how would you like to become a man?  You've already done one important thing."  The youth gestured to the two dead bodies on the floor.  "Now, for the other."  He reached into his waist and brought out a knife.  He removed it from it's scabbard and turned to the girl.  "Loji, take her by her arms and hold her still!"

     "As long as I get a turn after the boy is done, Janko," Loji answered, walking around the table.

     The girl looked up at Janko as Loji moved into position, her eyes betraying the paralyzing fear she felt.  "Yes, I will have the last turn with her."  Janko waited until Loji had seized the girl's arms, and brought the knife down at her.  She kicked and screamed, trying to squirm free.  Janko slipped the knife under her blouse at the navel and began cutting upward.  He snipped her bra off in the same cutting motion, and moved the severed halves to the side.  The girl's eyes reflected her fear while Janko used the knife to cut off the rest of her clothing, leaving it as severed parts underneath her naked body.  Branislav looked into her eyes and for an instance found himself pitying her.  But the sight of a naked girl, her heaving breasts and what he could see of her genitalia, had begun to boil Branislav's blood.  Desire filled him as Janko took her right arm, leaving Loji to hold her left.  He bent over to kiss her, wanting to feel that sensation, and tasted the blood from where he and Loji had knocked her teeth out.  Her breath was warm and frantic, and he pulled his face away because he did not want to feel it.  She began whimpering something in her native language, something Branislav did not understand.  Her eyes, however, he did understand.  The way the light of the room reflected in them, the way they were shaped, it told him that she was pleading with him to spare her.  To leave her alone.

     But Branislav did not care.  He had heard stories, the stories about how Serbian women were left to the rape gangs of Albanians, Bosnians, Croatians, and all the other Balkan peoples by the Serb-hating West.  His father had told him, his uncles, everyone knew just how much the Serbian people had suffered at their hands.  And now, it was time for the Serbs to inflict some of that suffering back.  He put his right hand on one of her breasts, being able for the first time to feel that part of a woman's anatomy, and felt it fit in his palm with the nipple pressing against the middle of his hand.  "She is gorgeous," he murmered, looking again into her eyes.  Those large eyes, the ones issuing a plea he was not about to hear.  Her fear, her horror, they instead fed Branislav's anger and rage.  He felt power that made his heart pound.  This feeling was something he could get used too.

     "Stop groping her and get on with it!", Loji shouted.

     "I caught her," Branislav retorted, his voice barely audible over another scream echoing down the hall.  "You are lucky I did not shoot her.  I will take what I want from her, and then you will have your turn."  He reached down to his trousers and unzipped the front.

     And the girl screamed louder than she had before.

 

 

     The sky was a crimson red when Branislav stepped up to a window.  He opened his mouth and yawned, then put his arms against the window frame and leaned against it for support.  The rush of storming the embassy, and then the excitement and physical exertion of raping the young Swiss girl in the next room, had exhausted him to an extent.  He could still hear her whimpering, meaning that Janko was still having his second turn with her.  The girl had screamed for nearly ten minutes while Branislav and then Loji had raped her, with Loji taking time to beat her until he had reached his climax, but having most of her teeth knocked out and being forced to swallow semen by Loji had brought her cries down to mere whimpers.  Branislav recalled the scene and shook his head in disgust.  Penetrating her forcefully was one thing, but Loji appeared to have enjoyed torturing the girl.  Branislav found himself wondering why he cared, considering all of the anger and hate he felt toward foreigners, but he had a line that he did not want to cross and Loji had gleefully stepped over that line.

     Janko's turn had been uneventful, but by the time they were urging Branislav to take her again, one of the other young Serbs was running around the building with a video camera, apparently having decided to record their actions for posterity.  Branislav didn't like it at all, but Janko convinced him that everything would be fine.  The government was too busy fighting for Serbia's survival to punish them, and would likely have no motivation to do so anyway.  Russia might object on moral grounds but they were more concerned with an excuse to take the former Soviet Republics and rebuild the Russian Empire of old.  And, Russia was large enough and powerful enough that their victory over Giuseppe's fledgling and untried UN was considered certain by the entire nation.  "I say we send this to Geneva, to make Giuseppe squirm," Loji had boasted, posing for a moment of film by putting his hand on the girl's thigh and laughing.  Despite his better judgement, Branislav had let the moment get to him, and so he raped the girl a second time with the camera showing every bit of it.  She had not even resisted by this time, her body petrified by fear and Loji's sadistic abuse, and her mind reeling from the assault she was under.  When he was done he had left the room, allowing Loji to take another turn.  The sounds of his beating on her still echoed, and Branislav realized that he was enjoying himself far too much.

     The sounds of footsteps prompted Branislav to turn around.  Janko was standing in the doorway, flexing his arms.  "You enjoyed the girl?"

     "Yes.  But, why is Loji like that?"

     Branislav looked back toward the room.  "Loji's older sister was raped and tortured by the Albanians while she was staying in Pristina, and the West never brought her attackers to justice.  This is Loji's way of getting justice for his sister."

     "I see.  I thank God that my family has never suffered like that."

     "Where are you from, Branislav?"

     "A village near Ruma, close to the Sava River."  Branislav picked up his weapon from where he had set it down.  "I came as soon as I heard.  I even brought my father's Army issue weapon because I believed we would storm the Western embassies before they could leave."

     "We were lucky," Janko said before taking a seat.  He looked out at the setting sun.  "What will you do when you return home, Branislav?"

     Branislav stretched out his right arm and flexed his muscle.  "My father owns a few farm animals and a store, and I will likely begin working there."  A slight grin crossed his face.  "I know a girl, Krissa.  She is very beautiful.  I hope that she will let me be her husband one day."

     "So, you are in love?"

     "Greatly."  Branislav nodded.  His smile grew from the thought of Krissa and the way she smiled.  "I... I almost said no to having the girl, because I wanted to save myself for Krissa."

     "I understand completely," Janko agreed.

     Before he could speak again, Branislav noticed movement outside the door.  He picked up his rifle and looked out.  The girl was leaning against the opposite wall in the hall.  Her feet slowly inched forward, blood running down the inside of her legs, because of the trauma inflicted upon her.  Her right eye was swollen shut, the left almost as bad, and blood had gathered around her chapped lips and her nostrils.  Branislav physically shuttered because she looked much worse than what he had last seen her.

     "Get back here you damn bitch!"  Loji emerged from the room with a twisted expression of rage on his face.  He grabbed her by the arm and threw her against the wall, where she fell to a sitting position.  "I have not finished with you yet, what makes you think you can leave!"  He kicked her in the stomach, and when her grunt did not satisfy him, he kicked her again and connected the tip of his boot with the nipple on her left breast.  The resulting squeal satisfied his desire to see an effect from the pain he was causing.  "I've only begun with you, girl."  He pulled her back to her feet.  "When I am finished with you, it will be just like my poor sister.  You will be so ravished that you will be unable to have children, and no man would take you anyway.  You will have to become a whore to get any enjoyment from men.  Again, just like my sister."

     "Loji!"  Branislav took Loji's right arm after receiving an approving nod from Janko, who was now standing in the doorway.  "You have done enough to avenge your sister.  Leave the girl be.  We will need hostages."

     "There are many more besides her!," Loji ranted, trying to pull himself free from Branislav's iron grip.  Despite the age difference between them, Branislav's superior muscle strength kept Loji from freeing himself.  "Let go of me before I hit you!  Janko!  Stop this little farm brat!"  Loji turned his head and sneered at Branislav.  "Have you lost yourself, boy?  Are you showing sympathy for the enemies of our people?"

     "I am like you, Loji.  I am a Serb.  I hate the West.  But this is one girl, and a young one at that.  We have had our way with her, that is enough."

     "She belongs to me, boy!"  Loji pulled away from him again.  "Besides, she will likely never see her home again.  Once Russia joins the war we will no longer need these people as hostages and we can kill them anyway."

     "Is that what is going to happen?"  Branislav turned to Janko.

     "In all likelihood, yes," Janko answered.

     "Then, what is the point for this to continue?"  Branislav picked up his rifle and slipped the safety off.  He pointed it toward the girl.

     "What?!  What are you doing?!", Loji demanded.

     "I am ending this."

     "No!  I am not through with her yet!"  Loji grabbed at Branislav's gun, and Branislav used his left elbow to knock Loji in the jaw.  He fell backward and to the ground.  Branislav did not bother looking at his enraged eyes.  He brought the gun up and slipped it into semi-automatic fire mode.  He tried to look at the girl, but her eyes were so full of pain that he found he could not look her directly in the eye.  Instead he focused his view on her torso, noticing where his hands had smeared blood on her chest, before pulling the trigger.  The first bullet shot into her rib cage and become lodged there.  The second and third hit her in the rib cage.  Her blood poured out of the wounds and into her lung, where it would drown her.  It did not get that chance when Branislav fired a fourth round that found her heart.  It went straight through the left ventricle and out the other end of her body.  Bright red blood spewed from the wound.  Branislav watched the girl slump against the wall, smearing blood along it's white surface as she fell to a sitting position.  She hit the floor and her head slumped to the side.  Her eyes now appeared lifeless, with no sign of life left in her body.  Janko looked down at the corpse and said nothing.  Branislav took in a breath.  He finally found the nerve to look at her eyes, and for a moment thought that they looked almost pleased.  As if she were happy that her fate had come, that she was dead and her body's injuries could no longer make her hurt.  Branislav looked over to say something to Loji, but he had already walked away.  His hunger for inflicting pain is not satisfied, he thought.

     "I suppose it does not matter," Janko sighed.  "We should put her with the other dead foreigners."

     "I'll help, and then I'm leaving," Branislav said.

     Janko blinked with surprised as he reached down and took the girl's ankles.  "You won't stay to hear the Russian declaration of war?"

     "No."  Branislav looked at the girl's lifeless body for a moment before taking her wrists.  "I've had my fill of this."

 

 

The Kremlin

Moscow, Russian Federation

20 June 2011

 

     The decently warm summer air had descended upon Moscow's streets, a comfortable change from the chilling winter that was still fresh in the minds of Moscovites.  It was late, nearly 0130 Moscow Time, and the city's activity was notable for that time period.  The city's police performed their usual patrols, which were still not enough to dissuade most criminals from performing their illegal activities.  Drugs and guns were the typical purchases of these meetings.  Less harmful crimes were also being committed, with a handful of men making their way onto the streets and seeking out the service of prostitutes, and said prostitutes waiting for a client to service.  This dark underbelly for the sprawling metropolis, the center of power for one of the largest and most powerful nations in the world, was something that those in power did not want to accept as true.  Russia was supposed to be a nation of discipline and purity, her people having restored the Motherland to it's place in the world with their glorious conquest of Manchuria and territories lost to their former comrades in the Soviet Union.  The idea of prostitutes selling their bodies for men seeking mere sexual pleasure, or of criminals dealing drugs and guns with which Russians could kill their fellow Russian, was scorned by Russian leadership, who favored the view of the loyal Russian serving his or her Motherland by maintaining mental discipline and contributing to the common good.  Russian men were meant to serve in the Army, or run things at home, with Russian women marrying and producing many children so that Russia's population disadvantage against her many potential foes would not be fatal.  The Russian government demanded loyalty to their Motherland, and anything less earned those who failed to live up to that expectation scorn and even punishment.

     The revival of Russian power was most visible in the area around the Kremlin, the great citadel that served as the seat of power for the vast Russian state.  For the casual observer, it was easy to see that something was up inside the facility.  Armed guards stood at every entrance, and in the towers and on the rooftops snipers were in position to shoot anything that moved without authorization.  Within the walls, a quartet of powerful T-99 tanks, the greatest main battle tank in the world, stood ready to destroy any vehicles that managed to penetrate the gate.  The lights of the main governmental building were shining brightly, and it was easy to see movement in the window for the large conference room on one of the upper floors, typically utilized by the President or Premier.  Within the room was Viktor Zhakov, the President of the Russian Federation.  He visually surveyed his cabinent, including Premier Vladimir Sakhirov, and the leaders of each of Russia's military services.  A large map of European Russia, displaying the vast numbers of divisions deployed on their western frontier, adorned the long wall that ran parallel to the table at which they sat.  Small cups of tea were at each man's side, although Premier Sakhirov, Army Chief of Staff General Rodenko, and Minister of Defense Constantine Dolotka, a dour individual named with a harsh expression and a large bulk, were known for having copious amounts of vodka at night, and as such it was likely they would not partake of the tea as they would prefer their favorite poison.  Zhakov broke the stiff air of the room by asking, "Has the situation remained unstable?"

     "Three divisions of the new UN Army, under the command of an officer of the German military named Wolfgang Berssaus, have landed in Montenegro," Dolotka grumbled.  "The Serbians are falling back, and President Myclavic has already requested aid from Russia."

     Zhakov nodded slowly while Sakhirov asked, "And what aid can we give?"

     The generals looked at each other and Dolotka.  "All aid would have to be airlifted in, under UN air superiority," Air Force commander Aleksandr Romanov stated.  "The losses to UN-controlled anti-air systems would make the operation meaningless."

     "There is another possible approach," General Sergei Rodenko interrupted.  "We could declare war, and launch our planned invasion of Eastern Europe."

     "Are you certain that is wise?"  Zhakov steepled his fingers.  "The Chinese might use the opportunity to strike at our backs, take back Manchuria and even the Far East.  Is it worth the risk?"

     "Yes, President, but you forgot our aid from the United States."  A older man with a thick build and an equally thick beard folded his hands on the table.

     "Admiral Padorin, are you referring to the ships sold to us by the United States?"

     "Yes, I am Mister President.  With these ships, we could easily attain naval superiority over the Europeans.  They no longer have the promise of support from Britain or the United States to oppose us.  And, the United States Pacific Fleet and Japanese Navy can keep our Pacific ports open should the Chinese seek to get involved."

     "And we will just have to hope that the Japanese do not decide to push their claims to the Kuriles and the southern half of Sakhalin Island," General Rodenko snickered.

     "Southern Sakhalin is a worthy price to pay for Japanese support in suppressing Giuseppe's new army," Sakhirov noted.  "And there is the matter of Giuseppe himself.  Considering what we've heard of the man, the instant our tanks enter the Ukraine, Finland, and the Baltic states, he will sue for peace.  He is a pacifist, he has no stomach for such a war."

     "Would you bet our nation's life on that, Vladimir?", Zhakov asked warily.

     Sakhirov nodded and gave a wolfish smile.  "I would, Viktor.  He is a coward.  He does not want war, and if we show we are willing to go to war over this he will bend to our will.  I am certain we can get many concessions out of the United Nations and the European Union.  Economic benefits, arms reductions, perhaps we can even make them allow Serbia to regain other former Yugoslavian territory?  A strong Serbia would be a great ally, and allow us to threaten their southern flank in the event of a war."

     "And, in a few more years, we could absorb the Ukraine and the Baltic nations," Rodenko added.  "The important thing is to remove Giuseppe before he does any more damage."

     Zhakov shook his head.  "That still does not answer the question of China.  I want to know, General, on how you plan to deal with the Chinese divisions sitting on our border."

     "Perhaps we could ask the US for a detachment of troops to defend the border?"

     Rodenko responded to Sakhirov's suggestion with a bellowing laugh.  "Premier, have you forgotten?  That bitch Saunders has castrated the American military.  They could only give us a handful of divisions, most of them poorly armed compared to even our standards."

      "Yet the Americans have very effective weapons they could aid us in defense with," Sakhirov pointed out.

      "You mean those expensive cruise missiles their Navy uses?  Or how about their smart bombs?  Smart ICBMs?  Hover weapons?  All toys, children's toys that rarely work as well as she and her supporters claim, and barely a problem for the PLA if they want to attack!"  Rodenko shook his head.  "No, Premier, instead we use the extension of their ABM shield.  If China begins to attack, we employ nuclear weapons to remove their divisions, and then detonate a nuclear weapon over one of their large cities as a reprisal for their aggression.  Nobody in the United States will give a damn, not after Taipei."

     Zhakov nodded slowly and with fatigue.  Sakhirov looked over at him and took a sip of tea before saying, "Mister President, this may be our only chance.  We must strike now.  With a proper declaration of war to keep the Americans happy, of course, but the strike must come now or we may not be able to stop Giuseppe before he turns his rabble into a real army."

     "We have the ships, President, and we have the troops," Padorin added.

     Having been silent, Romanov rejoined the conversation.  "And, our bombers can take off the instant the attack is ordered," his gravelly smoker's voice intoned.

     Sakhirov noticed that Zhakov was being drawn in and made his final play for support.  "The Duma will agree to whatever you wish to do, Mister President.  Whatever is necessary for the Motherland to remain strong and healthy."

     Zhakov slowly nodded his head.  "Then, the revival of the Motherland begins here.  Europe will again tremble at the sounds of our tanks.  Inform the Duma that I wish for a declaration of war against the United Nations, for their interference in the internal affairs of Yugoslavia.  And prepare our troops for their military mission.  We will strike swiftly and win this war before the leaves begin to fall off the trees."

     Everyone nodded in agreement.  War would again rage across Europe.

 

 

The Oval Office, The White House

Washington D.C, United States of America

20 June 2011

 

     Denise Saunders wanted to scream.

     The world was going to hell.  Giuseppe's UN, Serbia, and Russia would likely begin a war by the end of the week.  And despite her own alliance with Russia, not only did Saunders not want to participate, but the American people themselves were leaning toward aiding the Italian upstart and his UN against the Serbs.  Most Americans had decently long memories, they remembered the short-lived rash of Serb terrorism in the earlier portion of the decade and general troubles with Serbia for the past twenty years.  Secondly, rumors had already begun that the Serbs had brutally massacred the denizens of the Swiss Embassy when they overran it, and this inflamed opinion even more.

     Yet it was Russia that hinged on her livelihood and keeping her dream for America alive.  Her entire plan was to allow Russia to keep everyone's attention away, and the heat off the US, while she reformed it from within into a more enlightened and superior nation.  She needed time to purge all of the silly extremists, the religious fundamentalists, the militarists, and the corporate lobbyists that had bankrolled Bush and his father, since they were the great threat to her Great Society.  And unlike LBJ, she did not want a Vietnam War to ruin her Society.

     Saunders looked out the window in disgust, seeing protesters holding their silly little signs as they demanded "justice" for the people abused by Serbia.  Justice?  Has Bush's rhetoric blinded them?  There is no justice on this planet, only the fulfillment of political interests.  Everything revolves around politics, economies, wars, everything.  And my political interests mean that I cannot let this country get sucked into Giuseppe's little empire.

     Not that Saunders completely hated Giuseppe.  No, she knew he was a capable politician, if a bit silly from his complete lack of ability to hide his motives to the fullest.  He did not view politics as she did, namely, as a war of it's own, and he let his enemies know exactly what he was planning.  He had deluded himself into thinking he could move openly in taking power.  That the people he brought under his control would love him and they would all work as one to fulfill his goals.  Saunders was not so naive.  There were many Americans who believed her wrong and fought her tooth and nail.  She had been forced to give them some concessions, such as not fully-integrating the armed services as one and not dissolving the Marine Corps as a whole, and not completely scrapping every "conventional" weapon in the military.  Silly, archiac morons, she ranted to herself.  Still clinging to the old ways of fighting, of thinking.  They still see themselves fighting massive land wars, island campaigns, ha!  All warfare of the future will be decided by who has the best technology, who can deploy the best and do it fast.  As it stands the Air Force I have constructed can easily win any war we must fight, nothing can stop them.  It'll be like Desert Storm.  Those thoughts of glory made Saunders smile.  She hoped that maybe she would have an excuse to aid Russia after all, maybe just show just how powerful her military was, and shut up her critics.

     The door opened and Secretary of State Tresanger stepped in.  "Madame President, you called for me?"

     "This is a fine mess, Donald.  What am I to do?"  Saunders put her fingers on her chin.  "The country wants Serb blood almost as badly as some of the Europeans do.  Intelligence says that the Serbs beat and raped the people of the embassy before murdering them wholesale, and I'm sure they're right, and when that gets out there will be one hell of a shitstorm.  Included in it will be a demand to aid Giuseppe, even though he's made his terms for resumed US-European cooperation, terms I am not about to accept.  And if they go to war with Russia, I am bound by treaty to aid Russia, even if that bastard Zhakov starts it!"

     "Neutrality is probably our best bet for now," Tresanger stated in a subdued tone.

     "I can't remain neutral," Saunders said.  "Zhakov will tear up the treaty and those bastard conservatives will be able to make a real push at me next year because we'll have lost part of our defense plan."

     "So, you're going to disappoint some of our party members and go to war with Giuseppe anyway?"

     Saunders slammed her palms on the desk.  "Damn them all to hell!  I'm too damned busy trying to fix this country to bother getting pulled into some bullshit war over Serbia!"

     "Well, let them make that decision," Tresanger recommended.  "Giuseppe might negotiate.  In fact, I think he will negotiate."

     "I damned well hope so," Saunders growled.  "Because otherwise all of our domestic plans are fucked."

     Mild way of putting the beginning of World War Three, Tresanger noted mentally.

 

 

Office of the Secretary-General, United Nations Assembly Building

Geneva, Geneva Canton, Swiss Confederation

21 June 2011

 

     Von Krager revelled in the quiet that had set in on the conference room for Giuseppe's office.  The present officials, all members of Giuseppe's immediate staff as General-Secretary, were anxious to begin the briefing, although von Krager was certain they were not anxious to see their boss's response to the damning tape that they had just been given.  It had arrived from Bulgaria, within twenty four hours of news that the Swiss Embassy in Serbia, where the UN staffs responsible for coordinating with Serbia's leadership were stationed, had been besieged by an angry mob of Serbian nationalists before they could evacuate.  The entire complex and all of Europe, and indeed, all of the world, were at their wit's end to see how the crisis would unfold.  They were all waiting to see how Secretary-General Armand Giuseppe, champion of peace and human dignity, would react to the aggression of Serbia with Russia's backing.

     The German over at the screen and frowned.  He had viewed the tape, and knew what it meant.  Knew what it could cause.  He just had to see how Giuseppe and the others would take it.  Most of the men in the room were small underlings, little better than secretaries and only in charge of Giuseppe's offices in various nations and regions, with only Von Krager and Director of Internal Affairs Francis Monsieu as autonomous officials.  Monsieu was an interesting human being, at least to von Krager.  Staunchly anti-theist, Monsieu saw religion as the root of all evil in mankind, but his generally non-violent nature prevented him from doing anything more than calmly expressing his view.  The wiry Frenchman, with the stereotypical thin moustache under his nose that was darker than the graying hair on the outer edges of his shining crown of skin, was little more than a follower.  A sycophant, who had latched onto Giuseppe's cause because he saw it as useful to humanity, and because he needed direction that Giuseppe's powerful personality provided.  This had the effect of rendering him completely ineffectual, since he was reliant on Giuseppe for approving of his actions.  Thus, von Krager was the only truly important official on Giuseppe's staff that could effect policy.  That, to him, was the most important thing of all.

     However, even though most of the others were underlings, it did not mean that all were completely powerless.  Vasan Dharuna was the Director of UN Operations in Asia Region 2, otherwise known as the Indian Subcontinent.  Dharuna's build was large from a youth of Army service.  His cold brown eyes and the dark complexion of his skin and hair mingled perfectly with his dark business suit.  His lips were thick for his mouth and he had somewhat of a pug nose that did not do well for his appearance, and had been the subject of several caricatures in editorial cartoons.  As the former Prime Minister of India Dharuna had overseen the repulsion of a China-backed Maoist insurgency in Nepal, and had permanently settled the Kashmir question with Pakistan.  Those efforts had brought him in Giuseppe's favor, although von Krager had been careful to make sure Dharuna hid the nastier truths about his activities, namely his connections to several extremist Hindu organizations that had helped win his "victories" over Nepal and Pakistan through the use of various "undesired" mechanisms, and his general militaristic streak, which had contributed after Pakistan was weakened in it's civil war against Taliban exiles driven from Afghanistan and could not resist subtle threats of force made by Dharuna's strengthened Indian military.   Von Krager felt that keeping these things a secret from Giuseppe was a necessity.  Dharuna was immensely popular in India, although despised by rivals in the government, and his position within the UN was necessary to keep that nation in the UN after Britain's departure.  Even more so important was that the US and Britain had both sold India decent amounts of arms, and the toolings to make them, to ensure that India could effectively fight both Pakistan and China.  Those arms would be crucial if the UN was to survive in the event of a conflict.  Von Krager did not want to risk Giuseppe slighting Dharuna due to his anti-militarism and heightened sense of morality.

    The door opened and all heads turned.  Giuseppe was visibly haggard upon entering the conference room adjacent to his main office.  The months of unending tension had already begun to take a toll on the bright man, who had lost the energy and vigor he had displayed in times before his appointment to the leadership of the UN.  The business suit he was wearing was made of dark fabric, increasing the appearance of moodiness that he eminated with his expression and gait.  At his arm was Antonia, who quickly garnered the attention of most of the men in the room thanks to her beauty, which was not completely hidden by the modest blouse and skirt she was wearing.  Her crucifix necklace was on the outside of her clothing, hanging down to just above her cleavage.  The expression on her face belied her concern for her father's condition, and her mere presence told that her concern was great.  Monsieu looked up from his chair and asked, "How was your trip, Madmoiselle?"

     "It was comfortable," Antonia answered politely, or as politely as she could with the dismissive tone to her voice.  She helped ease her father into his chair at the head of the table, and took a seat nearby.  "What has been going wrong with this world?", she said in a low tone.

     "I am afraid, Fraulein, that much has been wrong."  Von Krager folded his hands together.  "We have received a tape with some very distressing material on it.  It contains activities performed inside the Swiss Embassy by the mob of Serbs that assaulted it."

     Shifting in his chair uncomfortably, Giuseppe asked wearily, "What is the status of the hostages?"

     "There are no hostages, Secretary-General," Monsieu answered.

     Giuseppe blinked.  "No hostages?", Antonia asked increduously.  "There were nearly a hundred people in the complex!  How could..."

     Von Krager could see the horrible realization dawn on the young woman even before he spoke and confirmed her fears.  "They have all been executed.  Murdered by the Serbian mob.  And that is not all."  He picked up the controls by his hand, and pressed the play button for the older VCR that was connected to a projector.  The tape began with a couple of Serbian men waving at the camera and laughing, both holding the easily-recognized AK-47.  Their laughter was joined by more off screen, presumably the cameraman, who was following the other two up the steps.  The camera turned to the first room on the right, and inside they could see the corpse of man in his thirties, blood strewn around the room and over his clothes from multiple gunshot wounds.  Giuseppe's eyes began to widen a bit.  His daughter clutched his hand and squeezed it to try and give him strength, although Antonia herself found it hard to overcome the horror she felt at such carnage.

     A loud scream echoed through the speaker, and the camera quickly turned to trace it's origins.  A forboding side-to-side motion in the picture, caused by unsteadiness from the person with the camera.  The camera operator stepped into the second floor's conference room and centered the camera view on the table.  A trio of young men, none seemingly older than thirty, were gathered around the table cheering on their fourth compatriot, who was laying on top of a young brown-haired woman screaming at him in Italian.  Her words were unintelligible due to the shouting of her captors, but the motions and gyration that the Serb on top of her was making made it quite obvious what had prompted her to scream in such a frantic fashion.  The camera moved up to the side and showed where they had bound her arms above her head with rope.  An exchange in Serbian occured while the woman screamed some more.  The camera moved down the table again, showing her ankles bound on each corner to keep her legs open.  Antonia gasped loudly as the woman's screams grew worse.  The Serb on top of her moved for a moment, allowing the cameraman to show that the woman was fully nude, the tattered remnants of her clothing still stuck under her body after being cut open from the front.  A hand covered the camera view and seemed to push away the camera.  When it was removed, the Serb was again on top, his trousers and underwear now around his ankles.  He shouted something in Serbian with exhorbant glee, then stopped speaking and began to make a low moaning sound.  The woman began crying bitterly in conjunction with the thrusting motions he began making.  "Fraulein, you do not have to watch if you do not want to," von Krager whispered to Antonia, who had begun weeping just as much as the woman on the screen.  Antonia did not respond to him and continued to watch the woman being raped by her captors.

     What seemed to be an eternity had passed when the Serb finished.  A couple of the others began to remove their trousers to begin their turns.  Before they finished pulling their clothes down, one of the Serbs that had accompanied the cameraman pulled out a handgun.  He sat on top of the woman and put the gun barrel to her heart.  She began whimpering while he laughed.  The man was obviously enjoying the fear gripping the young woman and the effect it was having on her after the other Serb had raped her, so he started running the gun around her body.  The woman's words were now audible for the viewers, allowing those present to comprehend her pleading as she begged for her life to be spared.  The Serb did not seem to acknowledge her sobbing and pleading while he kept the metal surface of the pistol running along her skin.  He pulled it down from her left shoulder blade and ran it over her heart and both breasts before bringing it up to the other shoulder blade.  All eyes in the room remained transfixed to the screen, save von Krager's, as he appraised the reactions of the others.  While the rest of the staff had obvious horror in their eyes, he saw that Antonia and Giuseppe were noticably different.  Giuseppe's body was tremoring, the result of this new stress being added to a host of others.  Tears rolled down from his eyes to his cheeks.  Antonia's face looked much the same, with her right hand now firmly grasping the crucifix necklace she wore from her neck.

     On the screen, the Serb with the gun thrust the gun into the woman's mouth and moved it around while laughing even louder.  His fellows did not move to oppose him, even those who were looking forward for a turn raping her, obviously cowed by the fact that he was the one who was armed.  He pulled the gun out and allowed the woman to once again plead for her life while he stood on the table, balancing himself carefully with one foot behind the other.  He pointed the gun downward at her and gave one last smile to her.  The first gunshot shocked the air of the room with the force of a lightning bolt.  A geyser of blood erupted from the woman's chest.  The second and third shots were drowned out by Antonia's horrified screech, the bullets apparently connecting to the woman's stomach.  She was still alive, although gutshot, and she cried out in agony.  The fourth bullet was fired next, tearing up her right shoulder blade and spilling blood all over the table.  Two more shots were placed to her arms and shoulders, during which Antonia finally made herself turn away.  She buried her face in her father's chest, crying histerically at watching the Serb murder the young woman.  This spared her the sight of the seventh shot.  It went right through the woman's skull and into her brain, spraying blood and brain matter onto the table.  Her body sagged and became fully limp.

     Before anything else could be seen or said on the tape, von Krager turned it off.  The faces in the room had collectively turned white from horror.  "That is not all," he said softly.  "Our count from this tape indicates that of the thirty-seven females staying at the embassy, thirty were spared outright execution and were gang-raped by the Serb mob."  He swallowed carefully and watched Giuseppe stroke his daughter's shining hair, trying to comfort her, even when he himself was obviously without comfort.  His right arm came around her back and held her in a paternal embrace.  He kissed her on the forehead and whispered something to her as she continued to weep.  When he was apparently silent, von Krager continued.  "The tape has more, much more.  And much worse.  I will not elaborate on details, but most of the tape is so graphic that releasing it in it's entirety will cause an uproar.  Some of the women in the embassy were tortured between rapings.  Many of them were mutilated.  In very graphic, perverse ways."

     "Animals," Monsieu muttered with an audible squeak in his voice.  "These were not humans that did this, but animals."

     "I am sure that most wild animals would take offense at that, Francis," von Krager stated.

     "Why did they have to do this?"  Giuseppe's voice was hoarse, almost a whisper compared to it's usual volume.  "And why did these people have to suffer these horrors?  They did nothing wrong."

     "The Serbian ultranationalist mind is a mind of logical traps, Secretary-General," von Krager answered cooly.  "Their mind is of the opinion that the entirety of the Balkans belongs to them and them alone.  Those non-Serbs who live in the region are meant to acquiese to Serbian superiority or be liquidated.  Of course, the other ethnic groups are rarely better.  The Albanians and Croatians especially have been known to have their fair share of Balkan atrocities and massacres.  This, in turn, propels Serbian hatreds and attitudes to an even greater level, so they respond in kind."  He placed his hands on the table and thumped his fingers on the controls.  "It is a sad fact of life that this region has ethnic hatreds that are completely uncontrollable."

     "Was it a mistake to get involved in the Balkans?"  Monsieu drew in a breath and tried to regain his composure.  "That region is so blood-stained..."

     "Nein," von Krager responded quickly, beating the other men to the punch.  "A stand had to be made.  But now, we must not stop at maintaining the independence of Kosovo and Montenegro.  We must advance onto Belgrade and make sure to catch the criminals responsible for this atrocity."

     "Then, we will assure ourselves of war with Russia," Dharuna pointed out.

     "No!"  Giuseppe looked up from where he was holding his daughter, a tense expression on his face.  "Starting a war will only make things worse.  I will not fight with Russia."

     "Armand, this may be our only chance."  Von Krager pointed over to the map on the wall.  "The Russians have well over 600,000 troops preparing to invade the Ukraine and the Baltic States.  European Union forces under our banner have, in recent weeks, deployed to these nations, but even they cannot hold out indefinitely if the Russians strike on all fronts.  If we are ready for them, however, with full air power and the release of French and German tactical nuclear weapons..."

    "Are you mad?!"  The sound of a pair of hands thumping on the table came from another location, causing heads to turn to the Director of UN Operations in Asia Region 3, a Vietnamese man named Pham Kha Ng.  His steely brown eyes shot daggers at von Krager from across the table.  "The use of nuclear weapons will destablize the entire world!"

     Beside him was the Associate Director of Asia Region 3, Theresa Sim, a Cambodian woman born in France.  Ng's immediate subordinate held a much calmer disposition than he, and this showed in her voice.  "Director Ng's worries are valid, but after China's accident with Taipei and American use of tactical nuclear warheads to destroy al-Qaeda strongholds in Afghanistan and Pakistan, the people are less sensitive to the idea than ten years ago.  Especially if the Russians themselves have deployed tactical nuclear weapons with their frontline units.  Then we could..."

     "Associate Director Sim, are you suggesting that we actually use these, these weapons?!", Ng stammered, due to the shock of hearing his subordinate apparently go against his position.

     "Director Ng, we do what we must do," the woman answered in a calm demeanor.  "If our enemies are willing to use these weapons, we must be.  Otherwise things become unequal, and they have the advantage."  As she spoke, Sim did not notice the appraising look von Krager was giving her.  If she had, she might have taken it as physical interest, but von Krager's interest was in a much different area.  She certainly has a stronger will than Ng.  Perhaps, if things come to war, I should arrange for her a more important posting than as his subordinate.

     "The Americans made it acceptable to employ small scale nuclear weapons eight years ago," Dharuna added.  "Which means that if we were to use them they could not claim moral high ground."

     "Keep in mind, Director Dharuna, that those actions were by the warmonger Bush," Ng countered.  "President Saunders has been far more decent than he in this regard."

     "Indeed, too much.  The US nuclear arsenal would be incapable of penetrating the European missile shield," von Krager noted.  "Which is why we have nothing to fear from the US if we act against their unruly Russian ally."

     "Secretary-General, you must not listen to these madmen," Ng pleaded to Giuseppe.  "If something like this happens it will mean the destruction of all we hold dear!  Nobody will believe us to be for peace if we fight a war!"

     "Your analysis is flawed, Director Ng," Dharuna countered.  "History has shown us that peace does not last if force is not used to maintain it."

     The argument was no longer reaching Giuseppe's mind.  The voices of his quarreling subordinates were blanked out, gone in the haze of anger and despair raging through his mind.  Antonia's subdued sobbing was the only thing he could hear and it wracked his soul with pain.  This wasn't supposed to be happening.  He was supposed to be able to bring peace to mankind, to foster brotherhood and encourage peace.  Bloodshed was wrong, no matter who's blood was shed.  Yet, the weak had to be defended against the strong.  How did one convince the strong to not attack, to leave the weak alone?  Would the strong listen to words?  Giuseppe had hoped that after a minimum level of fighting the Serbian people would listen to his pleas for peace, for negotiation, and end it.  Instead, they had taken over an embassy and murdered nearly a hundred people.  People who had done nothing wrong were killed without mercy.  The women in the embassy had been tortured and ravished by their sadistic captors before being slaughtered like farm animals that no longer had any use.  And Russia, it's expansionist nature reawakened, was poised to reconquer Eastern Europe.  "Why can't they understand?", he muttered softly, in a tone so soft even Antonia could not understand.  "Why can't they understand that the fighting must stop?  That borders, nationality, and race do not matter?  Why?"

     That was when the voice returned.

     Because it is the nature of humanity.  We naturally fear, and then despise, those who are different than we are.  Even if they are other humans, if they speak a different language, have different customs, or even have a different skin tone, they are treated as different and thus something to be feared and hated.  Fighting is a part of the human condition, it cannot be removed with kind words.  We want to have power over others.

     "You're wrong."

     Am I, Armand?  Look back through history.  Those willing to use force have always prevailed over those unwilling to use force.  You want pacifism?  Pacifism is laying on the floor and allowing others to step on you.  You cannot use pacifism to attain the unity of man.  Force will be your only workable option.

     Giuseppe shook his head and tried to force this voice out.  It was dark, more powerful than ever before, urging him to abandon all the morals he had believed in to attain his noble goal.  What frightened Giuseppe was that the voice had the side of reason.  He had hoped that he could find a new course for humanity, a way of thinking that was completely revolutionary.  Something that would forever alter mankind's fate.  "Are you saying I must kill?", he muttered.

     If half of humanity must die to ensure that the rest enjoy eternal peace, is it not a price worth paying?  Surely the lack of fighting will make up for the loss of life in the current.

     "What if people cannot be persuaded by mere words?  How can I force them to agree with me?"

     Your cause is just, Armand.  The means you use do not matter if they obtain your objective.  A world at peace with itself.  All tools that can be used must be used for the fulfillment of your dream.  All tools, even those that you would normally despise, must be applied.  It is the only way.

     "Secretary-General?"

     Giuseppe looked up and found his subordinates all looking at him.  He immediately feared that they had heard his mutterings to himself, and the last thing he needed was for them to believe him insane.  "Yes, Director Monsieu?"

     "We have reached an impasse on how to proceed," Monsieu stated.  "How do you think we should respond to the Serbian atrocities against our diplomatic staff?"

     "I must have time to think about it," Giuseppe replied.  He looked down at Antonia.  "Antonia," he whispered into her ear.  "Antonia, let me take you outside."

     "Papa, how could they?  All of those people..."

     "Madamoiselle, if you will allow me."  Monsieu stood and extended his hand toward her.  Antonia looked at him and then back at her father, who nodded.  She got to her feet and allowed Monsieu to put his left arm around her bare right arm.  She walked slowly toward the door with a pale look on her face.  Tears were still present on her cheeks and gave a silent testament to her anguish.  When she got to the door, she gave her father a last glance before leaving the room.

     The instant the door closed, von Krager turned toward Giuseppe.  "We cannot allow these actions to go unpunished, Herr Secretary-General.  To do so would be to set a bad precedent."

     "But, at the same time, we cannot drive into Serbia without starting a war with Russia," Ng countered.  "That must be avoided."

     "Must it, Director Ng?"  Von Kraged settled an icy gaze on the Vietnamese man.  "Must we huddle like frightened children around a campfire when we hear the roar of the Russian Bear?  If we respond to their aggression and inhumanity with fear and weakness we are sending out a signal that we have no stomach.  That our ideals are hollow and will not be backed up with deeds.  I hate to say it, but the lasting peace we wish to achieve might only be possible if we first show ourselves willing to fight a war.  That, and that alone, will make the Russians and other nations respect us."

     Giuseppe blinked and eerily noted how von Krager's words mirrored those of the voice deep within him.  Yet he balked at the mere thought of causing bloodshed.  There has to be another way, he insisted in his thoughts.  How can one use war to create peace?  It is inconcievable.  It's self-contradictory.

     "You sound like a true fascist, Director von Krager," Ng spat.

     "A fascist?  An amusing twist of my words, Director Ng," von Krager responded with an amused chuckle.  "No, I am not a fascist.  I do not intend to glorify military might.  However, I am pointing out that in this case, war may be a necessary evil."

     "War, a necessary evil?", Giuseppe muttered.  "How can an evil be necessary?"

     "If one must tell a lie to save lives, is that not a necessary evil?", Director Dharuna pointed out.

     Ng appeared to be on the verge of opening his mouth to speak, but before he could there was a loud knock on the door.  "You may enter," Giuseppe said wearily.  The door opened and Streicher entered.  "Associate Director Streicher?"  Giuseppe rubbed his head.  "I thought you were in the Ukraine overseeing the Combined Army maneuvers?"

     "I was, until three hours ago."  Streicher wiped his forehead of sweat.  "Just over three hours ago, Russian warplanes began bombing air defense stations and airfields in the Ukraine, Baltic States, and Finland."

     Immediately the room chilled, a blanket of doom coming down upon the assembled Directors and stifling them to the point where they could not speak for a moment.  Von Krager took a moment before asking, "How extensive are the strikes?"

     "We are not sure yet," Streicher answered.  "I have sent out the order for our troops to move closer, and the joint European-UN Air Command is preparing a quick counterstrike."

     "The second wave will likely be concentrated on bridges, roads, and airfields they were unable to hit before," von Krager stated.  He waited a moment, but the others were still having trouble getting over their initial shock.  "Our troops are not in position to hold the Russians back.  If they begin their land offensive, and they likely will within the next fourty eight hours, then they could take over the Baltic States and be advancing through Poland before we can respond.  We may have to resort to tactical nuc..."

     "Don't be a fool!", Ng hissed.  "If we use nuclear weapons than we will go against everything we claim we stand for!  The world will believe that we, and not the Russians, are the villians of this affair!"

     "The world will see this for what it is," von Krager countered.  "A Russian play for hegemony.  And they will not be against us using whatever we must to stop the Russians."  Ng began to speak again, and von Krager curtly cut him off.  "And, we already know that the Russians have deployed their own tactical nuclear warheads.  It isn't too hard to believe that the Russians intennd to use these weapons themselves, especially since the short-range ones are almost impossible to shoot down with missile defense."

     "Perhaps we should negotiate with the Russians..."

     Oblivious to the conversation around him, Giuseppe put his arms on the table and buried his face in his hands.  Why?!  We could have discussed this like civilized people, this battle did not have to happen!

     It was inevitable, the dark voice disagreed.  The Russians are a proud, arrogant people.  Their pride must be crushed.

     Giuseppe shook his head roughly.  Go away, he demanded.  I do not need to hear this!

     You do, Armand!  You must crush them!  Destroy all who stand opposed to your world, so that only those who want it can benefit from it!  You cannot tolerate opposition, it must be sought out and obliterated with whatever means are at your disposal!

    Why won't you leave me alone?  I don't want to hear you, you would have me turn on everything you stand for!

    The voice was not so easily dissuaded.  You stand for human unity.  That is what you stand for, Armand, and that means that all else must go with unity, or you must oppose it.  Dissent cannot be tolerated, it divides people instead of unifying them.  Human dignity is meaningless without people understanding that unity is all important, if a person refuses to accept unity than they do not have any rights, for they support a world of war and suffering!

     I would rather step down than do that which you demand, Giuseppe countered.  How could...

     His attention was diverted when the TV flipped back on, courtesy of von Krager.  The German's finger slipped over to the channel control and pressed one of the buttons.  After a moment of holding it down, CNN flashed on.  The screen went from a quick shot of the Kremlin to show Viktor Zhakov, President of Russia, flanked by the Premier and other cabinent members as he addressed the Russian Parliament.  The caption at the bottom of the screen displayed both the President's name and the location from which he was speaking.  The upper right corner of the screen had the words "Live Feed", which riveted attention even more to the screen.  Von Krager turned the volume up with the controls and a voice began speaking in Russian, followed by a short delay with a translater speaking in English.

     "The people of Serbia have been abused by Europe's disregard for over a decade.  The European Union, along with it's puppet United Nations, and itself a German puppet, have constantly acted to support the enemies of Serbia against that peaceful nation.  And when the people of Serbia finally decided that they had to act to protect themselves, the UN denounces them as aggressors and begins killing Serbians on behalf of murderous peoples like the Croats and Albanians."  Zhakov pounded his fist angrily on the podium as he continued to speak.  "We will not permit this to continue, and as such, our Motherland's brave pilots have begun striking targets in those lands under European dominion.  We will use all force necessary to destroy this latest attempt at European hegemony by the warmongers of Italy and Germany.  And do not be swayed by arguments that the European Union and United Nations are legitimate and free bodies, they are little more than puppets with which fascists and militarists in Germany can make another play at world domination.  We know the truth, and as such, we will defeat those who would oppress our Serb brothers and further the cause for freedom of all Slavic peoples.  We will not allow a repeat of the Great Patriotic War, when millions of our people were forced to bleed and die to defend our Motherland from fascist invaders, because this time we will strike first, and we will strike decisively.  Our army will not stop until the Germans and their European puppets give up their war, and leave all Serbian soil.  If we need to advance to Berlin again, we will.  If we need to advance all the way to Geneva, we will.  Anything to stop them before they start another Great Patriotic War, and kill another twenty million Russians!"  Zhakov stopped for a moment, during which von Krager rolled his eyes.  "Premier Sakhirov mentioned to me this morning that Giuseppe wants to have Russia peacefully rejoin his UN, and create his dream world of a global government.  And really, this makes me laugh.  Such is the way of thinking for a man who would subjugate us all under his so-called 'human unity'.  I say to this pathetic Secretary-General that he is a bad joke and a fool.  He is a fool to believe that the people of Russia will ever allow the Motherland to be led by a foreign nation, or that we will renounce our Motherland for his global nation.  Our ancestors bled for our Mother Russia and we will not sell away our birthright for scraps from the United Nations' table.  In fact, if he wants Russia to be with the UN, he will have to kill me, and every other loyal Russian!"  Cheers erupted from the assembled politicians.  "I am not kidding.  If this pacifist coward wants to bring Russia into his global government, he will have to kill each and every Russian who feels any love for the Motherland in his heart.  Not that he has the stomach for it, in fact, I am quite certain that by now he's about to beg us to stop our war.  He is a man that would sell his own soul for peace, after all."  Zhakov laughed heartily and was joined by the other Russian politicians and officials.

     As Zhakov continued his rant, vowing to make Europe leave the Serbians alone and to reclaim territory "stolen" from Russia, Giuseppe's mind reeled from the fury of Zhakov's remarks toward him.  He... he insulted me.  He insulted my dream, he insulted everything I stood for!  He wants war!  He wants to watch thousands, millions, die in the name of his petty nationalism and personal power!  He would dare do this?  He and his nation would dare to so openly flout humanity's only hope for a future of peace?!  THEY WOULD DARE TO DO THIS?!  They have to be shown that their way is wrong!  No matter what it takes, I have to stop this madness!

     Armand Giuseppe's mind snapped.

     It was actually rather inevitable, although Viktor Zhakov's rhetoric did little to help matters and accelerated it tremendously.  In that instant, Giuseppe's idealism, his dream of peace and prosperity for the future, met up with cold reality.  The cold reality that not everyone would agree with his way of thinking, and that someone would use force in that disagreement.  Humanity was not ready to peacefully unite for their common good, they just weren't common enough.  When most idealists reach this point, they realize that their dreams are simply too lofty for the real world.  So they abandon trying to impliment them, some becoming pessimistic and withdrawn out of disappointment and bitterness.  Bitterness stemming from humanity's refusal to accept a more peaceful, more equitable, outcome to certain issues.

     But not Giuseppe.  His mind refused to accept reality, he had to be right.  He could make it work!  He could do so if he convinced the people of the world to support him, and silenced those who still refused to give him that support.  Force could be used where diplomacy failed.  Whatever was necessary to accomplish the goal was justifiable because the goal was so important to him.

     So when Giuseppe's idealism crashed into cold reality, it pushed right on through, shattering Giuseppe's mind as if it were glass.  His inhibitions were gone, his morals were dedicated to the fulfillment of the goal, namely human unity, and nothing would deter him from that path.  Those who opposed him would be made to change their minds, no matter the cost.

     And if their minds could not be changed, they had to die.

     "Director von Krager, I am giving you my authority to use short range missiles armed with small yield nuclear warheads in the prosecution of this war with Russia," Giuseppe said, interrupting the sound of the TV.

     Von Krager's eyebrow raised with intense interest.  Monsieu did not react, but Ng's face turned a deep shade of red.  "Secretary-General, how..."

     "Director Ng, that will be enough," Giuseppe snapped.  His disorientated mind, still reeling from it's collapse into madness, had the effect of keeping him from unleashing his wrath on the bureaucrat.  "This is a war.  I did not start it, Zhakov and his imperialists did.  And if they want a war, then they will get one."  Giuseppe turned back to von Krager.  "Director, I believe you were in favor of using our tactical atomic weapons to destroy Russian troop concentrations and encampments along their western border?"

     "Yes, Secretary-General," von Krager replied.  "I can have the strike ready by tonight.  And, we may be able to take out the Russians' missile launchers in the same strike."

     "The Russians would have the locations of their mobile launchers so easily found out?", Monsieu asked increduously.

     Von Krager snickered.  "General Rodenko is a political appointee, chosen by Zhakov because General Shivosky was a threat to his political position after the conquest of Manchuria.  He is your stereotypical buffoon, with an active libido that utilizes whores brought in off the street and a drinking problem that would have made Boris Yelstin look like the leader of a temperance movement.  He would have fit in well with the old Soviet Red Army for his political reliability, but as a general he is a bad joke.  Satellite reconnassiance confirmed several weeks ago that he deploys their mobile missile launchers with air defense units attached to Russian front-line divisions.  It saves him the effort needed to coordinate their use from safer positions, as they are on the front and available for use by local commanders if needed."

     "I want those missiles destroyed.  They are the priority."

     "Understood, Secretary-General."  Von Krager looked over at Giuseppe and realized that he looked drastically different.  His green eyes, once warm with friendship and naive sentiments, now burned from the fires of his insanity.  Von Krager realized that Giuseppe's attitude was not normal and asked, "Are you okay?  Perhaps we should adjourn for a break?"

     "No," Giuseppe barked.  "We will stay here, and plan this war.  I want Russia, as a nation, removed from this world."  Giuseppe did not take the time to respond to the look of horror at his statement on the faces of NG and the South American Regional Director.  "They are a threat to world peace and must be removed.  Zhakov and his imperialists must be replaced with a government that will respect international law and the peace of the world.  If we must use such weapons as nuclear devices to ensure that, it is their fault for causing this conflict in the first place."  Giuseppe folded his hands.  "Now, shall we begin?"

     Everyone nodded in agreement, none willing to raise a voice in dissent.

 

 

Russian Army Barracks, 21st Rifle Division

4km outside Pskov, Pskovskaya Oblast, Russian Federation

22 June 2011

 

     Another night, another dream of glory.

     The dreams of glory that Private Nikolai Dimitryvich Permenko had were always the same.  He would win glory along with his comrades in the 21st Rifle Division, and the entire Western Army, by conquering the Baltic States and returning them to rightful Russian rule.  From there they would continue marching, into Warsaw, Berlin, maybe even Geneva or Paris.  Permenko dreamed of marching in pride through the Arc de Triomphe and along the Champs Élysées to end a glorious war, and returning home to the small village near Volochek, where he would walk in triumph around the village sporting the medals he would win and the uniform he had worn, and then sweep his childhood sweetheart Valentina off her feet so he could carry her to his room and make love with her, and then marry her immediately the next day.  Naturally her Papa might not like his daughter being taken before marriage, but who would deny Private Permenko the right to make love to his bride, since he would be a Hero of the Motherland?  Who would deny valiant Nikolai Permenko anything after he wins glory in the upcoming war?  The entire sequence was planned out in the teenage Russian's mind, and he played it over and over again, eagerly waiting for it to come true.

     But as for now, he was laying on his back in the barracks, a fully-loaded AK-74 on his bare chest, and still dreaming of the entire sequence while waiting for the order to move into the Baltic States and begin the Second Great Patriotic War.

     "Nikolai!"

     The young Russian looked over and saw one of the other privates in his platoon, Private Andery Dregovicht.  Andery was laying on his side, his own weapon in his hand.  "Yes, Andery?"

     "I hear we are moving out tomorrow," he whispered back.  "The Division will be advancing on Riga."

     "Let us hope it is true," Nikolai whispered back.  "What do you want to do after the war, Andery?"

     Andery lifted his hand and Nikolai could see the glitter of a ring.  "I have a wife, Tania, back in Rzhev, I wish to return to her and have many children, and live the rest of my life in peace with my family."

     "And during the war?  What do you want to gain from this war?"

     "I want to survive the war, tovarisch.  That is all I ask."

     Nikolai blinked rapidly.  But what of glory?  "Do you not want glory in the war, Andery?  To be able to come home in pride and say you fought valiantly for the Motherland."

     "There is no glory in war, tovarisch," Andery answered.  "The only glory is surviving.  I will fight for the Motherland because I have an obligation to, but it does not mean that I wish to do anything more than that which is necessary to return to my beautiful Tania."  Andery noticed the expression of disbelief on Nikolai's face.  "You expect more, Nikolai?"

     "I want to win honor for myself and the Motherland, Andery.  I wish to join the ranks of other Heroes of the Motherland, I want to march proudly and in victory through Warsaw, Berlin, Geneva, and Paris.  And then I want to return home to my village.  I can see them now, welcoming me and the others from our village back with applause and a full meal, my Mama and Papa and sisters all coming to hug me.  And then, when it is over, I will take my beloved Valentina to my room and we will make love together for the first time."

     "And marriage afterward, I take it."

     "Yes.  Her Papa is a strict man, he will only let me have Valentina if I prove myself.  And what better way to do so than winning the war?"

     "Nikolai, in your dreams, do you consider that your bravery might get you killed?"

     Nikolai laughed, even if he had no answer to the question.  "I cannot be killed," he stated.  "I have a destiny."

     "Bullets do not care about your destiny, Nikolai, they will just as gladly strike you down as they would me or any other soldier here."

     Nikolai shook his head and laughed.  "You worry too much."

     "No, Nikolai," Andery disagreed, "you worry too little."

     Andery's words held weight, but Nikolai ignored him.  He maintained his focus on his prize, the prize of war-won glory and the gratification of sex with his precious Valentina.  He focused on her for a few moments, remembering pleasure stolen together in a flashlit tent, and while they had not actually taken each other's virginity, it had been enough for both to know just what they'd do to cause that the next time they could be together (although Nikolai did not want to remember the pain of her father slapping his bare back with a stick to make him get out of the tent).  He wanted to see her lovely body again, to look into those beautiful crystal blue eyes and then kiss her, and move on from there to more intimate portions of her body...

     Nikolai was broken out of his sexual fantasy by the sound of a klaxon.  He stumbled out of bed, his rifle in his arms, and with the others sprinted out of the barracks.  Something was terribly wrong, he could tell, and that was clinched when he could see the tailfires of what appeared to be missiles in the sky.  "Boishe moi!  What is going on?!"

     "Attack!  We're under..."

     Andery looked up and got on his knee.  He closed his eye and began to pray, making the Sign of the Cross on his forehead and shoulders.  He quickly asked God to forgive him for his sins and to protect his wife Tania and their unborn child, something that Nikolai had never known Andery had.  "Andery, what are you..."

     It took a moment for Nikolai to comprehend.  And comprehend he did when he saw, for a few seconds, a missile streak directly overhead, hundreds of meters above the ground, and apparently coming right toward him.  For a moment he found it impossible, this couldn't be happening!  Not after everything he hoped for.  Not after all of the dreams of Valentina and their future together.  He called out Valentina's name, as if it would protect him, as if it would alter his fate so that he could be with her once more.

     The nuclear warhead in the missile exploded, creating a force blast of several dozen kilotons.  The heat of it's white-hot fire washed over Nikolai, Andery, and the others, blinding them all for barely a second before it would end.  And in that moment, Private Nikolai Dimitryvich Permenko, who in his dreams would have become Hero of the Motherland and lover and husband of a beautiful girl named Valentina, was reduced to ash and swept away by the rushing wind of a nuclear detonation, his dreams and hopes of future glory joining him.

     In the space of barely ten minutes, most of the Russian Army preparing for a glorious victory was gone, destroyed, swept away in fire from the French and German nuclear weapons.  Before the Russian Bear could even begin it's attack it had been crippled.  By morning, the first major UN Army units were stepping on Russian soil, securing Kaliningrad, while units in the Baltic States began recons-in-force into the main body of Russian territory.  Main line advances to secure territory for further offensives began later in the day.  The UN invasion of Russia had begun on the same devastating note as the one seventy years earlier by the Wehrmacht of Nazi Germany.

     For the third time in history, the world was going to war.

 

 

Oval Office, The White House

Washington D.C, United States of America

22 June 2011

 

     There was relative peace in the Oval Office as Saunders was briefed on the Russian attack by Secretaries Tresanger and Hadwick.  The summer sun was going down in Washington, leaving the light strewn on the streets with an orange hue, as well as the portion of the lawn behind the window that was not shadowed by the White House itself.  "So," Saunders finally said, "has Giuseppe sued for peace yet?"

     "Not yet," Tresanger answered.  "There has been some high-level meetings in Geneva but nothing concrete.  The various European militaries and what UN forces there are have begun consolidating and moving east but they won't arrive in time before the Russian Army can move into the Baltic States and the Ukraine.  All of our generals agree that there is no hope for the UN to win a conventional war, not before the Russians get to Poland and perhaps Germany itself.  If Poland falls the European Union will probably force Giuseppe to step down and allow them to sue for peace themselves."

     "If those dimwits in Congress try to make a deal of it, ignore them," Saunders ordered.  "I'm going to let Zhakov and Giuseppe decide how this plays out.  Hopefully Zhakov will crush that upstart."  A sinister smile crossed her face.  "I do so love it when our dog gets rid of our problems before they appear."

     "So you're going to side with Russia?"

     "I'm going to remain neutral.  I am going to point out that the UN violated Serbian national sovereignty against the original UN charter, the one we signed before the one Giuseppe and his people put together which we didn't recognize, and I'm going to use the threat of US condemnation over the embassy issue to make sure Zhakov stays on a nice, tight leash."

     On the other side of the door there was come commotion from Saunders' secretary.  The door burst open and Saunders' National Security Advisor Alex Sutherland entered the room.  His normally calm demeanor was rattled with panic, his bright green eyes seemingly on the verge of madness from whatever he had just learned.  "Madame President!  Madame President, you're not going to believe this!"  Sutherland ran straight for the President's desk and placed his palms on it.  "They, oh my God, they used..."  He struggled to finish his sentence in his state of utter disbelief.  "...they used nukes!"

     Saunders stared at her subordinate with her mouth partially open from both shock and confusion.  "Who?!  Who used nukes?!"

     "Giuseppe!  The UN used French and German tactical nukes on Russia's forward formations!  We don't know the extent of the damage yet, but satellite recon indicates that most if not all of the Russian Army has been destroyed!  The UN and EU armies can march in at will now!"

     Saunders stared wide-eyed at Sutherland.  "You're joking!  That... that stupid pacifistic idiot would never..."

     "It's been confirmed, Madame President, Giuseppe's forces used the tac nukes in the French and German arsenals!"

     Saunders felt panic claw at her throat, choking her.  "No, no, this is impossible, impossible dammit!"

     "Well, President, the impossible just happened!"

     Tresanger and Hadwick exchanged horrified glances while Saunders tried to control her panic.  Everything was coming unraveled, she was being pushed onto the ride with the rest of them.  The entire world would be drawn into this, especially after the use of nuclear weapons.  There had been occasional small-scale uses, of course, but this... this was unprecedented.  The American people would never stand for letting someone get away with using nuclear weapons that aggressively.  She would have to ask Congress to declare war, failure to do so would mean she wouldn't last another year in the White House.

     "Here's hoping we make this a short, short war," she said to her subordinates.  "Get the Joint Chiefs ready.  The instant the old bastards in Congress give the go-ahead for war I want to drop so many bombs on Europe that it'll look like 1944 all over again."

 

 

City Hall, Namur, Belgium

24 June 2011

 

     Light summer rain fell upon the protestors of Namur as they held their anti-war slogans outside of the City Hall and nearby government buildings, under the watchful eye of the police and a UN security troop that had been called in to keep the peace.  Their signs all called for the same, for Belgium to reject the UN, for Giuseppe to step down, for negotiations with Russia.  Very few cared for the Russian dreams of conquest, they wanted a Europe free of war and they had just as quickly turned on Giuseppe as they had once listened to him.

     Near the head of the group stood Alynna Berganne, wearing a blue blouse and red skirt and ignoring the rain as she stood at the lead of the protest.  Her heart beat rapidly as she saw TV cameras come close to her, and she wondered if Arne would see her doing what she believed in.

     It had been a long road for her to come here from where she was staying in Brugge, but the news had just been too appalling.  Giuseppe, the man of peace, had used nuclear weapons on another nation.  Alynna simply couldn't understand why he had allowed such a thing, but she knew it couldn't go unanswered.  This was being done in the name of her nation, done in her name, and she did not want to be a part in murder.  So she would not simply ignore what had happened.  She would protest, and protest more, until justice was done.  In her mind not even the Russian threat allowed anyone to use that most horrible of weapons.  She had talked to Arne just the previous day, told him what she was going to do.  Arne had not liked it, laws against "disruptive" protests had been passed by the European Union nearly eight years before, but what was some jail time to her and the others, who were on the side of peace?  He had wished her luck, and assured her that maybe he'd get to come back that winter and have another special time with her, and for Alynna that promise could keep her going through anything.

     At about 13:10 local time, a streak appeared in the clouds.  Everyone raised their head to look as the streak came closer... and closer...

     It was 13:11:24 local time when a cruise missile exploded in the courtyard.  Alynna heard the defeaning explosion in her ears and jumped to the ground.  When she stood up a scene of carnage greeted her.  Several buildings were aflame and bodies and parts of bodies had been thrown about.  Her knees trembled as she stumbled to her feet, looking around at the panic.  My God, what could have...

     A second explosion from one of the nearby gas mains knocked Alynna off her feet, and when she hit the ground she was unconscious.  The entire block was soon covered with the chaos of an enraging inferno.  So much so that nobody noticed the "civilians" who dragged Alynna Berganne's unconscious body into a truck and sped off, that same truck lined internally with radar equipment.

 

 

Secretary-General's Office, United Nations Complex

Geneva, Geneva Canton, Swiss Federation

24 June 2011

 

     The scene of devastation in Namur filled the large wall viewer that had been built into Giuseppe's office wall.  With crazed eyes he surveyed the devastation.  Von Krager and Monsieu stood at either side of the desk.  "It was an American anti-radar cruise missile," von Krager finally spoke, "fired from a B-52 bomber in the Atlantic.  It's warhead was a 'smart' anti-radar warhead, capable of independently tracking radar signals to the target."

     "Ah yes, very smart, it flew right into a civilian protest!", Monsieu retorted in anger.  "How many deranged fools will blame us?!"

     "It was apparently targeted at one of our radar stations outside of Namur," von Krager continued, ignoring Monsieu's angry comment.  "The weather may have caused it to veer off course, we are still investigating."

     "The weather?!"  Giuseppe looked over at him.  "These Americans are trying to divide the UN by attacking these misguided fools!  They were trying to frame us!  I want retaliatory strikes!"

     "Our air force is busy fighting off American long-range aircraft and bombers, as well as finishing off the Russians, Secretary-General," von Krager reminded him.  "No, I say we show the world that we are willing to negotiate.  Not that Saunders will agree.  We believe she has already begun deploying troops to Russia to try and help them hold."

     "Yes, she is quite the opportunist," Monsieu added.

     "And what about the civilians?  How many casualties?"

     "At least fourty dead, an unknown number of wounded," Monsieu answered Giuseppe.  He sat down and put his hand on his forehead in a futile attempt to rub out the dull ache there.  "The damage could rise to millions of francs because of the damage to surrounding buildings.  People are scared, and they are frightened."

     "And they are angry," von Krager added.  "An American pilot forced to eject in France was nearly beaten to death by the citizens until constables were able to take him into custody.  Anti-American sentiment in Europe has reached unequaled peaks."

     "Which is good.  The Americans have reaped what they have sown with their arrogance," Giuseppe muttered.  "What are you doing with the prisoner?"

     "We have captured about two dozen American airmen of various station forced to eject over Europe," von Krager stated.  "They have been taken to Waldkraiburg.  I have recruited Doctor Josef Smiege to investigate a method known as deprogramming and to use facilities I have arranged for him at Waldkraiburg."

     Monsieu looked over at him.  "Deprogramming?"

     "Yes.  A method in which the personality can be erased, at least partially, or left open to suggestion.  Instead of killing those who refuse to accept our vision of the future, we can bend them to our will."  Von Krager smirked a little.  "The American prisoners will be used to test the process."

     "Are you sure this is wise?", Monsieu asked.  "The Geneva Conventions..."

     "The Geneva Conventions do not apply for internal matters, and the United States' refusal to accept our policies is nothing less than an insurrection against the UN's rightful authority over the globe and humanity as a whole.  Don't you agree, Secretary-General Giuseppe?"

     Giuseppe nodded quickly.  "Yes.  It is a rebellion, it does not apply."

     "Do not worry, Francis," von Krager added.  He put his right hand on the Frenchman's shoulder and thrust ice into Monsieu's soul with his cold blue eyes.  "And, as it is said, history is written by the victors.  And we shall be the victors.  Future generations will praise our names for bringing them prosperity and peace."

     "Yes!  Exactly!"  Giuseppe clapped in agreement.  "I would like you to supervise this process, Reinhart, and report back to me.  You can fulfill the duties of office from Waldkraiburg, after all."

     "Indeed.  And, I shall ask Director of Security Dausche to coordinate with me on this."  He crossed his arms.  "Jennifer is a woman of many talents, and her work load is such that she can assist greatly."

     "Yes, yes, you may go."

     "I shall return within a week, at best, or if any new developments are brought to my attention," von Krager promised.  He walked out the door with a definite spring in his step.

     Monsieu watched him go and turned back.  "Secretary-General, I do not think Director von Krager is as open as he should be.  I think he's hiding something."

     "Do not be paranoid, Director Monsieu," Giuseppe barked in return.  "Reinhart von Krager is as loyal to me as you.  He knows his place."

     "You know this for sure?"

     "Yes.  And he is never wrong!  Every piece of advice he has given me has worked out, every plan has succeeded, every prediction come true!"

     "Really?"  Monsieu's gaze hardened.  "And what of Serbia?  Did his proposal not cost the lives of a hundred people and cause so many innocents to suffer the depredations of the Serb mob?"

     Giuseppe sneered and pounded his fist on the table.  "He anticipated it, but he was not the one to cause the embassy to get the evacuation orders late!  And we will have our justice on those animals!  They will pay for what they did!"

     Monsieu looked into Giuseppe's eyes and saw the crazed fire within them.  It chilled him to the bone, and more importantly, it cowed him.  "Yes, Secretary-General," he muttered.  "I shall go back to work, then?"

     "Yes, you do that."  Giuseppe sat back down.  "And I wish to speak with the other Directors about a new proposal to the General Assembly on this matter, schedule the General Staff meeting for tomorrow and the Assembly for three days from now."

     "I will, Secretary-General," Monsieu responded.  He stepped outside the office without looking back.  The man is not as he was, what has happened to him?  And what is von Krager up to?

 

 

Manchester, Burrough of Manchester, England, United Kingdom

24 June 2011

 

     The carnage of Namur was plastered on every TV screen in the computer workshop of Nielson & Stockton's Software Inc.  The workshop was somewhat small, just ten computers along each wall, all networked, and each with an operator working on programming code.  But nobody was working on code at the moment, all eyes were transfixed on the television screen from a signal transmitted live from Namur.  "Stupid Americans," a Manchesterite muttered from a computer terminal.  "Can't aim their bloody missiles right."

     His co-worker's statement did not register in the mind of Arne, seated near the TV and now staring at it in a manner far more intense than anyone realized.  One moment he had seen Alynna standing in the crowd, enduring the rain, and the next all had turned into a never-ending view of flame and death.  He strained his eyes to see if he could find her, ignoring the fact that none of the figures on the screen were easily identified.  Everything he had dreamed about for two years seemed to be threatening to disintegrate before his horrified eyes as the flames licked at the camera screen, burning all the touched.  One of his co-workers began sobbing, burying his face in his hand and turning away from the havoc.  The scene switched away to a news center and Arne's heart fell into his stomach.  He stood up and walked into his manager's office.  His manager was a blond-haired Englishwoman, Vanessa Gardener, about thirty-seven, thirty-eight, with a trim figure covered well by her business suit and light brown eyes.  A marriage ring reflect light from her office roof light as her right hand moved in response to seeing him enter.  "Yes, Arne, what may I do for you?", she asked.

     "Ma'am, I would ask that I be allowed to use the phone to make a call home."

     "Is something wrong, Arne?"  Gardener's eyes focused on him and showed her surprise at his expression.  "You don't look so good."

     "I had a friend that was in Namur today," he explained.  "I want to call and see if there is any news."

     She nodded.  "I see.  Well, what do you think you'll find out when you call Arne?  It just happened a couple of hours ago, it's still pandemonium."

     "Please, I... she is very special to me."

     "Special?"

     "Yes.  Special."

     Gardner saw the look in his eyes and sighed.  She picked up a picture of her husband, a smiling dark-haired man, wearing a jacket and trousers and standing in front of what looked like a rock from Stonehenge.  "Let me tell you a story, Arne.  Almost ten years ago my husband had to travel to the States, New York, for a few business meetings."  When she noticed the impatience in his eyes, she skipped to the point.  "The office he was working from was in the World Trade Center, on the fiftieth floor.  And he was there, on September 11th."  She frowned and ran a hand through her hair, obviously recalling unpleasant memories.  "When I found out about the attacks I kept calling, and kept calling, for over nine hours I called, trying to find out if he had gotten out.  It wasn't until after midnight here that he called back, told me he had gotten out of the second tower before it was hit.  It had taken him that long to get to a phone, there was just so much chaos..."

     Arne sighed and leaned against the frame of the door.  "I get the point.  I'm sorry."

     "Don't be sorry, Arne."  She tried to smile to cheer him up.  "Work helps, I found out, but I'll let you off early if you want to make your calls, or try to fly back."

     "No, flying back probably wouldn't be too smart.  I might not be able to get back if something happens and Britain sides with America."  Arne's jaw tightened.  Britain was in some degree of economic turmoil, and politically things were so shaky that they had not committed to either side.  There was the traditional alliance with the United States, of course, but just as in the rest of Europe anti-American sentiments were beginning to rise in Britain.  The British had already forbidden American aircraft based on the British Isles to involve themselves in hostilities because they could not afford to get involved outright, not at this point in time.  To equal it they had done the same to the UN and European Union, and would likely try to act as mediators in the conflict.  But at any time, something could happen that would make Britain take one side or the other.  "I'll continue to make my calls though.  And I will get back to work."

     "That's the spirit," she chirped.  "Then I'll see if my hubbie doesn't making letting you go out to dinner with us again, my daughter's already wanting to see you again.  You certainly have a way with young ladies, she hasn't even tried getting a boyfriend because she wants you."

     Arne snickered despite his mindstate, Manager Gardener's teenage daughter was still only fifteen, but mature enough to know what romance entailed.  And he had accidentally swept her off her feet.  He remembered Alynna's playful chiding one time that he flirted with all of the women he met, and all involuntarily too.  He was a natural romantic, his manners and his actions made him that way.  "Maybe I should speak to her?"

     "Oh Lord no!", Gardener groaned.  "She'll get worse!"

     "Ah.  Well, if you wish, I'll come."  Arne bowed his head respectfully and backed out of the office.  The promise of dinner stuck like a knife as he remembered his last dinner with Alynna and it's aftermath.  She was all he could think about as the day went on.

 

 

Von Krager Family Estate

Waldkraiburg, Bavaria, Germany

24 June 2011

 

     The von Krager estate had, in the last two and a half years, undergone a renovation to "expand" with extra housing for von Krager's guests.  And while guesthouses had indeed been built, they were not as they appeared to be.  Military-quality security measures had been erected around the estate grounds, and the houses themselves had "abnormal" power requirements, requirements that were offset by the presence of solar cell batteries appropriated by von Krager from various sources, and diesel generator for nighttime or cloudy conditions.  The pretense would soon be lifted, von Krager speculated as his personal helicopter descended onto the helipad on the estate grounds.  As he stepped out, one of his aides and cousin, Hermann Rahl, stepped up to him and shook his hand.  "Herr von Krager, how good to see you!"  Rahl's brown eyes shined brilliantly at the sight of his superior.  He was only about twenty years of age, the youngest son of Reinhart's aunt Gerda.  Rahl was a tall man, at 2.03 meters compared to Reinhart's 1.86.  Athletic and well-built as well, all Rahl needed was blue eyes to look like something out of a Nazi racial fantasy.

     "Hermann, it is good to see you are well," von Krager said happily.  "You have kept fit."

     "And you have not done as much," Rahl noted.

     "Yes, fortunately our family does not gain weight very well.  Our evolution blesses us with excellent metabolism."  Von Krager walked with Rahl across the lawn toward the largest of the new "guesthouses".  "Our guests will be arriving shortly."

     "As Giuseppe agreed to your ideas?"

     "Yes.  The Americans and Russians we have captured will likely be transferred here within a week.  Although I am hoping to get other facilities set up in Russia as quickly as possible.  Now, where is Smiege?"

     "He is inside with our guest."

     "Excellent."  Von Krager let himself display a satisfied smile.  The summer mountain air was clean and fresh to his lungs, compared to the confined city air of Geneva, and he relished it as he leisurely walked to the main guesthouse.  Once he stepped inside, however, the illusion fell apart.  He was immediately confronted by a security checkpoint manned by one of his security personnel.  He passed through the checkpoint without problems and made his way into the bowels of the "guest house", passing an unoccupied cell block on the way.  He found an open door and looked inside to see an empty room, save for a worker on a ladder drilling a pair of plates for chain suspension into the wall.  "This will be one of the special holding cells," Rahl said.  "Doctor Smiege has been overseeing the installation of electrical wiring into the plates."

     "Why here?"

     "For sleep deprivation," Rahl replied to von Krager.  "He says it is an important element to the deprogramming process."

     "Ah."  Von Krager continued onward to a corridor that turned to the right.  On his left he entered another open room and found Smiege standing over a young woman strapped down onto the table.  Smiege's forehead was without hair, with frayed brown-gray hair closer to the back and on the crown of his head.  Age wise he was in his late thirties to early forties.  Cold brown eyes looked up at von Krager as he entered.  He was wearing a white lab coat over a brown shirt, with dark brown trousers and manufactured leather shoes to finish his suit.  He nodded respectfully as von Krager stated, "Ah, Guten Tag Doctor Smiege.  I trust the facilities are to your liking?"

     "Your workers are most proficient, Director," he replied with only the slightest hint of a grin.  "I have been expecting you, the patient will be waking up soon.  They just brought her in."

     "She is quite pretty," Rahl noted as he walked up to her right side.  He put a hand down on her arm, which was stretched above her head to where it was bound by the wrist to the corner of the metal table.  "Her name is?"

     "She is Alynna Berganne," Smiege replied to the young man.  "A Belgian computer programmer and technician.  She was a junior member of the design team that wrote the software the Americans use for their air-launched cruise missiles."

     "Which is why we chose her as our little scapegoat," von Krager said.  "Are you ready to begin, Doctor?"

     "Ja."  Smiege looked down at the unconscious woman.  "This setup, with the young lady's arms stretched directly above her head, is not the optimum position, I must add.  I would prefer her to be in a Y or T-shaped position concerning the arms, or perhaps an X-shape in concert with the legs."

     "We will build restraining tables specifically for those positions, Doctor, I promise you," von Krager answered.  "Hermann, will you assist the good Doctor?"

     Smiege reached into a drawer on the build-in table set by the wall, and handed several plastic objects to him.  The plastic was white, and in the middle, a small metal strip was embedded in the plastic with a wire running out the other end.  Smiege pulled out a mother connection for the various plastic objects, and hooked it into a pre-set machine while Rahl laid them out.  Von Krager watched intently as Rahl seperated them and Smiege prepared for his work by putting a couple of monitors on Alynna's forehead.  Smiege brought out a glistening knife and walked over to von Krager's side of the table.  "You are going to cut her clothing?", von Krager asked Smiege.

     "I doubt she will have much need of it," Smiege replied.  "And the deprogramming process will be aided by the instinctive humiliation that comes from nakedness.  He took the knife and cut open Alynna's blouse.  He used it again to cut open the white bra Alynna was wearing beneath before putting another monitor attachment over her heart.  "Attach the electrodes here, here, and here," Smiege ordered Rahl while removing Alynna's trousers.

     As Rahl placed a couple of the objects on Alynna's abdominal region, she began to stir.  Smiege noticed and waved his hand at Rahl.  "Continue, Herr Rahl.  Do not worry that she is waking up."  Rahl looked over at von Krager before continuing, slipping the remaining electrodes onto her breasts, neck, and ribs.  "We are almost ready."

     Alynna's eyes opened slowly.  The rooflight made her squint as her iris adjusted to account for the extra light.  "Where....."

     "Welcome, young lady," von Krager began in English as Rahl put the last electrode unto her body.  "You are in one of the new United Nations Criminal Detention Centers."

     "De... detention center?"  Alynna groaned from the throbbing ache in her skull.  "What..."  As her senses improved, she could realize the state in which she was clothed and that she had been tied down.  Her instincts began to make her stomach twist as she realized that something was not right.

     "For one thing, you were involved in a disruptive gathering," von Krager began, "which is against European, and soon UN, law.  But far more importantly, Fraulein, you were responsible for the deaths of forty of your fellows, whom you sacrificed for your American controllers to try and discredit the Secretary-General of the United Nations."

     "What?"  Alynna looked at him in confusion.  "I... I have had nothing to do with the Americans!"

     "Well, you see, we don't believe you, Fraulein Berganne.  You were a junior programmer in the team that wrote the software the Americans applied to their cruise missiles, so you had knowledge of how the missile worked.  You also likely had a radar transmitter in your van, which was sadly destroyed in the explosion, so we will never know."  Von Krager leaned against the table.  "If you were to dictate and sign a confession, well, we would simply incarcerate you for a few years, and you would be released."

     "I did not do anything," Alynna retorted.

     "Well, Fraulein, I'm afraid the evidence points directly to you.  Someone had a radar transmitter that drew the American anti-radar missile to the demonstration instead of our radar station.  Someone who knew it would work.  Obviously the people involved in this will have been seeking to destroy the protest.  Something that could look bad against the Secretary-General, unless, of course, it is proven the Americans arranged it."  Von Krager looked down at her.  "Which is why you are going to give us your confession."

     "I will not."  Alynna met his eyes with a hot glare when a realization dawned on her.  "You set me up.  You set this all up."

     "Doctor, you may begin your test session.  Just, don't kill her."  Von Krager turned away and walked toward the door.

     "Bastard!  Why?!  Why did...."  Alynna's questions ended as she began to scream from the electricity shooting through her body.  A hideous buzz filled the room as electricity shot through the metal strips on the electrodes attached to her and entered her body, burning her flesh and making her diaphragm and other muscles contract painfully while her heart fluttered under the shock.  Her cries of anguish reached von Krager's ears just as he exited the room.  He closed the door behind him, causing Alynna's cries to fade away before the door snapped closed and he could no longer hear her.

 

 

     Von Krager stepped into his personal office in the "guesthouse" with a box of various personal mementos in his arms.  He set them down on the humble plastic desk he was using and took out a picture of his father.  He was reaching for a small football trophy he had won as a boy when the door opened and Smiege entered.  "Director von Krager, I apologize.  I did not know you were busy."

     "Nein, nein, I am not busy."  Von Krager put the trophy down on the desk and looked over.  "Is the young lady matching your expectations as a test subject?"

     "Ja.  Her responses are already aiding in my research."

     "And where is she now?"

     "In a cell.  We are using her to test the sleep deprivation equipment."  Smiege walked up to a chair.  "Do you mind if I sit?"

     "Nein."  Von Krager pulled up a chair of his own while Smiege eased himself into the chair of gray metal structure with violet cushions for the back and seat.  "The electrodes are effective then?", von Krager inquired with a sigh as he sat in his chair.

     "She was in very intense pain as we approached the pre-determined power level of eight.  Going by her reactions, anything above nine could be fatal if prolonged."  Smiege folded his hands in his lap.  "I noticed something when I asked Hermann if he would be willing to take part in my next experiment.  He seemed rather.... uncomfortable."

     Von Krager nodded before getting back up.  "Would you like a drink, Doctor?  I have some drinks already put into my cooler."

     "Ja, I suppose."

     Von Krager walked over to the right side of the room, where a squat 29cm by 50cm by 1 meter refridgerator was located on a table.  He opened the door of the black-surfaced fridge and began speaking.  "What was Hermann uncomfortable about, Doctor?  He is usually quite stoic, and he had nothing against the electrode test."

     "I asked him if he would consider forcing himself upon Fraulein Berganne for one of my next tests, the testing into the effect of sexual humiliation on the psychological aspects of mental stability.  These tests are important in my studies into potential methods of collapsing the human mind."

     "Here."  Von Krager handed him a bottle.  "I believe you are a fan of fruit drinks, ja?"

     "Ja."  Smiege opened the bottle while von Krager retrieved another bottle with orange fluid from the refridgerator.  "Anyway, Hermann did not like my question.  He seemed rather upset that I would ask.  It is curious, the effect of our civilization and it's standards upon our actions."

     "You have no qualms about harming other human beings?", von Krager asked as he took his seat again.  "About experimenting on them?"

     "I am a scientist.  I learn about the universe.  There is little difference biologically speaking between a human and a rat, yet we use rats in experiments.  What is wrong with using the flotsam of mankind to further experimentation?  At least they will be productive in society."  Smiege took a drink and had a ring of red liquid around his lips when he brought the bottle down.  "This process will enable me to unlock the secrets of mankind.  By understanding what can destroy a human mind, and to understand the right processes of building one, I can revolutionize our understanding as a race of what makes us what we are.  My deprogramming process will enable me, in essence, to create entirely new personalities, new minds, in an already-intact human body, and to do so in a far swifter fashion than raising children."

     Von Krager nodded before taking a drink of his own.  "I see."

     "If some must be sacrificed," Smiege shrugs, "well, that is a shame."

     "Of course."  Von Krager looked into the bottle for a minute before setting it on the desk.  "What of those who would say you are cruel for not caring about human suffering?"

     "I am human.  We do not care for each other's suffering unless it is in our best interest.  Therefore I have no qualms.  Knowledge must come first."  Smiege steepled his fingers.  "I do not intend to be overly cruel to my subjects.  I will not permit them to be abused physically or emotionally unless it is in the interests of the experiments or process.  I am a practical man in this regard, it is a wasted effort to harm another when it is not necessary?"

     Von Krager nodded in his direction.  "Agreed."  He paused for a minute before leaning forward in the chair.  He rested his arms on his lap while appraising Smiege visually.  "You need a willing subject to rape Fraulein Berganne?"

     "Rape is such a strong word," Smiege scoffed.  "It implies vindictiveness.  It implies that I am trying to win power over her that I already have, or that I would be doing it for personal pleasure.  I would prefer to refer to what I will be doing as forceful intercourse."

     "Very well."  Von Krager smiled and nodded.  "You need someone willing to have forceful intercourse with Fraulein Berganne.  I can tell you that Hermann is too chivalric to do so."

     "I have seen that.  He has shown nothing against manning the controls for the electrodes, and has volunteered to inject Fraulein Berganne with the drugs at that stage of the experiments, and to even use the electro-prods I wish to test, but he clearly does not want to physically force himself onto her.  Despite this, I would say he is quite devoted to our work."

     "Ja, we von Kragers have always been devotees of one kind or another.  And Hermann is von Krager by his mother's side."  Von Krager grinned slightly.  "Always an energetic boy from what I remember of him growing up.  Chases after his fair share of girls....."

     Smiege cut into von Krager's description of his younger cousin.  "Yes.  But, unless you wish to, I fear he is the only person here capable of aiding me in the humiliation testing."

     Von Krager shook his head slowly.  "Nein, that will be necessary.  While she is attractive I feel no need to please myself at her expense.  I have already arranged for other potentials.  We will need them anyway for the Americans and Russians I am having brought here.  Also, I am wondering if we can use Fraulein Berganne in their interrogations.  The Americans are soft, but they may have some spunk and refuse to respond to personal stimuli.  If we use Alynna against them, they could crack."

     "You mean interrogation-by-proxy?"  Smiege's eyebrow rose.  "That would be an interesting approach.  The leverage would not be the relief of physical pain but the psychological effect of being held responsible for the pain of another.  Especially a young woman.  Western culture has evolved through various processes to take harming a woman in harsher light than harming a man.  The psychological data we collect could prove useful in my studies."

     "Good.  Then we are decided."  Von Krager picked up a drink.  "I will report back to the Secretary-General tomorrow, after the first prisoners arrive."

 

 

Waldkraiburg Criminal Detention Center (Von Krager Family Estate)

Waldkraiburg, Bavaria, Germany

25 June 2011

 

     The gate to von Krager's estate opened and permitted a convoy of two vans to pull into the the estate driveway, where they pulled onto the path to the Detention Center.  From the top floor of the apparent guesthouse, von Krager stared out at the approaching vans with a slight grin.  He looked back to see Hermann Rahl standing at the door.  He noticed Hermann's frown and asked, "Is something wrong, Hermann?"

     "Nein," Hermann lied.  "I am just not sure I like what the Doctor is doing."

     "Really?"  Von Krager approached him slowly.  "Is there something wrong?"

     For a moment Hermann glanced at his cousin nervously.  "Cousin, must we rape her too?  It is one thing to use electricity to test the Doctor's theories, but an entirely another to violate her in that fashion.  She does not deserve that.  She has done no crime to deserve such horror.  I hope you understand my motives for...."

     Hermann's discomfort, and obvious hesitance in bringing his concerns to von Krager, made the older man grin a little and nod.  "I understand completely, Hermann," von Krager said, interrupting Hermann.  "We have been raised in a cultural where your views are entirely correct.  Forcing one's self onto a woman is a dishonorable and disgusting practice.  However, one thing must be remembered, namely, the prize we seek.  The Doctor's process will mean a whole new avenue in dealing with our enemies.  We no longer need to simply discard our prisoners into camps, or execute them.  We can turn our enemies into friends."

     "More like we are killing our enemies but leaving their bodies intact for us to create new friends," Hermann pointed out.  He snarled a little.  "But I cannot feel right about using this... filth in our process.  They should be deprogrammed themselves, not allowed to remain alive."

     "Perhaps," von Krager agreed.  "They may yet earn that fate.  But for now, they are all we have."

     "I hope that we make the girl's suffering quick," Hermann continued.  "And I hope her death is soon."

     Von Krager nodded again.  He re-established eye contact with his cousin.  "You feel sorry for her?"

     "I cannot help it.  Doctor Smiege tested his shocking table on her this morning.  He had her on Level 4 for three hours."  Hermann's voice lowered to a hushed whisper as he emphasized the time unit.  "I confess, cousin, that I find her intensely attractive.  She is a beautiful woman and I hope I might one day live with such a girl.  So my judgement may be colored.  But even if she were the ugliest hag on Earth I would still be discontent with this.  I simply cannot take watching Smiege treat her like a plaything, an animal to be prodded and abused at will."

     Von Krager sighed deeply at his cousin.  "I see, Hermann.  We shall talk of this later, but I must go see these individuals.  Not only is the convoy bringing the Doctor's new aides, it is bringing our American prisoners.  And I wish to be there to greet them."  He patted his younger cousin on the cheek.  "Don't worry, Hermann, I'm sure a handsome boy like yourself will find a nice girl.  Perhaps Fraulein Berganne would even want some company when she is recovering, you should pay her a visit."

     Hermann gave his cousin a weak smile and nod before walking out.  Von Krager sighed deeply as he went back to the window and looked out as the vans pulled up.  Your parents raised you well, Hermann.  I may have to transfer you to something else.  Perhaps as my leash for Antonia Giuseppe if her father agrees to my proposal for a security unit based around our operation here.  She holds great physical beauty herself, you will enjoy her company.  When the vans began to disgorge their contents, he left the office.

 

 

     A haze of pain clouded Alynna's thoughts and dullened her nerves.  Her muscles ached from the torture that the electrodes had inflicted on them.  Her left shoulder muscle was trembling with a muscle spasm and the binding of her wrists to the wheeled table she was on prevented her from rubbing it.  She groaned loudly before opening her eyes and looking up at the ceiling of whatever corridor she was being led into.  Alynna tried to move her neck but stopped when her neck muscles ached in protest.  What have I gotten myself into?, she wondered to herself.  I feel as if I am in a nightmare, and one that I cannot wake up from.  The romantic thought of waking up in Arne's arms made her smile a little.  The pain in her heart lessened as she thought of him, still in Manchester, and likely worried sick the instant he heard of the missile attack.  If only there was some way to get a hold of him...

     A door opened ahead of her and Alynna felt the table turn to enter the room.  The table stopped and she felt someone begin to unlatch her.  A quick glimmer of irrational hope filled her soul.  Are they going to free me?  No, no, of course not.  Alynna was pulled off the table and to the wall.  Pre-built metal shackles held her arms flat against the wall, arranging her in a "T"-shape against the wall.  Her head fell foreward for a moment, causing Alynna to look at her bare chest, before she managed enough strength to lift it.  Her blouse and bra had been cut off completely by her tormentors, and only her knee-length skirt remained.  Doctor Smiege walked up to her.  His cold eyes appraised her silently before he brought up his hand and gripped her chin between his thumb and index finger.  He lifted her head and looked around her neck before calmly examining her face and cheeks.  "You seem to be healthy," he noted.  "Are you in any lingering pain?"

     Alynna went to open her mouth and berate him for stating the obvious, but she stopped herself.  She didn't want to suffer more than she had to, and all she could do was hope they got tired of trying to force her into the false confession and let her go.  Even a life sentence in prison was preferable to what Doctor Smiege no doubt had in store for her.  Alynna's stomach twisted as a dozen possible tortures came to mind that were worse than the electrical pain she had already suffered.

     The opposite door opened and von Krager entered.  Following him was an armed man, who led five handcuffed people into the room, with another armed man behind them.  The handcuffed individuals were all in American Air Force flight suits with their names broidered on the right breast, all of them apparently the crew of a downed bomber.  Three were Caucasians, the third African-descended, and an Oriental who was apparently the commander of the bomber crew.  They were forced into chairs as they all stared amazed at Alynna.  "This young woman," von Krager began, his open hand toward Alynna, "is responsible for the missile that struck the protest at Namur.  As she refuses to sign the confession, we have decided she has a better use in helping to persuade you to make this whole process easy."  Von Krager looked over at Smiege, who nodded back and moved over to a nearby control panel.  "We want to know all planned sorties against our European bases.  So that we may better react to strikes, and arrange for local air-defense to shoot down your cruise missiles."

     "Chen, Dominic Xiang.  Captain, United States Air Force," the Oriental officer replied with a deep frown.

     "Well, your choice, Captain Chen."  Von Krager clicked his tongue.  "Doctor, put her on a medium amount.  We don't want to wear her out."

     Smiege nodded and turned back to the panel.  His right hand grasped a dial that he turned in a clockwise direction for a moment.  As he did so, Alynna felt the familiar tinge of electricity begin to come from the wall into her body.  Her jaw clenched tightly as she drew in an agonized breath and tried to resist from crying out from the pain of the shock.  "Son of a bitch!", she heard the black officer shout.  The other Americans began hurtling their own abusive phrases at von Krager, the words blurring as Smiege raised the power and Alynna began howling.  Her body's reflexes demanded for her to try and get away from what was causing her pain, and when the shackles forbid her from moving away, the denied reflex action forced her to scream.  The power continued to rise as the Americans and von Krager engaged in a shouting match.  The pain became unbearable for Alynna.  Her coherent thoughts dissolved into a whirlpool of agony and all she could think about was release.  "Just end it!", she finally screamed aloud.  "Kill me now!!"

     "Do you want to die?", von Krager asked her.  He walked up to her and stared greedily into her pain-clouded eyes while Alynna strove merely to focus her attention on him.  "Nein, you will not die yet.  We still have so much to do with you, Fraulein."

     "What do you want with me?!", Alynna howled angrily.  "I didn't help the Americans!  I was there because I do not believe in war and using those horrible weapons!"

     "And therein lies our problem, Fraulein.  You see, we are the ones in power.  We decide what is done.  Not you.  You have crossed us, attempted to move others into dissention.  You must be silenced.  As for what I want from you, I want nothing personally.  You are a viable test subject for our theories, as are these wretches."  Von Krager whirled back around to the Americans.  "You heard me.  You, and those of your countrymen we have in captivity, will take their own turns up here.  You will be the first to be deprogrammed."  An evil glimmer came to his blue eyes as he fed on the horror in their expressions.  "Assuming it does not kill you first, of course."  Von Krager looked over at Smiege.  "Doctor, I am going to brief your new assistants.  Have your other staff prepare for these fine individuals to begin their own deprogramming sessions.  I am certain you will garner plenty of data from them."  Von Krager gave their new victims one last grin before stepping out.

 

 

     Seated in von Krager's office were five men of various sizes and builds, and all wearing casual clothing with identification cards clipped to the right breast of their shirts.  Von Krager stepped through the door and drew their attention in doing so.  "Guten Tag, gentlemen," he chirped cheerfully as he walked over to his desk.  "I am Director of Defense Reinhart von Krager."

     "I have seen your face in the papers," one of the men, with a Bavarian accent similar to von Krager's, stated irritably.  "What is it you want with us?"

     "You would be Baron Gunther von Schiestig, right?"

     Von Schiestig flashed him a toothy grin.  The light of the office glinted off his evil green eyes as he grinned wickedly.  "Baron von Schiestig at your service, Baron von Krager."

     "You may drop the nobleman act with me," von Krager snapped irritably.  "We both know that you hardly fit the traditional description of a nobleman.  You wasted away your family's estate on women and booze."  After a moment, von Krager showed von Schiestig his own wicked grin and added, "Oh, I forgot, you also spent a lot of it on lawyers, after they discovered that you were the one who raped and murdered those young ladies in Munich.  And the best lawyers in Germany failed to keep you from getting a prison sentence."

     "At least I showed some originality," von Schiestig chuckled, obviously unsettling some of the other men with him.

     "Originality?  You not only got your jollies by violating them, you then mutilated their bodies to satisfy your twisted sexual urges," von Krager growled.  "Personally I am pleased that no woman would touch you willingly, your compromised genes will die with you!"

     "Well, perhaps that will change in the future, I am still a sexually healthy man," von Schiestig answered cooly.  "Unless you intend to castrate me, Director," he added in a sarcastic and somewhat challenging tone.

     "That can be arranged!", von Krager thundered in return.  He drew in a breath and sat back in the chair.  "But, I did not arrange for you gentlemen to be brought here simply so I could argue with this sorry excuse for a Bavarian landholder," von Krager continued, sneering as von Schiestig frowned at his comment.  "You gentlemen may have different origins nationally, socially, but you have one thing in common.  You have all committed that most heinous of crimes known as rape.  You have all forced yourselves sexually upon at least one female, and you got caught for it.  Now, due to the close integration between the European Union and the United Nations, the European Corrections and Prisons Ministry agreed to allow me to borrow the lot of you for now."

     "Borrow us?", one man asked with a Dutch accent.

     "Yes, Mister Hassen.  You are all perverted men, yet your perversion may be something we could use."  Von Krager folded his hands.  "At this facility, Doctor Josef Smiege is currently engaged in investigating and testing a new process called deprogramming.  It will be necessary to eliminate dissent in those areas of nations like Russia that we take over.  Doctor Smiege's process requires the humiliation of the subjects to hasten psychological collapse.  This includes what he refers to as sexual victimization...."

     "Only women," von Schiestig growled.  "I am not a faggot, I do not want to be forced to...."

     "Can't you shut up?!", von Krager shouted.  "We are going to limit the tests to females first.  As it stands, we have two specimens of that gender available right now.  I figure you gentlemen can take turns with that?"

     "So you can send us back to prison for rape?", the third man, a dark-haired Spainard, asked sarcastically.

     "You will not go back to prison," von Krager promised them.  "In fact, since you men have obviously made violating females your particular, how should I say, talent in life, you could at least put that talent to use in helping our system here, and continuing to do so as it is advanced and expanded.  If you do as you are asked, you will be handsomely rewarded.  You will be given military officer rank in the internal security division I intend to set up, you will also be paid a salary from government funds and lodging will be arranged for you here or wherever we station you."

     "And what do you want from us?", von Schiestig asked.

     "I will place you under Doctor Smiege's authority.  You are to aid him in whatever way he asks.  And, when you are given military rank, you will abide by military rules, which I will have laid out for you when you take your officer's oath."  Von Krager appraised all five men closely.  "Do you agree?"

     "Why not?"  Von Schiestig snickered and stood up.  "I will."

     Von Krager nodded slowly, having to resist the temptation to shoot von Schiestig dead just for being an annoyance.  He watched as the others agreed as well and drew in a sigh.  Well, this part is over.  Now to get them working.  Maybe this will get Fraulein Berganne to sign that damned confession and allow me to approach Giuseppe with it before he does something stupid.

 

 

Waldkraiburg Criminal Detention Center (Von Krager Family Estate)

Waldkraiburg, Bavaria, Germany

27 June 2011

 

 

     A jolt of electricity surged through Alynna's naked body and struck her mind through the veil of sleep that she had allowed to fall on her.  Bags had formed under her dulled eyes from three days of being unable to sleep.  She was bruised and miserable from Smiege's "tests", which had generously included letting various men violate her to the point that now her entire pelvis area throbbed with pain.  Her vagina had been violently penetrated to the point that the skin was torn and bloody, and she could feel a slight trickle of dried blood on the insides of her legs from the last rape she had suffered.    Electricity had savaged her joints and muscles to the point where they refused to relax, in a constant state of contraction that made her entire body sore and breathing a difficult chore.  Her skin was sticky with the sweat caused by pain and the intense light that shined on her, which raised the temperature of the air around her to over thirty degrees Centigrade.  The heat increased the nausea in her empty stomach, it's angry growls for food going unanswered.  Alynna had long before given up hope that they would free her.  Now all she hoped was that they got tired of torturing her and let her die.  She was so sleepy that she yawned with what little breath her contracted diaphragm allowed her to take into her lungs.  A day after the Americans arrived, they too had been subjected to torture like she, both to interrogate them and to test them in the same demonically-inspired "deprogramming" that von Krager and Smiege continued to mention.  Alynna had heard the young woman with the bomber crew, a petite fair-skinned twenty-five year old, beg them to let her go, or at least stop electrocuting her or prodding her with those damned sticks.  She was a wife and mother of two according to her unheard pleas for mercy, and if anything, the pain of hearing her beg for the right to return to her "babies" did more to torture Alynna than any physical pain.  It also chilled her.  She was dealing with merciless evil, the kind Europe had not seen for seventy years.  For the first time in years Alynna offered prayers to the God she had been raised to believe in, asking him to give her and the others strength.  Alynna had been leaning on agnosticism since her teen years, but some of the boosts of energy she could feel during the most intense moments of torture she felt could be attributed to some kind of divine influence.  The upswelling of personal pride, even the stirrings of national pride that she had never particularly felt before, kept her soul strong and prevented her from signing their confession.  Alynna had even been reminded of childhood stories from her grandmother about one of her older brothers being beaten to death by the Nazis, or of other exploits by the Belgian Resistance.  Those stories of another time when patriots' souls were tested came back to her now and she knew she was not alone.  She knew that others had walked down this horrible path before.  The souls of those others who had died before her would give her strength in her own struggle  They would have to destroy her soul before they got her to lie about why she was in Namur that day.  She would not dishonor those who died by lying, by giving in to them.  Neither would she dishonor her family and her nation by taking the blame for those deaths, not when von Krager had obviously set it up.

     The door on the opposite end of the cell opened.  At first Alynna thought it might be one of her abusers coming to rape or sodomize her, so she steeled herself mentally with what willpower she could conjure up.  Instead she was faced by the cold blue eyes of Reinhart von Krager.  He appraised her nude body closely, seeming to mentally comment to himself on her wounds and injuries as well as her general appearance.  As he did so another jolt struck Alynna and made her gasp as electricity shot through her body and kept her muscles painfully tight.  Von Krager noticed that the sleep deprivation device was enabled and hit a switch, allowing it to be turned off.  "You look rather well," he commented.

     "No thanks to you," Alynna gasped.  Her soul wanted to hate the man before her, the purveyor of death and pain that had brought her so much grief and would likely bring that grief to others.  Her anger at him made her face twist in a snarl despite the pain in her muscles.  "What kind of monster are you?"

     "Monster?  I assure you, I am fully human."  Von Krager clasped his hands behind his back loudly and walked up closer to her.  "Doctor Smiege has asked me to thank you, you have been a marvelous subject for him."

     "How could you do this to people?!"  Alynna's lungs protested at her shout and were ignored by the rage in her soul.  "I have been electrocuted so badly that I cannot stand without these restraints on my wrists.  I have not eaten or slept in over three days!  I have been raped by five of the sickest men on Earth and you and your bastard doctor stand aside and watch!"

     "You are angry, ja?"  Von Krager gave her a condescending smile.  "I noticed yesterday that the back of your head has swollen.  Doctor Smiege has not done anything in that area, in fact, his process leaves the head alone for the most part, he does not wish to cause brain damage.  Have you been trying to smash your skull in?"

     Alynna sneered and asked in a challenging tone, "If I have been, I would not tell you."

     "Indeed.  But I am not too concerned about it, the skull is a very robust part of the skeleton and you will knock yourself unconscious before causing any internal bleeding that can give you a stroke."  Von Krager looked over at the camera in her cell.  "I noticed that you seemed to be praying earlier.  Do you believe in any gods, Fraulein?"

     "Perhaps I do," Alynna replied.  "I was raised Catholic by my parents."

     Von Krager grinned widely.  "Ah, Catholics," he chirped.  "Such a wonderfully ancient order of people."  His grin evaporated just as quickly as it had formed before he added, "And so dreadfully tedious.  Really, I think the millennia has not been kind to them.  They maintain their little backwards beliefs in saints, angels, and of course, the 'Almighty' himself.  You know that Bavaria, my home region, and Austria are strongly Catholic regions, yes?  Hitler himself was reputed to be a Catholic.  And like most of the Catholics I've met Hitler either suffered tremendous mental problems or had the mentality of a ten year old."

     "Funny you should speak of Hitler when your leader seems so eager to replace him," Alynna commented.  "Torture was something the Nazis were not above either."

     "Torture?  Perhaps, but really, this is not torture.  If we were torturing you, we would be doing things like mutilating that lovely body of your's, or perhaps twisting your arms and legs out of alignment like some primitive Christian Inquisitor of the Dark Ages.  That is where the word is originated from, after all, the Latin term for twisting things."

     "Word games," Alynna hissed.  "The fact...."

     "The fact is, Fraulein Berganne, was that you did not have to be a subject of these experiments.  We were perfectly willing to incarcerate you if you had just confessed."  Von Krager stressed that word as he grew closer to her.  "But you have not.  You refused, so we had no reason to not make you a subject.  And indeed, you have been a fine one, so we won out in the end as it is.  The evidence against you remains, all it will take is to have the burn remnants of your car with some charred body material from you in the driver's seat to be found in the Rhine River or perhaps in the countryside.  The traitor to the European Union and the United Nations will have killed herself over the guilt of betraying her fellows and her nation."

     Alynna's face twisted with rage.  "You torture me and then you have the nerve to tell me that it is my fault?!  Damn you to Hell!", she screeched.  The pain in her lungs and body was burned away by the intense rage that filled her.  Had the restraints not been in place, it was even likely she could have mustered the strength to assault von Krager for a short time before her tortured body gave out from it's damage.  "And what about the Americans?!  What...."

     "The Americans are of no concern," von Krager answered.  "They must be forced into loyalty to our government, and that is what this process is intended to do."

     "And how many of them have families waiting for them?!  How many....."

     "You really are quite amazing."  Von Krager drew in a sigh.  "You are in a very bad position, Fraulein, you should worry about yourself, not the Americans.  And you at least have the chance to save yourself.  The Americans have no such luxury."

     "God damn you to Hell!"

     "Oh, I don't think I have to worry about that.  And it's funny you should invoke a deity such as the Christian God."  Von Krager clicked his tongue and began to shake his head.  "You accuse me of being evil over the matter of your treatment, yet you invoke a deity that has done a million times worse.  Was it not the Christian God that tortured the whole of Egypt?  Three days of darkness, locusts, flaming hail, boils, didn't he foist all of these things upon the people of Egypt while using his own power to ensure that their Pharaoh did not bow to his demands?  And did he not end this by killing every single firstborn child of Egypt save his own people?  Or how about letting the Israelites burn and pillage their way into Canaan, murdering entire nations in cold blood to steal their land, and leaving only the young girls alive so they could be taken as slaves by the Israelites?  Did you neglect to see where he killed a man for the crime of not impregnating his dead brother's wife by pulling out before he ejaculated?  How many other horrors have been committed, the Inquisition, the years of imperialism, white supremacism, all of these things have their roots in the God you apparently believe in."  Alynna remained silent as von Krager shook his head again and turned away.  "Seriously, Christian mercy and Christian moral values are a joke.  As are those of virtually every other religion on Earth, all of which either inspire their followers into unnecessary violence or make them into spineless pacifists, and both tend to block human progress."  He reached over and turned the system back on, sending a jolt through Alynna that made her lungs seize up.  "Religion is the weed that has been allowed to grow for too long in our garden, and the Secretary-General and I intend to pluck it out."

     "You have no.... right!"  Alynna drew in a breath during the sentence to try and ease her tortured lungs.  "People will always want to have faith, I cannot explain it since I do not know why, but in order to remove...."

     "When this war is over," von Krager interrupted her, "a new humanity will have been born from the fires of war.  A new, and glorious, humanity.  It is a shame that you will not survive to see it."

     "At least I will die with my honor intact."

     "Honor?"  Von Krager chuckled at her words.  "What is honor?  It is an idea, and it means absolutely nothing.  Do you think it honorable to suffer and die when nobody will know about it?  When everyone will believe that you killed yourself, or will simply know that you disappeared?  Does your honor ease the ache in your muscles?  Does it heal the wounds caused by the ravishing you have suffered?  You cannot live on honor.  It is a silly concept."

     Alynna opened her mouth to make a retort.  But she thought better of it.  Von Krager did not care about anything he did not agree with personally.  More to the point, she lacked the energy to continue her argument.  So she simply said, "Leave me to die."

     "If you wish to die, we will execute you tomorrow," von Krager said cheerfully.  "Would you like to get some rest, Alynna?  I will not deny you a chance to sleep before your death, even though it would be quite redundant."  When Alynna did not answer, he shrugged and turned it off.  "It will save electricity anyway, electricity better used to deprogram the Americans."  He flipped off the light that was baking Alynna and left her in the dark.  Alynna felt tears roll down her eyes as she realized that she did not want to die.  She did not want to suffer either, she wanted to be free.  Free to live.  Free to return to Arne.  The thought of her lover and soulmate pierced Alynna's soul and inflicted incredible pain upon her, moreso than the threatening black maw of death that now hovered over her.  His promises to her that night would not be kept, could not be kept.  She was going to leave him alone, leave him behind, and he would never know what happened to her.  Alynna wondered if Arne would believe the lies that would be told about her.  The pain alleviated when she realized that he would not.  Arne had known her for years.  He knew she was not capable of this.  Hopefully he would be suspicious and maybe even investigate on his own.

     "If only I could speak with him again," Alynna said tearfully.  "I want to warn him.  Warn him about this, about von Krager, about them all.  And... I want to tell him that I love him, and I will be waiting for him.  Is that too much to ask?"  She lifted her head toward the unseen roof, and with every ounce of her soul, asked the God she had been raised to believe in, "Is it too much for me to see Arne one last time?"

     Unable to keep her heavy eyes open, Alynna fell into a deep and troubled slumber.

 

 

     A light filled the cell and Alynna's eyes opened up slowly.  Her sweat-drenched skin felt cool from the apparently heatless light.  The light bathed her and eased her pain.  She felt the restraints melt away and the tug of gravity push her against the wall.  The horrible cell disappeared and she was on her bed in her Leuven apartment.  She felt an arm cross over her chest and touch her right breast.  She followed the arm to it's shoulder, and stared into Arne's surprised face.  "Arne?"

     "Alynna?"  He looked at her.  "Alynna, what happened to you?  Why are you bruised?"

     "Arne, at Namur, I am being used for what happened at Namur."  Tears flowed down her eyes.  "They..."

     "I see."  Arne moved his left hand from her breast to her cheek.  "You have been hurt?"

     "Yes, I have.  But I have not given them what they wanted.  No matter how much it hurt...."  She began weeped and pulled herself into Arne's arms.  "But it still hurts.  They raped me, Arne.  They have tormented me for not giving in."

     "Shh...."  He put a hand in her hair and felt the back of her head.  The soreness from where Alynna had been beating herself in her half-hearted suicide attempt began to dissolve under his touch.  Her pain evaporated as his lips pressed against her's.  They kissed passionately and made love, not in the physical sense, but in the sense of the soul.  They became linked and his strength flowed into her.  Alynna's love for Arne became so intense that it ached as her will was replenished by his presence.  Her fears were swept away by the emotions his presence created within her.  When their lips seperated Arne stroked her forehead, brushing some strands of her rich blond hair that had fallen between their faces.  "Alynna, I love you very much," he said.  "And I've missed you."

     "I am not going to live another day, Arne," Alynna told him.  "I am going to die."

     "Yes.  But when you die, you will die pure."  Arne used his right hand to gently squeeze Alynna's left breast in a gesture of affection before sliding it up to her heart.  "This will stop beating with the pride of what you have accomplished.  It was a victory for you, Alynna.  No matter what they say, you beat them, Alynna."

     "I will watch you, Arne," she promised.  A thought passed Alynna's mind and she grinned.  "Arne, I want you to know that I will not be betrayed if you find other loves.  If I cannot live, I can die with content that you will live, and live fully."

     "Alynna, I can never have another woman.  At least," Arne touched her lips with his again in a small kiss.  "I can never have as passionate and true a love as the one I have for you."  Tears came down his face.  "Alynna, I don't want you to die.  I want you to be with me."

     "I want the same to."  Alynna wiped a tear from his left eye and smeared it on one of her own tears.  "I wanted to be with you so much, I wish I had.  But I cannot.  The world has intervened.  Arne," she put her own right hand over his heart in a similar position.  "I will not ask you to avenge me, I have no need of vengeance.  But, there is a terrible evil that has come alive on this world.  I have seen it, and it is what will take my life.  I have also fought it, because it is a threat to what I believe in.  I would ask you that, if you get the opportunity, fight that evil.  Fight it for yourself and what you believe in, Arne."

     Arne's eyes blinked.  "How do I fight, Alynna?  I am not a soldier."

     She shook her head.  "Neither am I, Arne.  I fought the evil with my will and my pain, by refusing to bow to it and let it consume my soul.  And we must all fight that evil, Arne, for evil can only triumph if those of good will stand by and do nothing to fight it."  Alynna felt a pull on her soul and realized that she was about to be pulled away from him.  "Arne, remember, I love you.  Always."  She pushed her lips against his mouth and gave him a passionate kiss before the pulling sensation overtook her.

     Darkness filled Alynna's vision.  Arne and the bed were gone.  The pain of her tormented body returned with full force.  Alynna looked around the darkened room before pulling her neck to rest her head on the metal wall she was shackled to.  As she felt the tug of sleep return, her soul was at ease.  It had only been a dream, a wonderful and sensuous dream, and that dream had made her strong again.  Death no longer held it's fearful sway on her.  Alynna returned to a state of sleep having made peace with her world, and the final words of her dream Arne ringing in her mind.

     I love you, Alynna...

 

 

     A lone light from the bathroom washed over the cluttered Manchester apartment of Arne Vanbiggine, followed by the sounds of splashing water.  In the bathroom Arne ran cold water over his face and tried to process the experience of his dream.  Alynna's words still echoed in his mind as he stared at himself in the mirror.  The dream was too fantastic for Arne to believe, all of the talk of a terrible evil alive in the world and how it tried to use her, how it ravished and abused her, it all seemed to be like something out of a nightmare or a dream, and at any moment his mind had expected him to ride in wearing a suit of armor and on a noble steed to save his fair damsel.  But the experience was so profound he had trouble comprehending that it had just been a dream.  Alynna's lovely body had been warm to the touch, her breasts as soft and tender as he had remembered, her lips just as moist, and her eyes seemed as alive as he had ever seen them.  It had to have been her.  Arne was not a religious man, but he accepted the possibility of the supernatural, and for a moment wondered if it had really been her.  If, somehow, someway, Alynna had communicated with him across great distances and used their last time together as the meeting place.

     As he was up for a few moments longer, he began to shift it into the realm of fantasy, but he could not fully dismiss it.  Unlike other dreams, he remembered every single moment.  There was no haze on his memory that usually came with dreams.  And he felt as though he could feel the pain Alynna had suffered, as if their souls had really intermingled.  Or he could still be in a dream, he realized, and when he woke up for real he would not remember any of it.  Arne got into the bed and began to fade back into sleep.  Only a really really weird dream, he said to himself.  And one I can't get out of my mind.  Alynna's final words continued to echo as he went to sleep.

     Arne, remember, I love you.  Always...

 

 

     The touch of a hand on her right cheek brought Alynna out of her sleep.  She yawned as awareness came to her mind.  As her sense of gravity returned she realized she was no longer in her cell.  She stared up at the ceiling of one of the exam rooms and saw von Krager look down upon her from her right side.  Her body was naked in terms of how she was clothed, but she also felt objects on various positions of her body which made her wonder if von Krager was really going to kill her or if she was about to endure another torture session.  She lifted her head and saw the Americans about two to three meters distant from the foot of the table she was on, each of them naked and showing the fatigue of days of mistreatment.  They were not shackled down by anything and were seated in normal chairs, under the watchful eye of a couple of guards carrying AUG-88s.  The young woman amongst them sobbed bitterly and kept her hands down on her thighs, as if to prevent anyone from seeing the wounds she had suffered in that area.  Alynna's heart went out to the mother and wife of a family that would likely never see her again.  Her rage at their treatment returned full force, and it showed in her eyes as she settled a hot glare on von Krager.  Von Krager ignored her angry glare and looked to his left, where Smiege was drawing liquid into a syringe.  He reached with his left hand and held down a button on the bed, which caused it to tilt to a slightly diagonal position.  As he examined her chest von Krager went from looking down at her to looking at the Americans.  "This young lady wishes to die," he told them.  "So we will grant her that wish.  Doctor?"

     Smiege nodded and pushed the piston of the syringe to make a little of the liquid within it squirt out.  He took the needle and pushed it into the back of Alynna's left hand, between the knuckles of the ring finger and middle finger.  She hissed lowly at the sting of the needle, which was pushing up against a nerve.  After injecting a fourth of the needle's contents, Smiege moved to her other hand.  "What are..."  She began hissing again as her hand stinged from the needle hitting another nerve.  Smiege nodded at von Krager before getting on his knee and injecting the liquid into her left foot along the bottom.  She realized when her foot stung that he was intentionally aiming for her nerves.  Alynna glared at von Krager, who was watching her intently.  "What... what... did you do to me?!"

     "It is an enhanced nerve toxin," he replied as Smiege injected her right foot with the last quarter of the syringe's contents.  "It was originally developed by the Soviet Union in the 1980s.  While the Russians destroyed most of the stores after the Soviet Union fell, some containers with the toxin were stolen by various... parties.  Doctor Smiege acquired some, as well as the data collected by the Soviet biochemists who designed it.  He may be able, soon, to mass produce it."

     "I must thank you," Smiege added.  "You are the first test subject to be injected with the toxin."

     Alynna glared at them both.  "Toxin?  What will it..."  A piercing pain came to her left hand at the point of injection and made Alynna cry out from the intensity of it.  The other hand soon began burning too, and finally, her feet, in the same order she had been injected.  She lost all feeling of her fingers and toes as the burning pain took over her hands and feet.  The sensation crawled it's way up her limbs toward her knees and elbows.  She felt as though her body was on fire on the inside.  Her mouth stood agape before she let loose another short howl when the pain entered her knees and elbows and made them tremble involuntarily.  "Bastards," she shouted at them.

     "The toxin begins affecting the nerves at the extremities," Smiege explained.  "It will make it's way progressively to your spine, and eventually to your brain, where it will kill you."

     As Smiege's words reached her ears Alynna felt the burning pain enter her upper legs and arms, where it worked it's way to her pelvis and shoulders.  Alynna screamed in agony as she was, for all intents and purposes, burned alive from the inside out.  Her reflexes ordered her limbs to move to try and escape the pain, and were answered by silence from the destruction of her nerves in those areas.  The pain burned it's way into her torso, where it began to enter her central organs.  Alynna's rectum began to twitch uncontrollably and what was left of her internal waste was expelled onto the table.  Burning nausea worked it's way through her large intestines and into her small intestines while her lungs began to burn.  The pain entered her empty stomach and made it twist and contort out of shape.  Urine spilled from her genitalia, her muscles failing to remain in her control as their connection to her brain was severed by the toxin.  Her diaphragm stopped moving and her heart began to stop.  Alynna's screaming ended as she lost control of her lungs and began to suffocate.  She thought she could see the horror in the faces of the Americans as her neck stiffened, caught in the firey grip of the toxin that was killing her.  Her spine was a bonfire that continued sending the signals of pain in her nervous system to her brain, where it assaulted Alynna's mind. She wanted to scream angrily at her killers, who were completely oblivious and uncaring to the horrible agony that they had gleefully inflicted upon her.  Her soul raged at the inhumanity of von Krager's slight grin and Smiege's analytical gaze.  For Alynna, both were the epitome of all that could be considered evil in humanity.  Alynna felt some saliva gather in her mouth and tried to swallow, but she found that her throat was now being burned by the toxin.  Her tongue and mouth, even her teeth, were on fire.  She lost her hearing and eyesight as the fire worked it's way into those body parts and removed them.  She was deaf, mute, and blind to the world, and all Alynna knew was unbearable agony.  As she felt her life slip away under the suffocating grip of death, the toxin entered Alynna's brain.  Her mind disintegrated in the fire of the toxin.  Alynna's death scream sounded purely in her tormented mind, and all became black...

 

 

     "This data will be useful," Smiege stated as Alynna's brain activity ceased.  "The toxin moves quickly, very quickly."

     "Could we not prolong it?  It could be a useful execution tool."

     Smiege shrugged at von Krager's question.  "Perhaps.  I shall have to see.  It is a moot point to prolong it after it reaches the diaphragm and heart, the body will die from oxygen deprivation before the toxin can destroy the nerves in the brain.  But if I can find a way to make the process logarithmic, it would achieve the effect you desire."

     "Good, I shall report our process to the Secretary-General as soon as possible.  As for them," von Krager looked back at the Americans, each one having a paled expression on their faces.  "I think we no longer have a need for interrogation.  Begin the deprogramming process in earnest."

     "I will immediately, Director."

     Von Krager nodded and left the room.  Waiting for him in his office would be paperwork, the one thing he hated the most.  But it would be necessary, the UN Army was already advancing deeper into Russia.  Moscow would probably fall by November the way the pace was going, and if need be his troops could always nuke those cities where substantial Russian resistance had gathered.  We will rule by force, he told himself mentally.  The Russians will submit or die, they will not be given second chances, and they will not be given openings for negotiation.  The problem with using violence against terrorists is that no one has ever used enough violence to dissuade people from joining such resistance forces and terrorist groups.  That will change this time.  Most will not fight against us if our vengeance is swift and brutal, save the most fanatical patriot or religious zealot, and they can make excellent examples.  Von Krager made a second mental note as he strode to his office door.  In a few months, perhaps a year, Alynna Berganne's relatives should... disappear.  Perhaps for deprogramming, or just executed.  We cannot risk them persuading others that we are lying about her role.

     Once in his office, von Krager retrieved a bottle of Irn-Bru from his cooler.  The Scottish drink was a vice of his, he had to admit.  It had no particular quality over other soft drinks, and there were healthier beverages to be had, but he simply liked the taste and had made it habit.  He sat down and took a drink from the bottle.  "Christmas should be excellent this year," he sighed happily as he looked at the world map on his wall.  "Excellent indeed...."

 

 

United Nations Headquarters Complex

Geneva, Geneva Canton, Swiss Confederation

16 July 2011

 

     The security of the UN complex had been significantly increased in the weeks since the war began, Von Krager noted while leading his "guests" through several security checkpoints in the building to Giuseppe's main office.  Giuseppe's attractive Swiss secretary flashed a grin at them before informing Giuseppe that they had arrived.  Von Krager paid her no heed as he entered the office, she was of no concern to him and he had seen far prettier and more interesting females that he would prefer devoting his attention to.

     Inside the office, Giuseppe was watching the tape of Serb atrocities against the Swiss Embassy staff again.  Von Krager and his three "guests" entered the room and remained silent as Giuseppe watched a teenage girl on the video.  "I want these people caught," he hissed when he saw that von Krager had entered the room.  "I want them to suffer for their crimes."

     "Indeed, they shall," von Krager said to Giuseppe.  "Secretary-General, I am pleased to report that Doctor Smiege has been successful."  He gestured to the three guests with him.  Two, a man and a woman, were Caucasians, the third an Oriental man.

     "They are Americans?", Giuseppe asked von Krager.  He pointed at the trio that stood at strict attention around von Krager.

     "They were Americans, Secretary-General," von Krager corrected him.  "Doctor Smiege has turned them into Das Verteidiger der Ordnung, the Defenders of the Order.  Your Order."  Von Krager approached him slowly while Giuseppe looked over his new followers visually, examining their blank expressions.  "Their programming is not yet complete, but it has advanced enough in these past two, three weeks that they are loyal.  All that remains is for their programming to be shifted into a specialty and completed in that fashion."

     "Good, very good."  Giuseppe allowed himself a smile.  "This is marvelous.  If we can change peoples' minds, make them agree with my views, we could create a new humanity.  A humanity of peace and brotherhood, no more war."

     "Exactly, Armand."  Von Krager switched to the informal.  He eased himself into a seat in front of Giuseppe's desk.  "I am seeking your permission to form a new branch of the UN government, under the joint authority of myself and Director of Security Dausche.  This branch will be responsible for identifying those who pose a threat to your new order, and for arranging for their deprogramming.  It will also act as our intelligence agency and be authorized to interrogate prisoners-of-war."

     "The Directorate of Security should be capable of that alone."  Giuseppe leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk.  "Why a new organization?"

     "I have utmost faith in Director Dausche in maintaining your personal security and the security of the UN's other delegates.  But this is of a scope larger than the Directorate's duty, namely, providing security for the government.  This new organization, which will be staffed by those my office deems loyal and by those who are deprogrammed and are given the proper programming, will have duties of much greater importance.  The war may very well be decided by their ability, or inability, to deal with nationalist uprisings and rebellions within the UN."

     Giuseppe folded his hands and assessed von Krager with his crazed emerald eyes.  "Very well, Director," he finally said, "I shall sign the proper orders.  I do not know how the Security Council and General Assembly will take it, but they should see the wisdom in this."

     "And if they do not," von Krager finished for him, "we will make them see that wisdom."

 

 

     Jennifer Dausche nodded politely at the quartet of subordinates arrayed around her desk.  "That will be all," she told them in a friendly voice and a serpent smile.  She watched them stand and nod respectfully before they filed out of the office.  As they walked out, von Krager entered, surveying the quartet's uninterested reactions before closing the door.  "Director Dausche," he said as he turned back around, "it is good to see you."

     "You have been away for the better part of a month, Reinhart," she replied coldly.  Jennifer folded her hands together and rested her elbows on her knees, with her elbows crooked at a ninety degree angle.  "I trust Doctor Smiege's progress has been good."

     "Yes, it has been.  And, the Secretary-General has authorized the formation of our new security and intelligence agency based on Doctor Smiege's progress."  Von Krager slipped into a chair and folded his arms.

     "You have deprogrammed subjects?"

     "Yes, three Americans.  Three out of five, the other two, sadly, lacked the physical strength to withstand the intensity of the deprogramming progress.  Their bodies have been disposed of."

     "Yes.  As has the body of Alynna Berganne.  Her burned out vehicle was placed into the Rhine River with the charred corpse your provided us in the driver's seat.  We will arrange in a few months for it to be discovered by a 'routine' underwater survey of the river.  All evidence will point to it as a case of suicide."

     "Her family may be a problem," von Krager stated.  "We will need to track them down, and have them taken care of.  Once the new directives are passed in the European Parliament and General Assembly, our security force will have the authority to make arbitrary arrests of them, in a year or so.  Once this is done," von Krager grinned, "we can have them transferred to one of Doctor Smiege's planned facilities."

     "I have found a location in Brussels that would be perfect for servicing the Low Countries, Northwest Germany, and Northern France."  Jennifer tapped a button on her computer and brought up a map of Europe on her large screen monitor built into the wall.  "Another near the Pyrenees for Southern France and the Iberian Peninsula, then perhaps one in Italy..."

     "No, not Italy," von Krager interrupted.  "The Secretary-General is convinced of his nation's loyalty, these facilities will be used to convert the disloyal, and he will not tolerate such an action.  Our initial facilities in Waldkraiburg shall suffice for that region, in addition to a facility in Serbia for the Balkan region..."

     A smile crept onto Jennifer's face.  "You have been paying attention to the situation there, I see."

     "It is my job," von Krager replied.  "Our people have done their work well.  The Serbian government has even reported the arrests of several young people involved in the embassy attack.  I am certain the Secretary-General will agree with me that deprogramming is preferable to killing them.  And if he does not, well..."  Von Krager's own face changed to show an evil grin.  "The Secretary-General will probably enjoy Doctor Smiege's nerve toxin and it's effect on those Serb butchers."

     "Any threat of him finding out how we engineered that embassy situation?", Jennifer asked.

     "Absolutely none, I assure you.  I had my connections liquidated and with our control of the security apparatus, we can quash any internal investigation.  And Giuseppe is such now that if American or British agents were to discover any inkling of evidence, he would denounce it as forgery.  And since any such evidence could easily be forged, neither will the General Assembly or European Parliament accept it."  Von Krager stood up and walked over to the screen.  "We shall position the Serbian facility near Kragujevac, it is a decent distance from Belgrade and we should find a sufficient position in some of the local terrain.  It will be our first branch, hopefully to be opened in a few months using other deprogrammed Americans."

     "I hope you keep a lid on this process, Director, if the other nations find out, even our most fervent supporters will turn on us," Jennifer commented with a frown.  "Indeed, the Brazilian delegate has already led an inquiry into the use of tactical nuclear weapons."

     "So I have heard.  We will have to deal with them as well."  Von Krager clasped his hands behind his back.  "Arrange for the abduction of the delegates from the Western Hemisphere and their families as soon as Doctor Smiege confirms he has the staff necessary to guard and deprogram them all.  I will have my agents arrange for them to have an accident.  A Russian terrorist attack on the quarters of the nations involved, plus perhaps an African nation or two."

     "You should add the Ukrainian and Polish delegations to that list," she added, "and perhaps the Germans.  In fact, you should have the Secretary-General himself be targeted, and I shall arrange for the bombs meant to kill him to be found in the proverbial nick of time.  It will appear to be a Russian attempt to annihilate our government.  And," Jennifer grinned, "it will give you the pretense you need to destroy the Russian government, plunging them into enough confusion to prevent their launching of their remaining nuclear arsenal before we can reach Moscow.  And, we both know that they will do so when they realize that we cannot be stopped with their standard defense."

     Von Krager began to laugh out loud.  "You mean the Duma has not already made Zhakov dump Rodenko in favor of Shivosky?"

     "They have started to try.  And will likely not succeed, Zhakov has declared a state of emergency and has taken complete controls.  Since Zhakov is terrified of Shivosky gaining popularity and being used against him, we anticipate that he will instead try to direct the war effort himself, with Rodenko as his mouthpiece."  Jennifer watched von Krager's laughter intensify.  "This amuses you?"

     "The Russians have not learned the lessons of the past, namely, that politicians make poor generals!"  Von Krager rubbed his hands together gleefully.  "Superb!  And, when our counterstrike removes their government, they will fall into command confusion as the remaining generals and oblast leaders vie for power!"

     "While the Americans are forced to deal with their own internal political pressures," Jennifer added. "Saunders has already come under fire in their Congress for her prosecution of the war.  She may be forced to send what exists of her Army soon."

     "The Americans, they are my worry."  Von Krager's grin dissolved as he returned to seriousness.  "They are currently weak in terms of their projection capability, but they have a massive industrial advantage and the generally most advanced defense industries in the world.  I am certain Saunders will lose election next year, so we only have a year and a half before a new leader comes into power and begins reforming the US military."

     "Saunders' dismantling of her domestic warfare production was most thorough," Jennifer reminded him.  "It should take at least three to four years for them to re-establish everything.  Some of the necessary machinery toolings will have to be redesigned and rebuilt from scratch, new defense plants built..."

     "Yes.  So we need to have North America conquered before the middle of 2017.  That means we need to invade by the middle of 2015 at the very least, perhaps as early as late 2014."

     "Europe's defense industries and infrastructure have been improved in the last few years, and if we take over Western Russia we should gain their important industries and maybe even their fleet units, but to make a cross-ocean invasion will require immense logistical support.  In the last war, the United States made their assault on Europe from an Allied nation, England, we will not have that luxury."

     Von Krager traced his finger across the Northern Atlantic from Great Britain and Ireland to the Canadian coast.  "Yes.  We should probably attack and seize Britain and northeastern Canada first, then use that to divert attention north before we hit the US proper.  I believe it would be best if we strike in New England, and we use the new amphibious assault support submarine concept the German Bundeswehr and Russian Navy have independently developed.  The Russians are already reputed to have a number of models complete or nearing completion, we could seize them in addition to building our own.  And we have three years to get them operational."  Von Krager drew in a sigh as he gazed at the immensity of North America.  "That is where the war will be decided, Jennifer.  North America.  If we can knock out the Americans before they recover from Saunders' policies, the war is our's to win.  But if we cannot, we risk the American giant overwhelming us with the might of the Western Hemisphere behind it.  Europe and Japan alone do not have the population to conquer Russia and sustain a war in the Americas.  Even if India and China side with us, the resources needed to train their armies to any significant level are beyond our scope, and the best we can reasonably do with their armies is delay the Americans by throwing millions of Indians and Chinese at them."

     "Well, we have a long six years ahead of us then," Jennifer noted.

     "Indeed we do," von Krager agreed.  "Indeed we do.  But we will accomplish our objectives, that I am certain of.  The following years will be such a kind that humanity has never witnessed in it's illustrious history.  We will see untold glories come upon us as we strive to make Giuseppe's dream a reality.  We shall use fear and brutality to crush our domestic enemies' will before we program them into faithful and obedient servants of the new order.  Our external enemies will be beset by a devastation mankind has never seen."

     Von Krager stared out the window and off into the distance.  "The religious fanatics will undoubtedly think that the end times, the end of the world, is upon them, and indeed, they shall be true in a sense.  We shall annihilate all of the petty, primitive-minded religions on this planet.  Order shall replace chaos, faith in the order shall replace faith in the church, Giuseppe and ourselves will replace the gods and their prophets."  The hint of a smile that could only be described as satanic crossed von Krager's face.  He directed his blue eyes to Jennifer with an unholy radiance burning within them as he imagined that which they had brought onto the world.  "All primitive and outdated ideologies, Communism, democracy, humanism, religion, all shall be purged from humanity like the impurities from metals in the smelter.  Only the strong amongst us will survive, for it is the way of nature.  Now, if the peoples of the world accept their future, if they accept the annihilation of the primitive cultures and ideologies, things shall be fine.  But, if they do not, well then, the world shall be bathed in their blood..."

 

 

Oval Office, White House

Washington D.C., United States of America

21 January 2013

 

     Donald Tresanger and Colleen Hadwick were out of a job.

     That was something they had known since Election Day 2012.  The disaster in Russia, the horror stories of American troops going into battle with little better than a gun and a clip of ammo, or of American troops being encircled and destroyed by enemies who enjoyed a tremendous numerical advantage in tanks, APCs, and other mechanized equipment, all had doomed Denise Saunders' re-election campaign.  Saunders had, for all intents and purposes, lost control of her country.  People were scared and angry.  America was nearing defeat in Russia.  Defeat!  Unimaginable!  And something Denise Saunders had refused to accept.  She had done everything.  She had fired commanders.  She had started dictating strategy from her office.  She had personally taken over field units because she felt her generals were trying to destroy her and believed only she could lead the US to victory.  At home, she had used the war to attack her detractors, accusing them of everything from a lack of patriotism to treason.  The FBI had even begun harrassing some of her critics, threatening them with imprisonment as "threats to national security".

     But for Denise Saunders, it had been as if she had stepped into quicksand, and no matter how much she tried to pull herself up, she continued to be sucked in.  In the end, no matter how much she tried to grip the reins, she lost control, and in the election the same bullying she had used to cow her opponent in 2008 backfired.  Andrews' stinging criticisms of her administration's actions cut right through her angry retorts and attacks on his character and "ideological" loyalties.  She had done everything but use racial slurs, but she might have well done that considering the effect it had.  Having lost control Saunders had lost her image and her cherished popularity.  America had rejected her in favor of another.  All of Saunders' former supporters abandoned her, and by November she was so unpopular that Andrews' victory had been by a landslide, one of the greatest margins of victory in US history for a Presidential campaign.  Andrews was already being compared to Franklin Roosevelt and other great Presidents while Saunders, instead of being remembered as she wanted, a great visionary who led America to a new enlightenment, would be thought of as a failure.  A mediocre leader who used her power and media manipulation to get her own way, disarmed the country despite the unstable world situation, silenced her critics through character assassination and legal wrangling, and sent thousands of American soldiers to their deaths in the name of her own vanity.  Saunders' dream for America was dead.

     And Donald Tresanger didn't give a damn.

     With Hadwick by his side, Tresanger marched into the Oval Office and found Saunders in her chair, staring blankly at the TV screen where the inaugeration of Jason Andrews to the office of President was about to take place.  When that happened Saunders would go from being the most powerful woman in her country's history to a has-been.  A historical footnote damned to political hell by her own incompetence and arrogance.  Tresanger had at one time admired her for her bulldog tenacity and her sly ability to manipulate her opponents.  Now, he couldn't stand the woman.  In his view, Denise Saunders had been reduced from a realist with a vision to a would-be tyrant that was just as bad as the one she had been forced to oppose.  And he was worried.  She had become dangerously unhinged in the previous two months since her election defeat.  Tresanger could not help but feel concerned that her mental instability might cause other problems.  "Hello, Madame President," he said respectfully, trying to hide his distaste at her disheveled appearance.

     "Where the fuck did it all go wrong?", she murmured, staring at the TV screen at the crowds awaiting Andrews' swearing in.  "And look at them!  Two years ago they thought I was Jesus fucking Christ!  Now they flock to that stupid black idiot Andrews!"  She whirled in the chair and stared at them.  "That son of a bitch stole all of my voters!"

     "Well, ma'am, the people have spoken.  They want him, not you," Tresanger said quietly.

     "Fuck the people!", Saunders screamed.  "They're stupid!  Blind, stupid, scared little kids who flock to anyone who promises them salvation from their fears!  I was going to bring these people a new future!  I labored for four fucking years, and for what?!  To have them stab me in the back the instant a bump showed up in the road?!"

     "This war's more than a bump in the road," Tresanger retorted.  "We're being beaten.  And it's because we don't have the arms..."

     "Bullshit!  Air power wins wars..."

     "And our air power hasn't!"  Tresanger finally lost his temper.  "You want the truth Denise?!  The truth is that you fucked it all up!  You are the one who disarmed the military and fired all the brass who stood against it.  And you're the one who sold our ships and our weapons to the same nations we're fighting right now!  And finally, when you could have rejoined the UN back in 2009 and given us the Security Council vote to keep Giuseppe out, or to keep Zhakov from getting his delusions of grandeur, you didn't because you were too busy trying to buy more votes for the next election with programs that we didn't even need!"

     Being challenged by her own subordinate made Saunders' rage grow.  She jumped out of her chair as if she were on a spring and began rounding the desk.  "How dare you?!  I made you who you are, Donald!  You owe me everything!"

     "Not anymore.  I'm going to tell them everything, Denise."  Tresanger informed her.  He did not stand down as Saunders had obviously hoped and remained in his previous position.  "I'm going to Congress when they resume session and I'm telling them every little stunt you thought up.  I'm going to tell them how you ignored Giuseppe's threat, how you allowed the Russians to provoke him, the lengths to which you went to interfere.  How will Senator Crawford feel when he learns you planned to have him arrested as a threat to national security over his criticisms of your war plan?  Perhaps the people will find it interesting to see the orders you cut that would declare martial law and cancel the elections?"

     Saunders bit her lip.  "I had a reason for those plans."

     "Whatever excuse you had in your mind, Denise, it doesn't matter.  The fact is, you were going to try and use military force to maintain your power after you saw you could never hold onto it legitimately."  Tresanger let his words linger for a moment before continuing.  "The key word is try.  The military would never support you.  Maybe some of your flunkies in the Pentagon might think of it, but the average officer and soldier would never let you get away with it, they hate you as it is."

     "And what about you, Colleen?"  Saunders looked over at Hadwick.  "Are you going to have the spine to join with Donald or stick with me?  Or are you going to melt away like you always do?"

     "I'm with Donald," Hadwick replied.  She swallowed and made eye contact with her former President.  "Denise, you went too far.  And you squandered so many lives."

     "We did it, Colleen.  You are the Secretary of Defense."

     "You are the one who insisted that we send the bulk of the Army and Marine Corps to Russia," Hadwick responded.  She remained in a solid and strong stance despite the withering glare from Saunders that, just the day before, would likely have caused her to back down.  "Even when the Air Force brass tried to tell you that your bombing campaign against Europe would never work you made them continue.  And when it was obvious the weapons you had sponsered weren't having the desired effect you continued to order them built instead of restarting our defense industries.  Denise, I've never been anything but your mouthpiece, so don't try to pin this on me."

     "And what a lousy mouthpiece you've been," Saunders said with a sneer.  "You have no backbone at all, Colleen.  I don't know how Donald's gotten you to stand up this long but all it'll take is one little push and you'll fall apart.  You've never been able to stand up for anything.  Never."

     "This is different, Denise," Hadwick replied coldly.  The light of her blue eyes danced with a hidden fury at the way Saunders was smirking at her.  "This time there is something personal."

     "Personal?"  Saunders laughed in Hadwick's face.  "It's never personal with you, Colleen.  You don't have the stomach for it.  Now, what silly little..."

     Saunders never saw it coming.  Hadwick's open right hand caught Saunders in the left cheek and created an intense sting as the impact was acknowledged by Saunders' brain.  "You bitch!", Hadwick screamed.  "My sister was shot down over Europe because of you and only God knows what's happened to her!  My baby sister, just another victim of your stupidity!"

     Hadwick's fury did more than just make Saunders angry; it terrified her.  And Tresanger had to admit that he had never seen Hadwick so enraged.  And yet, it made sense for him.  Hadwick had not stood up to Saunders during the planning for the foolhardy air campaign against Europe, and because of that she no doubt considered herself at least partially guilty in her sister being a casualty.  And now she was letting Saunders know it.

     As Saunders sought to retort Tresanger interrupted her.  "You can't stop us, Denise.  We have corroborating evidence on our side and no one, no one, will side with you in this matter.  You wanted to be remembered in history?  You might very well be remembered, but definitely not in the way you desired."

     Caught in a conflict of rage, terror, and depression, Saunders began to cry.  "Why?", she asked in tears.

     "Because you brought this on yourself, Denise.  You want to continue thinking that you are right and that the failures you have caused were done by others.  We can't allow this to continue, other people must learn from our mistakes and they can't do that if we don't admit they were mistakes and make sure to keep record of them."  Tresanger drew in a sigh.  "I'm sorry, Denise.  I wish it had worked out for good, I really do.  I suppose that only death can save you from what's coming."

     Tresanger's words were glibly offered and appeared to just be a figure of speach, an example, but all three individuals in the room understand the true meaning.  On the screen, Andrews stepped up to the Chief Justice and they began to recite the Oath of Office.  Andrews' voice was loud and strong over the TV speaker.  "I, Jason Jonathan Andrews, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States."

     With those words, Denise Saunders had lost her power.  She gingerly sat back down in the chair she was technically required to vacate, while Tresanger and Hadwick nodded at her and stepped out.  Once outside they encountered other Cabinent staff members and began to give goodbyes.

     When the gunshot was heard a few minutes later, neither Tresanger nor Hadwick were at all surprised.  Whether because of mental instability in the form of paranoia or her solid grasp of Machiavellian realism in relation to her position, Denise Saunders always kept a Colt revolver in her desk.  She was not a very good shot, just good enough to pass muster within the range of the office.  But none of that skill was required to stick the barrel in her mouth and put a bullet through her own brain.

     In the end, Denise Saunders had convinced herself of her greatness, just to find out how horribly wrong it was.  Living with the guilt of failure, with the embarrassment of defeat, would have been too much for her to bear.  So she had embraced death to preserve her last shred of personal dignity.  Yes, the evidence would come out anyway, she would no longer be remembered as the great American stateswoman as she had tried so hard to become, but her taking of her own life was a measure of acceptance of her failures.  It could be said of her that she was truly sorry for having failed her nation, and indeed, some of her ex-supporters and her family would take solace in that.

     Whatever the truth of what happened in the mind of Denise Saunders before she pulled the trigger, it did not change what had happened.  The 44th President of the United States no longer held that title, and as the first female President in US history killed herself in shame, the nation celebrated the swearing in of another President.  A man who would need only look at the shattered glass of the Oval Office window, or see the blood on the carpet where fragments of Saunders' brain had landed, to understand the price of arrogance.

 

 

Kajic Farmhouse

Near Ruma, Serbia, United Nations

15 February 2013

 

     The cool Balkan air had chilled the small two-story home of the Kajic family to around ten degrees Centigrade.  The home's fireplace was lit and burning, and cast the light of it's flames upon the two human forms laying only a meter and a half from it's maw.  The blue eyes of Branislav Kajic gazed upon the dancing fire, his body and soul having also been consumed by a similar fire.  Beneath him, Krissa Kajic neé Srabic lifted her head and kissed him on the cheek.  Her brown eyes glimmered with intense emotion while her hand moved slowly along the surface of Branislav's muscular back.  Her chestnut hair, normally long enough to go down to the middle of her back, was instead strewn carelessly around her head on the floor.  Krissa did not possess the muscular build that Branislav had developed in his young life.  She was a bit on the thin side with her physical build.  Krissa's skin was taut and flat, unlike the surface of Branislav's body, where muscles created curves and lines.  The only abberation for Krissa were her breasts, which created the appearance of bulbs in her side profile.  Their right ring fingers each held a small gold-colored ring, testament to the love that they shared.  "I think we should go to our bed," Krissa whispered in his ear while he kissed her over her heart.

     "It is too cold up there," Branislav responded.  "The fire here is warm."

     "That is why we hold each other while in bed," Krissa reminded him with her trademark giggle.  "Shared body heat."

     "Do you think it will be warm enough for me to make love to you, Krissa?"

     Her hands took symmetrical positions on Branislav's hips.  "Branny, you just got finished making love with me."

     "Yes, but..."  He smiled and kissed her on the lips.  "I love you too much to stop so soon."

     "Branislav, you are going to rest.  I did not marry you simply for this pleasure."  Krissa giggled again and moved her hands up along his sides.  "There is far more to love than simply passion."

     "I know."  He grinned.  "How is my English coming along?"

     Krissa's grin matched his as she rested her hands on his upper arms.  "You are doing well," she assured him in their native language.  "You are a very apt pupil, Branislav."

     "Thank you, my pretty teacher."  Branislav laid beside her on the floor, keeping an arm draped over her shoulder.  "What was it like in America?  Did they hate you because you were a Serb?"

     "No, not at all," Krissa answered.  "The people there are very kind.  A bit on the slow side when it comes to other countries and cultures, I can't tell you how many times boys my age throught I was from Russia or Romania or some other nation."  She began giggling again while Branislav chuckled.  "But they were nice."

     "Krissa, you know the Americans are the ones who destroyed Serbia?  They allowed the Kosovars and the..."

     "Branislav, listen to me."  Krissa took his hand.  "The Americans only do that which they feel is right.  Sometimes they are wrong, sometimes they're not, but being with them, I know that most only want peace.  They don't ask for war."

     "Then why did they attack us, Krissa?"

     "Because they felt they were doing the right thing.  They believed our people were doing horrible things to other peoples, and they felt they had to stop it."  Krissa kept her back flat on the floor and gazed at the ceiling.  "Branislav, what did you do when you were in Belgrade that time?  When all of the riots happened?"

     With the force of a lightning bolt, Branislav's memories returned.  The embassy siege, the bullets flying through the air, the cries of dying people or grieving relatives.  He remembered the young boy that had died in his arms, the other young men that fell at his side while they shot dead the guards of the embassy.  And most of all, that young Swiss girl and the parents he hade gunned down without mercy.  His hand reached for Krissa's breast, and as he touched it he could remember the feel of the girl's skin.  The terror in her eyes as he had stole her innocence and thrown his away as well.  Her frenzied screams as the one named Loji had brutalized her in ways that still made his stomach crawl.  The girl's spirit had haunted him since that fateful day.  Sometimes he was able to keep the memory out, whether it was from hard farm work, or moments of passion with Krissa, but at night the girl would come back.  Branislav's conscious refused to let him rest.

     But just as he felt shame for what he had done, he had a greater fear.  A fear that Krissa would reject him if she found out.  This fear kept him in agonized silence, and made him dread the day Krissa did find out.  He looked down on Krissa, and saw the bloody handprint of his hand on her breast, just like the girl in the embassy.  In his mind's eye, Krissa's entire body was covered in bloody handprints from where he had touched her.

     "Branislav?"

     He blinked and felt himself pulled back into reality.  The blood on Krissa disappeared, and his right hand was still rubbing up against Krissa's breast, her nipple showing between his middle and ring finger.  "Branislav, did you hear me?"

     "Yes, I heard you."  He swallowed and looked at the fire, Loji's maniacal laughter and the girl's screaming piercing his soul.  "I remember the violence, it was horrible."

     "I was told by others that the boys that broke into the embassy killed everyone," Krissa murmured.  "I hope you were far away from that."

     "I was," Branislav lied.

     Krissa answered him with a small nod.  "They were fools, Branislav.  Young men drunk with nationalism, unable to understand what they were doing.  They are a disgrace to us all."

     "You mean, they are a disgrace to Serbia?", Branislav asked.

     "They are a disgrace to all mankind," Krissa clarrified.  She drew in a sigh, then sat up and smiled down at him.  "Come to bed, Branislav.  It is getting late."

     He sighed and answered her with a nod.  The light of the fire gave Krissa's body an exotic look in his eyes while she stood and reached for a shirt.  Branislav reached for his shorts while admiring the way Krissa moved.

     A loud crash sounded through the house as one of the windows was shattered by an impact, the glass from it clattering on the nearby floor.  Krissa whirled around and yelped from surprise, holding her shirt over her pelvis to obscure that portion of her body.  Branislav scrambled to his feet just in time to have an intense chemical smell assault his senses.  The shock made his diaphragm contract and prevented him from breathing  He tripped to his knees and began to choke.  He looked over at Krissa, who was also choking violently on whatever gas or chemical had been throw into the farmhouse, and tried to grab her.  "We have to get out!", he rasped.  Pain speared his lungs from the lack of air.  He pulled his shorts up to his nose to try and get the chemical smell out.  His other arm reached for Krissa as she fell over.  His arm's muscles protested the addition of her weight while he struggled to pull her over his shoulder.  Branislav went for the back door as fast as his legs could carry him.  He heard another crash, this time one that sounded like splintering wood.  Branislav cursed at his faltering legs and tried desperately to force breath into his lungs, but the smell in his nostrils was so revolting that his body refused to let him breath.  He managed to only get fifteen meters across the room toward the back door before he collapsed.  When he tried to get back up again, he felt a hard impact on the back of his skull.  Branislav slumped to the floor and fell into darkness.

 

 

 

United Nations Human Behavoiral Research Center, Balkans Region

Near Kragujevac, Serbia, United Nations

 

     Much like an intricate tapestry, human history is filled with patterns.  Sometimes to the point that history can be predicted in some part, or at least forecasted.  People who support the maintainance of historical memory and knowledge point out these patterns as evidence for why knowledge of history is so important to humanity's future.  The American philosopher Santayana had warned humanity that those who cannot remember the past were doomed to repeat it.  But as was often the case, humanity had failed to heed his words, and as time passed, events of the early and then middle 20th Century began to fade into obscurity.  Amongst those memories were some of the events of the fourth and fifth decades of the century in question, a time when darkness stalked the Earth and horror reigned.  The people of Kragujevac had at least remembered.  They had remembered the German machine guns that had killed thousands of innocents in bloody reprisals to Tito's Partisans, the schoolchildren cut down before their prime.  That past evil was still a memory for them, immortalized in the sculptures and monuments and oral histories of the Kragujevac Massacre of October 1941.

     But unknown to them, their land was again in the grip of a dark force.  A darkness that had spread across the globe like a sick cancer, and was committing horrifying acts against their fellow man.  Within the walls of the newly built "Human Behavorial Research Center", as it was known in English, people were taken to be destroyed.  Not always killed, but destroyed.  Their minds annihilated so that they could be turned into willing slaves, every shred of humanity torn from them as they were victimized and turned against their own families, friends, and nations.  The Kragujevac HBRC was nestled neatly within a "valley" surrounded by hills.  It was a self-contained complex where it's staff could eat and sleep.  Solar cells were the primary use of power, connected to the reserve batteries so that even at night they could operate without using the external power grid connection, and backed up by gas-powered generators to make it virtually self-sufficient in terms of power usage.  The structures were painted a drab gray, with very few windows.  The courtyard between the outer wall and the structure within had an ominous stench to it and a pile of ash at one end.  The building was three stories in height, shaped like a wheel with a central structure connected in four places to a larger circular structure.  The central structure had atop it the flag of the UN.  The new flag designed to embody the martial fervor being ingrained into it, with two crossed swords placed over the globe instead of the surrounding olive branches.  On the outside it was forboding, and it's walls hid a horrible secret.  Those walls had echoed the screams of hundreds, thousands, of victims.  They had witnessed brutality unseen in human history, evil on such a scale that it overwhelmed any who tried to comprehend it's effects.

     It was within the confines of this complex that Branislav Kajic began to wake up, about eight hours after he had been taken prisoner.  The weariness in his body, caused by sedatives, prevented him from gaining his senses of touch for a moment, but he knew something was wrong when he realized that his arms and legs could not move even after he regained control of them.  The sensation of contact with a flat surface registered in his brain, coming from the surface nerves on the back of his body.  His arms were arrayed on either side at forty-five degree slants downward.  A fluorescent light ran across the flat ceiling over his head  and shined down on him.  He began turning his head, and he felt his heart begin beating faster when he saw Krissa's nude form about two meters to his left.  Her table was not the same as his, and while flat he could see that her arms were held to her side.  Her elbows were bent upwards with her wrists at the same level as her eyes.  Branislav began to call out to his wife.  "Krissa!  Krissa, can you hear me!"

     "She is still under the sedative", a voice informed him candidly in his native language.  "She will probably awaken within ten minutes."

     Branislav's eyes widened as he remembered the voice he had just heard, something he had been unable to forget.  "You!"  He tried to raise his head but the metal band over his forehead held him down.  "Loji!  Come where I can see you!  Where are we?!"

     "So nice to see you again, Branislav Kajic," Loji replied.  His face came in from the left side of Branislav.  His blue eyes smiled with a maniacal light as he grinned.  "You remember me, Branislav?  I am so touched."

     "Where are we?"  Branislav noticed the collar of a uniform that Loji was wearing.  "That uniform, you..."

     "Welcome to the Kragujevac Human Behavioral Research Center, comrade," Loji said with a spinechilling gleeful tone.  "You may address me as Oberst, if you desire."

     "How could you Loji?  You sold out our people!"

     Loji pulled off the band that kept Branislav's head down.  "Did I?  Don't be naive.  We all knew what would happen after Giuseppe unleashed his nukes upon Russia.  We underestimated, I'll admit.  But unlike the others, I have the intelligence to see who the winner is going to be.  And it was not going to be us, Branislav.  Serbia would have suffered the same fate as Russia if not for people like me."  Loji set his hand on Krissa's body.  He moved his fingers over her smooth skin, gently admiring the shape of her breasts with his right hand before looking back over at Branislav.  "You chose well, Branislav.  She is a very beautiful girl.  You two are married now, correct?  Such a pity that her beauty is going to be wasted."  Loji's hand reached in the opposite direction.  He began to fondle her genitalia.  "Yes, very sweet."

     "Do not you touch her like that!", Branislav shouted angrily.

     "She wouldn't be the only female we have both touched, Branislav.  Or have you forgotten the girl?"

     "No, I have not."  Branislav swallowed and absorbed the barrage of images and screams from his memory  of what he had done.

     "But you are obviously ashamed of it.  Why?  She was an enemy, Branislav."

     Instead of answering Loji's question, Branislav took a moment to breathe and changed the subject.  "The UN secret police have been hunting down people involved in the embassy attack.  And everyone who was there and seen on the tapings has disappeared."  His eyes narrowed.  "So how did you escape their justice?  You were taped raping that girl too."

     "Oh, they would have done the same to me," Loji admitted.  "But, while Chairman Giuseppe is quite insistent on his enemies being punished, Director von Krager is more understanding."  He clapped his hands together.  "Well, I think I shall begin now.  They do want to get your deprogramming done with, after all.  We do not have half the staff as larger facilities, like Riga, so we have to compensate by increasing our pace, you see."

     "Let her go then, Loji, since it is me you want."

     "I can't," Loji answered.  "Our orders are specific.  Your family must be deprogrammed along with you.  Your parents will be rounded up in a day or two and brought here as well.  And they have you to thank."  Loji walked over to a control panel.  "Have you told them yet, Branislav?  About what you did in Belgrade?  I am sure your new wife would love to know."  He surveyed Branislav's frown and began laughing.  "You did not tell them, Branislav?  So, we will be the ones who tell them why they are undergoing deprogramming.  It's a very strenuous process you see.  Quite painful.  And I am afraid your pretty wife and mother will suffer the same ordeal that we put that sweet Swiss girl through."  Loji walked back up to Branislav and grinned sadistically at Branislav's angry snarl.  He brought his head down over Branislav's face almost to the point that the tips of their noses made contact.  "I am sure that will be a fun show for you, Branislav.  You had your wife last, now it is my turn.  Just like that girl."

     "Leave Krissa alone you bastard!"

     "It is time to wake sleeping beauty up."  Loji strode back over to the controls and flipped a switch.  A buzzing sound came from the bed Krissa was sleeping on.  The electric wiring on the table came alive and sent an electric current through her body.  Her muscles contracted from the intense shock.  Her eyes snapped open and she let out a small yelp from the shock.  Loji pulled on a small lever and the bed began to whir into a vertical position.  "You are Krissa, yes?  Branislav's sweetheart?"

     Krissa began to survey her surroundings.  She saw Branislav on the other table and asked, "Branislav?  What is going on?"

     "You are prisoners of the Verteidiger der Ordnung," Loji informed her.

     Still hampered by the effects of the sedative, Krissa looked over at him.  "What?  Who are you?"

     "Ask your nice husband, Krissa."  Loji flipped the switch and opened another electric current through her.  "When you are finished screaming, that is," he added as Krissa began to howl.

     "I am going to kill you!", Branislav shouted.

     "Like you killed that girl, Branislav?"  Loji noticed that Krissa had heard him and flipped the switch off.  "I am right, you never told her."

     Krissa drew in a breath and looked at Branislav.  "What is he talking about, Branislav?"

     Branislav went to speak.  When his vocal cords began to tighten he found he could not answer her.  His heart quivered with the fear that she would hate him, reject him.  All Branislav could do was look at her and lower his eyes.

     "What is wrong, Branislav?  She is your wife, your lover.  Why have you not told her?"  Loji stood between them so he could see their expressions.  "Can you not tell her what happened in Belgrade?  How you murdered those Swiss diplomats without a thought?  And how you joined me and our old friend Janko in raping their teenage daughter before you shot her dead?"

     Krissa shook her head furiously at Loji's comments.  "No, you are wrong!', she cried.  "Branislav is too decent to do something like that!  His heart is too good!"

     "Really?  Look at him."  Loji pointed toward Branislav, who was still silent and petrified from his inner fears.  "Is that the face of an innocent man, Krissa Kajic?  Or the face of a rapist and murderer who has been caught?  But do not take my word for it, Krissa.  Let me show you what happened."  Loji picked up a remote control and flipped on a video screen on the opposite end of the wall from Krissa.  A file screen popped up, and an icon began to scroll through it.  Loji went through a tree of directories before reaching a file which he called up.  The screen shut down and was replaced a moment later by a shaking camcorder image being taken through a blank white hall.  Branislav recognized the hall instantly and swallowed as the image entered the one room he kept returning to in his nightmares.  Janko was the first face he could recognize, complete with the automatic rifle he had been holding that day.  Loji, who in the image provided a stark contrast to the clean-shaved and disciplined officer standing with them, moved into the image and motioned the person holding the recorder forward.  The picture steadied on the table on which the girl was held.  Branislav swallowed hard as he watched himself rape the poor girl.  The memories of that day, the inhumane joy and thrill he had felt while he had done that to the girl, it made his spine tingle.  His stomach twisted at the sight of a hand wave, a hand wave, given by him to the camera, coupled with a wide and evil grin.  Despite his dreams about that day, never before had he seen this third-person view of him, and it horrified him that he had this dark side.

     Branislav's head slowly rotated over to look at Krissa, who's mouth was agape with shock.  Branislav felt tears form in his eyes.  He knew he was going to lose her, not just for this past sin, but because he had hid it from her.  He had lied to her.  His most precious soul mate.  Branislav gulped to gather his courage before meekly saying, "Krissa, I am sorry."

     "Oh, now you are," Loji crowed.  His thumb hit a button and turned it off.  He looked over at Krissa and cupped her right breast with his left hand.  "Your husband raped that girl, Krissa.  And he enjoyed it.  He laughed at her cries for mercy.  He did her twice, you know.  Then he killed her, without a thought."

     "That is not true!  I killed her so to spare her your torture!", Branislav spat angrily.  He felt his fear tempered by rage, anger that Loji was distorting the truth when he obviously could not claim moral high ground.

     "Or you killed her to get rid of the witness," Loji countered.

     "You were going to kill her anyway," Branislav retorted.

     "It does not matter.  So, Krissa," Loji looked back at her.  "Do you have anything to say to Branislav?"

     Krissa moved her head to face her husband.  Her expression was a mix of horror, shock, and rage as she asked him, "Branislav, why?", in a trembling voice.

     "Because, Krissa, I was drunk with nationalism," Branislav answered.  "That girl was, to me, an enemy.  The enemy that was trying to destroy our people.  So, I felt I had the right to do whatever I wished with her."

     She shook her head violently.  "No!  Branislav, deny it!  Tell me that was not you!"  Krissa began to cry.  "I love you too much for you to have done..."

     Loji's hand hit the switch again and the electric current through Krissa was re-established.  She was cut off in mid-sentence and forced to scream from the pain in her body.  Branislav pulled against his restraints angrily and shouted at Loji, "Leave her alone!"

     "I have come to a decision," Loji began.  "What we do here is use a combination of methods that cause such intense psychological damage that the mind collapses, leaving an empty shell that we can turn into a faithful follower.  Now you, Branislav, are obviously strong enough physically to survive this intense process.  Krissa, on the other hand, is probably not.  So, to make your deprogramming a bit more thorough, you will not be touched until after she either dies or undergoes collapse."  Loji turned the current off.  "And Krissa, as you suffer your torture, remember that it was Branislav who caused it.  Branislav is the one who took it upon himself to rape the girl, and that is why we are here.  Make sure you remind him of that when we put you in your cell tonight.  Please do..."

     Before Krissa could respond, Loji turned the electricity back on.  And as the electricity inflicted horrifying pain on her body, her screams of agony inflicted even greater pain on Branislav's soul.

 

 

     The halls of the facility were bland and colorless.  A spine of fluorescent lights ran down the middle of the ceiling and illuminated the cold tiled floor.  The cold chilled the bare feet of Krissa and Branislav as both were led by a pair of armed guards down the hall.  Branislav could not bring himself to face Krissa.  Looking at her body, now marred by wounds inflicted by Loji's sadistic tastes, filled him with a tremendous sense of guilt.  He blamed himself two-fold.  For one thing, he knew Loji was right; the only reason they were at this God forsaken place was because of the sins of his past.  He cursed that day and himself for what had happened.

     He also blamed himself for not telling Krissa the truth from the beginning.  He had no doubt she would never have loved him, but she would also not be here now.  She would have lived while he died, but, now, they were both going to die.

     "Faster!", one of the guards barked in Serbian.  He pushed the butt of his AKM into Krissa's back just above the point where her wrists were bound by handcuffs.  She grunted lowly and stumbled forward.  Branislav shot a hot glare at the guard before a sharp pain hit his spinal cord, courtesy of the soldier behind him.  "Keep moving!"

     "Krissa, are you okay?"

     "And shut up!", one of the two soldiers added angrily.

     They made a right turn in the corridor toward what was obviously the cell block.  Several doors lined each side of the wall, on opposite ends from each other.  The guards led them toward one of the cells.  "Stop here," one barked.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a keycard.  He put it into the scanner and swiped it.  The door opened and revealed an empty cell.  No beds were present.  A quartet of wrist and ankle shackles hung from the wall, connected to the wall by cords that held electrical wiring within.  "Get in!"  Krissa was pushed in first.  Branislav felt another hard impact on his back and was forced in behind her.  One of them slipped a key into his handcuffs to unlock them, so as to begin shackling him on the wall.  The other soldier pulled out a baton of some kind, with a metal tip at the end.  Branislav felt the first cuff come off and quickly began to consider escape.  He looked around him as much as he could without angering the guards, trying to find a way...

     And quite unexpectedly, the way presented itself.

     An explosion rattled the building and shocked Branislav's eardrums.  More importantly, it distracted his guards.  He drew in a breath to gather his courage and strength.  When he was done, he whirled around and  grabbed the soldier who had been uncuffing him.  His left arm wrapped around the man's throat and held it tightly while Branislav grabbed the AKM hanging off his shoulder.  Thanks to years of practice he was able to quickly switch the safety off.  Branislav's finger finger tensed on the trigger as the other guard began to react by getting his own weapon.  A bullet struck him directly in the upper chest.  Branislav pulled the trigger again and put a bullet into his throat.  The man fell to the ground and began to choke on his own blood from where his windpipe had been torn out by the impact of the bullet.  Branislav noticed the first guard's elbow coming toward him a moment before it impacted with his shoulder.  The blow hurt but was not sufficient to make Branislav let the guard go.  Branislav straightened his back so that he could stand at his full height, and brought his other arm around the neck of the guard.  The guard's hands took his arms and tried to pull them away from his throat.  The man's fingernails dug into the flesh of Branislav's forearms tore away some of the surface skin.  Branislav's physical strength was enough that it only took twenty seconds overall for the guard to fall unconscious to the floor.  Branislav took the key for the handcuffs and unlocked Krissa's handcuffs.  While she removed them he pulled the trousers off a guard and pulled them on.  The tight fit was slightly discomforting when he bent over again to pull off trousers for Krissa to wear.  She ignored them for a moment, still weeping bitterly, before pulling them on.

     About three minutes had passed since the explosion and alarm klaxons rang through the building.  Branislav removed the uniform jacket from one of the guards and gave it to Krissa as she finished pulling the uniform trousers on.  He took the last jacket for himself, as well as the ammo for the AKM he had taken.  He slung it over his shoulder and offered a hand to Krissa so he could pick her up.  "Krissa, come with me.  We can get out of here."

     "Stay away!", she screeched.  "You horrible monster!  How could I ever love you!"

     Her words opened the wound in Branislav's soul.  "Krissa, I am sorry.  We need to get out of here, then we can talk about this some more."

     "There is nothing to talk about!", Krissa screamed at him.  "You raped that poor girl, Branislav!  Then you killed her and walked away like she was piece of meat, a toy you could play with!  And then you have the nerve to lie to me about it all.  You married me and did not even tell me!  It is your fault this happened to me!"

     "You are right," Branislav agreed meekly.  He nodded his head and felt a tear roll down his cheek, born of his guilt.  "I am sorry for what happened.  If... if you want to leave me when this is over, I will understand.  All I want to do is get you out of here safely."

     "Branislav, why did you do that to her?  Why?"  Krissa began to weep again.  "What did that girl do to deserve that?"

     "I did it because at the time I was thinking like a nationalist.  Like a fool, I believed she was my enemy and I was allowed to do whatever I wished."  Branislav took her by her left arm and pulled her to her feet.  "Krissa, let me get you out of here.  Please, I do not want anything more to happen to you."

     Krissa pulled away from him and toward the door.  "Go away!  I do not want you to touch me!"

     "Krissa, don't!"  Branislav stepped closer to her and tried to take her by the arm to get her away from the open door.  "Krissa, you might get shot!"

     Now on the verge of hysteria, she pulled away again and screamed, "I said do not touch me, monster!"

     "Krissa!"

     "Get away!"  Krissa opened her right hand and slapped him hard across the left cheek.  The shock made Branislav take a step back.  "I hate you!  You let them rape me!  You lied to me!"

     "Krissa, I did not know this would happen!  And, I loved you too much, I was scared to tell you the truth about what happened."  Branislav stepped toward her again while Krissa backed out into the hallway.  "You have to listen to me!  We need to get out..."

     The sound of gunfire pierced Branislav's ear an instant before bullets tore into Krissa's right side.  Blood erupted from her arm, shoulder, and neck as the momentum from the bullets pushed her to her left.  Branislav shouted, "No!" and brought his gun up.  The man who had shot Krissa carelessly walked up to her fallen body.  Branislav howled with rage and pulled the trigger on the AKM in his hands.  The VdO soldier had no time to react before the rounds from the AKM blew his head open.  A mass of brain matter and blood erupted from his head while his body slumped over.  Branislav looked the door in both directions before running over to Krissa, who was laying on her left side.  He bent over and picked her up.  Krissa's eyes were opened but the brown color was devoid of life when Branislav looked into them.  "Krissa!  Krissa!"  Branislav recognized the gaze of death in her eyes and began to weep.  He buried her lifeless head in his chest and cried from the sharp agony he felt in his soul.  It was as if a chunk of his heart had been torn from him; in death Krissa had taken a part of his soul, and that loss had created an overwhelming ache within him.  Branislav reached his right hand up and pulled Krissa's eyelids down so that they were closed.  He then pulled her over his left shoulder and began to run down the length of the corridor.  Alarms continued to ring in the corridors and told Branislav that something much larger was going on.  He found a flight of stairs and jogged down them.  When he emerged out the door, he was on the ground floor, and near an exit to the outer structure.

     Outside, it was a scene of chaos.  Spotlights splashed their intense beams onto the ground while gunfire echoed through the Serbian night.  The shouting voices of many men and some women coincided with the gunfire, as did the occasional cry from the wounded.  Branislav stepped out and saw a pair of uniformed soldiers firing at a gaggle of escaping prisoners, most of them naked.  He shifted Krissa on his shoulder and pulled up the AKM.  Having to fire from the hip with his right arm made his accuracy suffer; aside from grazing the shoulder of one of the VdO soldiers, he missed completely.  Fortunately, Branislav's firing had the effect of forcing the soldiers to jump out of the way to evade fire.  Branislav broke out into a run.  Adrenaline pushed his body into an exhaustive sprint toward the prisoners and their destination; a large tractor-trailer with an open back and ramp.  Bullets from both the enemy and his apparent rescuers were flying everywhere, striking down prisoners and VdO soldiers alike.  He got onto the ramp just ahead of a half-naked teenage boy half his size.  As he placed Krissa's body down, he reached back to help the boy into the trailer.  As he did so, a couple of rounds pierced the boy's back and were lodged in his ribs after passing through his lungs.  The boy became wide-eyed from the pain and the sensation of his lungs filling up with blood.  He choked and fell forward into Branislav's arms.  Seeing the boy brought back more memories of Belgrade that Branislav did not want to recall.  He brought the boy down on the floor and called, "This boy needs help!", but nobody responded.  He realized that like the boy, most of the others were miserable.  They had expended their last bit of physical energy getting to the trailer and were now almost lifeless.  They all showed signs of torture on their bodies.  Telltale electrode burns spotted their bodies.  The females in the group had dried blood on their inner thighs that told of the violations they had endured, much like Krissa.

     Branislav felt a slight pull toward the opening as the tractor truck pulling the trailer lurched into gear.  He leaned over the boy, who grabbed his right shoulder.  He choked up some blood and rasped, "Papa?"

     "No, I..."  It occured to Branislav that the boy was delirious as he approached death.  He set down the AKM and used his right hand to steady the boy's neck.  "You will be okay," he lied.

     "I did not let them know, Papa," the boy muttered.  "I was strong.  I was strong... for Mama..."  His eyes rolled into the back of his head.  His chest stopped heaving as a result of his breath ceasing.  Branislav set his body down and looked back toward the opening at the rear of the trailer, where armed men and women were jumped into the trailer and exchanging fire with the VdO soldiers.  Branislav picked up the AKM and checked the clip.  As he did so, he heard a click and felt pressure against his head from the barrel of a gun.  "Who are you?", a gruff female voice demanded.

     "Branislav Kajic," he answered.  He angled his head upward and looked at the raven-haired woman, who possessed pale green eyes that seemed the flicker with recognition.  "I was a prisoner, I was able to escape and clothed myself in their uniform because it was cold."

     "Can you prove that you are not one of them?", she asked in an icy tone.

     Branislav raised his right arm and pulled back the cuff, showing the imprint of where he had been bound earlier.  "You were not tortured?", she added.

     "No.  My wife was."  Branislav nodded at Krissa.

     The woman looked over.  "She is dead, why did you bring her here?"

     Branislav's expression hardened.  "She is the woman I love, I wish to be able to bury her respectfully."

     "There will be no corpses on this truck," the woman said.  "I want her off.  Now."  When Branislav did not move, she stuck the rifle at his forehead.  "Throw her off now or I will shoot you and throw you both off."

     This brought a swallow from Branislav.  He felt hot tears flow down his eyes as he picked up Krissa's body and pushed it out.  Her body tumbled to the dirt in front of the pursuing VdO soldiers.  A small armored car giving chase ran over Krissa's body and gave Branislav the last look he would ever see of his late wife.  He began to raise the AKM to begin firing when the leading women grabbed the barrel and pulled the gun out of his hands.  She hit him across the cheek and bruised his jaw.  The force of her blow knocked Branislav down to a sitting position along the side of the trailer.  "I know who you are," she hissed.  "Branislav Kajic, the last remaining traitor Serb who was involved in the sick rapings and murders at the Swiss Embassy in Belgrade.  The Defenders of the Order have been bragging about your capture today."  She lowered her own AK-74 and pointed the barrel at his forehead.  "Tell me why I should not kill you right now!"

     Another Serb with the woman's force pulled a bazooka up to the rear of the trailer and fired after steadying himself.  The missile that erupted from the bazooka slammed into the armored car and blew it in half.  As a rising tower of flame came from the car, two other Serbs tied to the walls by nylon ropes reached out and pulled the rear doors to the trailer closed.  The trailer was temporarily covered in darkness before a light built in the ceiling was flipped on.  Branislav stared up at the woman and answered, "I can only say that at the time I was angry, and angry on behalf of Serbia."

     She responded by slapping him on the other cheek.  "Because of you, the people of Serbia have suffered for all of these years," she spat.  "The puppet government was set up by Giuseppe, and the facility you just saw is the result!  Men, women, and children abused and destroyed!  All because you could not keep your dick in your pants and spare the prisoners!  So again, why should I not kill you?!"

     "Kill me if it will make you feel happier!", Branislav shouted in return.  "I will welcome death.  My wife is dead, my parents are probably dead or captured by now, and I cannot shirk the blame!  My own acts from the past caused my wife to be raped in front of my own eyes!  Do you think I want to live with the memory of another man having her in such a way!  To live with her screams eating away at my soul!  Take my life!  I do not care anymore."

     The woman sneered and began to tense her trigger finger, fully intending to take up Branislav on his promise.  Before she pulled the trigger, she lowered the gun.  "No, I will not kill you.  It is better if you live a while longer, to contemplate all of the pain you have caused others."

     Branislav nodded and swallowed.  For a moment, he wondered if he really wanted to die.  His survival instincts certainly did not want to, but how could he live knowing that his actions caused others to suffer?  Branislav leaned backward and let the pull of sleep bring him in, not caring that Krissa's fate would haunt him even in sleep.

 

 

 

Bar, Montenegro, United Nations

26 February 2013

 

     One of the larger ports on the Adriatic coast of Montenegro, Bar seemed to be a strange location for the Serb Resistance to send off a group of refugees to North America.  However, in this case the reasoning was obvious.  Security in Montenegro was lax, and really, who in the VdO would expect for the Resistance to go for the obvious escape route over more complex choices like Macedonia, Albania, or Bulgaria?  It had still taken over a week for the prisoners from the Kragujevac HBRC to make their way through safehouses in Serbia and Montenegro to Bar, and after a day of waiting in a warehouse set up as a safehouse, they were going to be boarding a freighter on which they could be smuggled to Tunisia and on to the United States.

     Branislav still did not want to go, even as he and the other refugees were escorted to the waiting ship by Resistance fighters.  Most had been told of who he was, and the bruises on his face and other parts of his body were silent witnesses to the punishment he had received at their hands.  They had not beaten him, not overtly, but it was not uncommon for someone to kick him while he tried to sleep, or "accidentally" hit him with something.  They all hated him for what he had helped cause.  At Belgrade he had operated under the illusion that his actions were for the greater good of the Serbian people, but now they were making it clear that his actions had the opposite effect.  And he could not blame them.

     At the gangplank to board the ship, Branislav was led aside by an older man, about the age of his father.  "Mister Kajic," he began gruffly, "you do not know me, and I will not tell you my name, but I will tell you this now.  The only reason we did not kill you and leave your corpse for the VdO to find on the side of the road is because your father commands great respect among us."

     Branislav nodded slowly in response.  "I see."

     "Your parents have been warned, and we will arrange for them to be smuggled to America as soon as possible.  As for you, young man, you are a disgrace."  Thinking Branislav was about to make a response, the man quickly began again.  "I do not care what reasons you may have had, but your actions have disgraced our entire nation.  We do not want to be associated with people like you.  So, I am telling you now.  Do not come back to Serbia.  Stay as far away as you can.  If you return, you are a dead man.  It does not matter if we catch you or the VdO does."  He pushed Branislav back toward the gangplank.  "Now go to America and stay there."

     Branislav nodded and stepped onto the gangplank behind a ten year old girl following her mother.  He walked up it and felt the bruise on his shoulder, which was throbbing with pain from the harsh push given by the unknown man who had just spoken to him.  He supposed he should be angry.  He was a patriot just as much as they were, and while he had made a mistake, they had no right to do this to him.  But he realized that they did have a right.  The man was right, he was a disgrace to himself.  A disgrace to his family.  And a disgrace to Serbia.  If he had stayed the Resistance's standing would be compromised.  Branislav knew in his heart that it was his nation's freedom that mattered, not his own personal desires.  He had been banished, and he would honor that banishment until death.

     The only thing left was to ponder just what he would do in America when he got there.  If he got there at all...

 

 

United Nations Headquarters

Geneva, Swiss Confederation, United Nations

25 June 2013

 

     A celebratory mood had descended upon the people within the UN building with the news that the last pocket of coordinated Russian troops at Vladivostok had surrendered; Russia had been conquered and the war was won.  For them, the first step to a peaceful world had been taken, all that remained was to wait for the American people to wise up and accept that they could no longer run roughshod over the world.  Once this came they would accept the peace and rejoin the UN as a full member.  The dream of a world at peace would be made reality.

     Or so the illusion was.

     The truth was being discussed within the bowels of the central structure, in the defense planning room that was adjacent to the unfinished global command center.  That was where Giuseppe, now Chairman of the  reformed United Nations Security Council in addition to his role as Secretary-General of the UN, was seated with his important Directors.  Jennifer Dausche, Monsieu, and von Krager were the most important of the three, obviously, as the Directors of Security, Internal Affairs, and Defense.  Dausche was a woman of apparent young age, apparently in her late twenties, with fire-red hair and a decent physique that was hidden by her business suit.  Formerly Giuseppe's chief bodyguard and now the Director of Security, she had been brought to Giuseppe's attention by von Krager, and aside from von Krager no one knew anything about her life before she entered Giuseppe's service.  They were joined by two others in Giuseppe's inner circle.  Theresa Sim had already surpassed the late Ng as the total Asian Director, while Dharuna was now Director of Integration, a position that had been created for him so he could lead the integration of the varied economic models and militaries from member states into the cohesive whole of the UN.  And, now, his duties would be expanded to the whole of Russia.

     And soon, other nations would be added to that list as well.  The Middle East was the new problem spot due to the continuing Israeli-Arab rivalry, as was the age-old question of what precisely to do with China.  In the Middle East, most Arab nations had surprisingly remained close to the US despite Giuseppe's attempts at getting them to agree to an embargo against the US and their allies.  Moreso, Giuseppe's desires for the region centered around bringing peace between the Arabs and Israelis, and that was not happening.  They still gave lip service to peace, of course, but both sides continued to remain at alert for war.  Israel would never agree to an "equitable" peace due to the terrorist attacks of the previous decade since Ariel Sharon's assassination.  They were convinced that only a strongly-controlled and unarmed Palestinian Authority could be safe for Israel's interests.  The following assassinations of Yasser Arafat and the entire Palestinian Authority leadership had guaranteed that the Palestinians would never accept a peaceful solution without full statehood, something the Israelis would never give.  Giuseppe had tried for his entire tenure as Secretary-General to get them to make peace, but neither side would relent.  The hatred was the most powerful in the world; nothing could ever reconcile them.  Not without one side being annihilated.

     Which was the subject that was now being discussed.  "Peace must be attained in this matter," Giuseppe grumbled.  "If we cannot negotiate, we must force a peace upon them."

     "The Israelis have one of the world's best-trained armies," von Krager noted.  "And Mossad has been quite successful in preventing the VdO from establishing intelligence networks within their borders.  The other Arab nations are just as unsusceptible.  Mostly because they do not want a repeat of previous encounters with Israel and have upgraded their counter-intelligence well."

     "So an occupation is out of the question," Dharuna said, completing von Krager's thought.  "What shall we do then?  Blockade?"

     "Nein," von Krager replied.  "I say we deal with them like a parent would deal with a couple of young children who keep fighting over the same toy over and over.  Take it away from them."

     Every set of eyes turned to the Bavarian, which did nothing to ruffle von Krager.  "Which toy would you be referring to?", Dausche asked.

     "Jerusalem, of course," von Krager replied.  Every mouth in the room closed, mostly from surprise.  "Jerusalem is the focal point of the whole conflict, and it is Jerusalem's religious sites that provoke the most trouble.  So, I propose we deal with that trouble.  We detonate a nuke of modest yield over Jerusalem, and use a warhead containing Strontium-90."

     "Director von Krager, you do realize that you are saying."  Sim folded her hands.  "Such a nuke..."

     "Such a nuke, Director Sim, would leave Jerusalem uninhabitable for decades, perhaps a full century, assuming that we actively try and clean out the radioactive material," von Krager finished for her.  "Which is my intention.  Without a cleanup effort, their precious holy city will be uninhabitable, and we can use that as leverage to force them to acquiese to our will."

     Monsieu finally managed to sputter through his surprise, "Jerusalem is home to one of the holiest sites in the Islamic religion, not to mention the Christian and Jewish faiths!  Might I remind you that Islam is the second-largest religion on Earth?"

     "And what do you care of the religionists, Francis?", von Krager retorted, chuckling at the Frenchman.  "I seem to recall the fuss that you caused over your little speech in Orleans.  What was it again, 'religion is outdated and has no place in a united mankind'?  I believe that is a proper translation from French to English, ja?  So spare us any illusion of caring."  Von Krager looked back to Giuseppe.  "The VdO has already compromised all Islamic terrorist cells in Europe.  I have the utmost assurances that agents are ready to liquidate them at the instant the orders are given."

     Giuseppe tapped his fingers on the table.  He leveled his gaze upon von Krager and nodded.  "Your agents have that order, Director.  Round up the fanatics.  And inform General Kereshov that he has two days to find a Strontium-90 warhead with the sufficient yield.  I wish to remove Jerusalem this Friday if they do not agree to make peace, upon which we will order the Palestinian Authority and the State of Israel to submit to United Nations moderation in their dispute."

     "You do realize, Chairman, that this will provoke an angry response across the world?"  The tone of Monsieu's voice lowered in respect to the man he was addressing.  "The religious status of Jerusalem..."

     "...is of no consequence to me," Giuseppe interrupted.  "There will be peace in the Middle East, whether the religious fanatics desire it orr not.  If religion is the major cause of war there, then we must remove that cause, with whatever means we have at our disposal."

     "Of course, Chairman," von Krager stated obediently.

     "But Chairman, we might lose most of our allies in Africa as well!"  Monsieu stood to his feet.  "Surely there must be some better way of doing this!"

     "There are no other ways," Sim said coldly.  "The people we are dealing with are primitive and religiously fanatical.  Their positions are impervious to reason; the only way of successfully ending this is to bring them to their knees.  Either they will accept the destruction of their superstition and move on, or they will resist and we will destroy them."

     Monsieu turned to Dharuna.  "And India is ready to deal with the outbreak of Muslim violence?"

     "It is nothing new for us," Dharuna replied candidly.  "And Muslims are a minority in our nation as it is."

     Dausche pulled one of her legs up on the table, giving Monsieu a good look at the graceful shape of her nylon-covered legs.  "Francis, why are you so worried?"

     "There are nearly a billion adherents to the Muslim religion on this planet," Monsieu stated.  "We are going to enrage each and every one of them!"

     "All of the religionist adherent numbers are exaggerated, Francis, surely you know that as well as we do," Dharuna pointed out.

     "Enough of this bickering!"  Giuseppe slammed a fist on the table.  "My decision is made, for the good of mankind it must be carried out!"

     "Of course, Chairman."  Von Krager stood from the table.  "I shall begin making the arrangements immediately."

     Monsieu moved his left hand through his hair nervously and asked, "And you do realize that the Muslims could begin calling this a jihad?  The entire religion will be at war with us.  And you know how fanatics are.  I do not think the people of Paris will be so happy if the fanatics crash an Airbus 340 into the Eiffel Tower!"

     "Which is precisely why we will eliminate those Muslims we determine to be of the terrorist mindset," von Krager responded.

     Giuseppe's crazed eyes turned chillingly cold as his next words emerged, his tone that of precise calculation.  "If the Islamic religion wishes to declare war

 

 

Jerusalem, Israel

28 June 2013 (Black Friday)

 

     Jerusalem was, perhaps, the most important city on Earth.  The city built by the great Israelite king David, the city where Jesus Christ had died, and the city where the Prophet Muhammed had been said to ascend to Heaven.  Centuries, millennia, of religious history flowed through the city, the shared focal point of the world's two largest religions and one of it's oldest religions.  Not all of it's history was peaceful; the same city where Christ had been greeted with palm branches had seen murder and massacre.  From the slaughter brought by Christian knights of the First Crusade to modern day fighting between Israelis and Palestinians, Jerusalem's streets had seen more than their fair share of bloodletting.  The most notable holy city on Earth was a prize that men and women died to take and hold for their fellow believers.

     The day of the 28th of June 2013 began like most other days.  The city's Muslims flocked into the Temple of the Rock, or any other outlying mosques they could get to, for the day's first prayers.  The city's Jewish contingent went about their business, with some going to the famed West Wall to worship personally.  Christians of various denominations had gathered around the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the site reputed to contain the site of Christ's crucifixition and resurrection. Israeli soldiers patrolled the streets with an uneasy calm having settled upon the city after the most recent outbreak of violence.  At approximately 10:31 local time, the announcement was made that the State of Israel was again rejecting Secretary-General Giuseppe's calls for a renewing of negotiation, citing "security issues".  Palestinians took to the streets in protest and another clash between the two sides seemed inevitable.

     At about 11:13 local time, Israeli radar detected an object approaching Jerusalem at high speed, coming in from the Caucauses.  At about 11:20 local time, the object became visible from the city itself.  Crowds looked up to see a trail of smoke in the sky, and an object drawing closer to the city.  The length of the smoke trail began to grow smaller as the missile pointed itself downward and plunged to detonation altitude.  The protests stopped as some people pointed out the flaming object descending upon them.  At an altitude of approximately three kilometers over East Jerusalem, a warhead sheathed with Strontium-90 detonated.  High-velocity nuclei were released into the plutonium encased in the warhead.  They smashed into multiple atoms, creating more high-velocity nuclei, and thus creating a chain reaction of atomic fission within the trigger.  The energy release from the split atoms began to build until it reached solar proportions, creating a blinding star in the skies over Jerusalem and nearby towns.  The warhead was vaporized by this energy release, while the polluting Strontium-90 was atomized and spread about the city with the shockwave of the following explosion.  The heat of the shockwave was enough to melt the skin off of the people below.  Flesh and building material alike combusted from the intense heat.  Entire buildings collapsed under the force of the shockwave and crushed their occupants.  The holy sites fared no better; their ancient structures fell to the might of the modern weapon, centuries of religious history lost in just a few seconds.  It was as if a great hand had reached down from the heavens and flattened the city in a fit of wrath.  A city of over half a million people was virtually gone, wiped from the face of the Earth, with only rubble and the lifeless skeletons of modern buildings to speak of it's past existance.  Above the city, a mushroom cloud slowly formed, as if to herald the arrival of an Apocalypse.

     And indeed, an Apocalypse had come.  One that would bathe the region in blood...

 

 

United Nations Headquarters

Geneva, Swiss Confederation, United Nations

30 June 2013

 

     The image of enraged Muslim protestors being hauled into German police vans dominated the thirty inch screen in the conference room.  A couple of men resisted fiercely until the police could beat them down with batons and pull them into the van.  Monsieu stepped in front of the screen and turned it off.  "As you can see, sir, I was correct," he said with a significant air of vindication to Giuseppe.  "This was a costly error."

     "On the contrary, it has proven the Muslim population to be untrustworthy," von Krager countered from his position beside Giuseppe.  "We acted in retaliation to an Israeli action, not a Palestinian one.  Yet they insist to treat us as the enemy?  Holy sites can be rebuilt; the ground remains and we can clean up the material to make the city livable again.  But as long as they continue to do this, we will do no such thing."

     "Might I remind the Director of Defense that he does not decide policy?"

     "Indeed, he does not," Giuseppe replied, agreeing with Monsieu.  "But he and I have already spoken on this matter.  And he is correct in that they have proven themselves disloyal."

     "Yes, they are now dissenting, we destroyed one of their holy sites!"  Monsieu placed his palms on the table and looked across it's silver surface at Giuseppe.  "Chairman, the Islamic population is calling this a jihad!  In their eyes we are their enemies in a holy war!  The only way we can avoid this is if we apologize, begin cleaning up the Strontium-90, and offer them the culprit so they may have justice."

     Dharuna turned his head to Monsieu and asked, "And that culprit would be?"

     "Director von Krager, of course," Monsieu responded, leveling a hot gaze at von Krager.  "He has caused this fiasco from his German bloody-mindedness..."

     "Director Monsieu, I will not tolerate racist statements such as that!", Giuseppe bellowed in von Krager's defense.

     "Chairman, ever since this man has come into the UN, he has done nothing but push us into acts of violence, and this time he would have us go to war with an entire religion!  If we follow this man, we will surely lose!"

     "Perhaps, Director Monsieu, you are forgetting the accomplishments that Director von Krager has made to progress our cause."  Giuseppe steadied an angry glare at Monsieu.  "It was his recommendations that led to the swift defeat of the Russian Empire.  Von Krager led our armies to victory, and he created the Defenders of the Order to impose order and peace upon the unruly nationalists in Europe and Russia.  His Verteidiger der Ordnung have converted thousands to our cause, and they fight bravely to fulfill a united mankind.  You say he is going to lead us to defeat, but I disagree; I believe he will see our forces victorious to the end.  I will not remove him from my Cabinent.  If you have any objections, you, however, may resign."

     Monsieu gulped at the thought of it.  Von Krager did not give himself the pleasure of a grin; everyone knew that when it came down to it, Monsieu had no spine.  He would not resign, nor would he oppose Giuseppe.  He lacked the will to ever back his words with action.  "It is your decision, Chairman," he said in a subdued tone.  Monsieu got back in his chair and sighed loudly.

     "The Muslims wish for war with us," Giuseppe began, "then they shall have it.  Any Muslim found operating against the UN is to be considered an enemy and treated accordingly.  And, if the Islamic world does not desist in it's attacks upon the UN, we will consider them to be enemies and I will allow all possible action to be undertaken in removing them as an impediment to world peace."  Giuseppe lowered his eyes and looked over at von Krager.  "Director, if it comes to this, I wish for the Muslim religion to be forced to recognize that it cannot survive without our support.  I wish for you to use these same weapons on Mecca and Medina."

     Dharuna coughed at Giuseppe's order, while it's recipient merely nodded.  "Yes, Chairman, if the Muslims declare themselves to be in a holy war against us, we will launch further strikes upon those two cities.  I will coordinate this with moving a handful of divisions into the Middle East to secure as many major oil fields as we can."

     Giuseppe nodded slowly and turned his head to Dharuna.  "I wish for you to brief me on the current status of our negotiations with China..."

 

 

The Oval Office, the White House

Washington D.C., United States of America

30 June 2013

 

     A chilled and dignified calm prevailed in the Oval Office against the aghast horror the assembled felt in light of recent news.  This calm seemed to eminate from the President himself; Jason Andrews maintained his composure even as the casualty estimates were read by his Secretary of Defense, Chelsea Douglas.  Douglas was a petite woman of mixed descent with short brown hair combed to her left side.  A pair of brown eyes were almond-shaped, a trait inherited from her maternal Oriental bloodline.  When she finished her report, Secretary of State Albert Butler pulled off his glasses and rubbed the imprints on either side of his nose.  He was of Andrews' generation, a sharp contrast to Douglas's relatively young age of thirty eight.  "My God, the Muslim world is going to go insane."

     "They have already started," Douglas replied in turn.  "Israel declared war yesterday.  Jordan is expected to follow sometime today.  And the Arab League is holding an emergency meeting right now."

     "And most Islamic clerics have already called this war a jihad against Giuseppe," Butler added.

     "Goin' to feel mighty odd havin' the ragheads on our side this time," the Vice President commented from his chair, with a slight grin on his face.  James Longstreet's Southern drawl matched well with the image of a Southern gentleman that his mustache and beard created on his weathered face.  Combed gray hair and a balding crown marked additional distinctive features to his appearance, which was completed by the calm blue eyes he possessed.  Longstreet was reputed to be connected by family to one of the Confederate general officers during the Civil War.  He was a staunch conservative and member of the Republican Party, a paragon of virtue in the eyes of his supporters, and like Andrews, he had been a vocal critic of the Saunders administration.  Despite what some would think, Longstreet was not a holder of racist views.  Unfortunately, his support included the resurging white supremacist movement, which had become known by it's members and proponents as the "patriot" movement in light of minority opposition to the war with China eight years before.  It was that support, mostly strong in the Midwest and parts of the Southeast US, which forced Andrews to pick Longstreet over his original choice, Chelsea Douglas.  He did not regret that decision.  Longstreet had worked long and hard to get the increasingly xenophobic and naturalist populations of the Southeast and Midwest to work in tandem with the rest of the country in setting up new defense plants.  "I don't suppose Giuseppe will be too happy that the Arabs called another jihad?"

     "Obviously not."  Andrews folded his hands and put them on his raised right leg, which was held up by his left knee.  "I don't think we will be able to give material support to the Middle East nations if it comes down to war."

     "Not at all," Butler agreed.  "We're pouring everything we have into restoring our defense industries as it is."

     "I must say, I'm concerned," Longstreet added.  "Without the Middle East and Siberia, we're goin' to start runnin' low on oil."

     "Yes.  Which is why keeping Venezuela and the other oil-producing Latin American states in our corner is important."  Andrews allowed a small grin to grow on his face.  "And to think that I opposed Bush's plan to drill in the Alaskan Wildlife Refuge," the President began shaking his head, "considering that now it's our major supply of petroleum."

     "Well, nobody could see the future back then."  A false grin tugged at Butler's face.  "Would've been nice if we could've remembered to keep that UN seat, and not got caught up in the whole anti-UN nonsense."

     The phone began ringing at that moment.  Andrews sighed and picked up the receiver with his right hand.  "Andrews here," he said.  His mouth became drawn in a frown as he took in whatever news was being sent.  "I see.  Yes, come on down to the office as soon as you get those satellite photos in."

     "What was that?"

     "Giuseppe wasn't through, sadly."  Andrews drew in another sigh.  "He struck again.  This time, he turned his missiles on Mecca and Medina."

     "Oh good Lord!"  Longstreet groaned and shook his head.  "Now he's done it.  Every Muslim on Earth is goin' to be callin' for his blood."

     "He... he must be crazy!", Butler stuttered.  "The Muslim population of Europe..."

     "The Muslim population in Europe is under such tight control that if they so much as breath a word of dissent, von Krager's VdO will come down on them like a hawk," Douglas interrupted.

     Andrews stood from the chair and turned to look out the window.  "This is going to be a close thing," he muttered.  "A damned close thing."

     "What do you mean by that?"

     The President responded to his Secretary of State's question by walking over to a map and pointing to the North Atlantic.  "As it stands," he began, "the UN had an eighteen month head start on us in war production.  Our dearly departed ex-President Saunders neglected to get our country's domestic war industry going because she operated under the assumption that her bombing would crush Giuseppe's army single-handedly and win the war for us.  She was wrong, of course.  We have worked to undo that damage, but she shot us in the foot with her actions."

     "I have to say, Mister President, that you're not speeding things up by setting up military industries on the West Coast instead of the established bases here in the East."

     "Perhaps not, Secretary Butler, but I think you'll notice the same thing I have."  Andrews pointed on the West Coast.  "To invade our Western half, the UN Army would have to either cross the Pacific against the might of the Pacific Fleet or cross across the Bering Strait into Alaska.  Both are quite impossible to achieve."  Andrews moved his finger to the east.  "However, the distance between Europe and the Atlantic Seaboard is smaller.  In addition, the UN Navy is powerful enough to secure Iceland, and to a lesser extent Ireland, to use as supply bases to supply an offensive into Canada.  Once there all they need is for an island hopping campaign on the Canadian coast before they can threaten our East Coast directly."  Andrews crossed his arms.  "If we get invaded, I want to ensure that the UN cannot remove our war production easily."

     "Do you seriously think Giuseppe can successfully invade North America?", Douglas asked with a significant hint of disbelief.

     "It depends, on how much time we've had to build back up."  Andrews cleared his throat.  "Any time before the end of 2015 could very well be nearly impossible to beat back, considering that the eastern half of the US is still where the concentration of our population lies.  However, after that, I am confident that we could defeat an invasion, and some day put together another invasion of Europe to unseat Giuseppe."

     "Sir, what do you think the British are going to do if the UN jumps for Ireland and Iceland?", Butler inquired.

     "The British are havin' trouble with their own pro-Giuseppe types," Longstreet said before Andrews could speak.  "Good King George is even rumored to havin' support for the man.  I doubt the Brits'll do more than try and maintain their neutrality."

     "Let's hope they don't stay that way," Andrews stated.  "We have one chance at this.  Namely, we have to make sure Giuseppe cannot hit the US before the latter half of 2015.  Our troops have to be forward deployed to Northeast Canada to ensure we're ready to resist landings, and do so long enough to delay the UN's entrance into the mainland US long enough for our defense industries to return to peak condition."

 

 

Forbidden City

Beijing, Beijing Shi, Peoples' Republic of China

13 September 2013

 

     The Forbidden City had long been the center of power for the rulers of China.  Built originally to house the Emperor of China, now used as the headquarters for the Communist Party leadership of China, the City was a forboding landmark within the large city.  It's walls were lined with murals to instill pride in the accomplishments of the Peoples' Republic and the people that inhabited it.  However, in the last eight years, that feeling had waned.

     The War of 2005 had been a disgrace to China.  Caused by the desire to bring Taiwan into the fold with force, the war had been marked with humiliating defeats against Russia and the United States, and had ended with the embarrassment of a general's panicked miscalculation.  A miscalculation that nearly led to nuclear war.  To avoid that horrible destruction the Peoples' Republic had been forced to sign a peace treaty that included recognition of the Taipei government as an independent state.  They had been forced to abandon the North Korean government so that the South Koreans could reunify the peninsula under their Western government.  Worst of all, for the first time in over a hundred years China had been forced to give it's territory to one of the European nations.  Manchuria was now Russian, and all indications were that the revitalized Russians would never return the territory they had gobbled up in their war of opportunity.  The people of China had been reduced to lying in wait for the right moment to reclaim their pride.  They had done everything, from signing trade agreements with President Saunders to cozying up with Giuseppe and his kind.  But they always remained alone, for the people of China had learned that they could never again trust the West.  The West was their enemy; it would always be so.  China would stand alone or it would not stand at all.

     Thus it was obvious to Premier Zhang Bin-ying and his subordinates that President Li Tse-tung would never go along with Giuseppe's new proposal for Chinese re-entry into the United Nations.  For one thing, the UN had betrayed China before.  Secondly, nobody could ever tell what the unpredictable Giuseppe would do.  A declared man of peace who fought aggressively in war and was the first head of state since Harry Truman to actively use nuclear weapons on an enemy in war time.  In one sentence he would wax poetic on peace and in the next he would speak of crushing those who opposed the UN.  Such a man was obviously untrustworthy, moreso, his instability was just too much of an impediment to further dealings between Geneva and Beijing.  Not that China would side with the Americans; if it could be said that they feared the UN then it could also be said that they hated the US, a nation that had done far too much to rob China of her rightful territories and would one day reap the evil it had sown.

     "This arrangement Giuseppe has proposed to us is, in the short term, very attractive."  Li lifted his tall and wiry frame out of the chair and smoothed the gown-like suit he was wearing.  A healthy man of seventy years of age, Li was known as a reformer.  A pragmatist in policy, but absolutely ruthless against his enemies.  "The long term is what should concern us."  The pair of dark brown eyes he possessed carefully examined Premier Zhang's stance.  Zhang was a shortier and stockier man than Li.  His girth was something that made him rather unhealthy and the target of many jokes.  He did possess an intelligent mind, but was in no way comparable to the wily Li.  Vice Premier Quan Lin-wei was more to Li's level.  She was the youngest of the leaders of China at forty-five years of age.  Physically she had a body kept fit by exercise, including a t'ai chi regimen she maintained, with long black hair kept up in tight black buns, a small nose, and brilliant light brown eyes.  Quan possessed a clever and quick mind that combined with a healthy sense of ambition.  Her enemies would sometimes scorn her by comparing her to the former American President Saunders, but Quan was nothing like her American "counterpart".  Quan maintained a respectable and dignified air about her and was willing to take advice from others.  Despite her relative youth, she was also favored by Li to replace Zhang when his age and health failed him.

     As was customary, it was Zhang that spoke first.  "We would have Manchuria returned to us.  Taiwan would follow if the leaders in Taipei stand beside the Americans.  And, the benefits of increased trade and cooperation with the UN would help our nation recover from our current economic shortcomings."

     "In the long run, however, Giuseppe would use us as cannon fodder," Li stated.  "The people of China would be used to power his war against the Americans."

     "We could ally with him anyway, simply to defeat the Americans and regain that which we lost," Quan recommended.  "And then, when our part is fulfilled, we can use the vote on the Security Council to remove Giuseppe from power, or to force initiatives favorable to China."

     Li crossed his arms and straightened his back to his full 180 centimeter height.  Quan did not flinch as he appraised her thoroughly.  "Your recommendation is interesting, Vice Premier Quan.  You would have us use our two enemies against each other?"

     "Yes.  A broken and defeated United States gives us free reign to dominate Asia, and with our seat on the Security Council we can use Giuseppe's own body against him and correct a serious error on the part of your predecessor."

     "The people would never allow it."  Zhang stepped between Quan and Li.  "Courting with the West is inviting further loss on our part.  Are we to let our people bleed for Giuseppe's conquests?  That is what will happen.  He will do to us what he has done to India."

     "And we have already used our media to villify Giuseppe's use of nuclear weapons," one of Quan's peers added.  "People on the far western provinces still live in fear that the next atomic weapon he fires into the Middle East will sweep fallout into their homes.  The people of China are directly threatened by his nuclear strategy.  It is my honest opinion that they would choose the Americans or Japanese as allies over Giuseppe."

     "Yet the people themselves are not given a say in how we operate their government," Quan reminded them.  "We rule for them because they cannot rule themselves.  The order of society demands that they obey our orders, for we are only seeking to better them and to better China."

     "But the will of the people must be taken into consideration," Zhang retorted.

     "We are the will of the people," Quan snapped before turning her attention to Li.  "President, I would urge you to respond positively to Giuseppe's request.  At the very least, we need to play for time.  Time in which we can truly determine who the victor in this war will be."

     Li nodded stiffly.  "You make your point well, Vice Premier Quan."  He followed that up with a sigh.  "However, I am afraid your counsel is ill-advised at this time."  He turned back toward his desk, and a window looking out at the courtyard of the Forbidden City, where the occasional figure walked about on one errand or another.  "China has become infected with the Western disease of individualism.  The people may be taught to despise the West, but they have unknowingly been infected by it's ideals.  They have come to believe that the order of old is no more, and that they deserve consultation in every decision we make.  That is why closing ourselves off was so important eight years ago, and why it is still important today.  We still need more time to purge this sickness from our society, to restore the natural order of China.  Joining with Giuseppe will reopen the wound we have sealed off and allow the infection to grow strong enough to destroy our nation and our culture."

     "You do realize that he might turn his weapons on us," Quan said coldly.  "We should not close that door, not yet.  We must be patient."

     "Patience requires time."  Li looked back at the assembled Premiers and shook his head.  "And we have no more time.  Giuseppe's proposal does not give us a third option; either we are with him or we are not.  And we most definitely are not."

     "Giuseppe would not attack us anyway," Zhang added with a gutteral tone to his voice.  "His forces are spread too thin.  He lacks the numbers to even attempt an invasion of China against the might of our Army."

     "I am sure the Russians thought that too."

     Li raised a hand.  "The Vice Premier has again made a good point.  We cannot trust Giuseppe to honor our decision.  Thus, I will order the Peoples' Liberation Army to raise their readiness status.  Tomorrow I shall address the Peoples' Congress and announce our response."  He gestured toward the door.  "You may leave now."

     Zhang and his subordinates nodded respectfully and turned toward the door.  Li sat back into his desk and called out, "Vice Premier Quan, I wish to speak with you further," when he noticed that she was about to pass through the door.  Quan's turn was flawlessly executed, done swiftly but without the appearance of rushing it.  The movement showed response to authority but dignity; she would not let others believe that she was quick to obey simply for the sake of currying favor or from a lack of personal pride.  Li noted that in his mind before continuing to speak.  "I have heard that you will be leaving Beijing tomorrow after the Congress session.  And that you will be gone for the next two months."

     "Yes.  My younger sister and her husband will be celebrating their twentieth anniversary in Chongqing.  I have already arranged with the Premier to take an extended leave."  Quan approached his desk slowly.  "In light of the situation, I will remain here if that is your desire."

     "That will not be necessary," Li answered.  "I trust you will remain in communication through the Party central offices in Chongqing?"

     "Of course, President."

     Li answered her with a nod.  "Vice Premier, you have today proven the wisdom in the government's decision to appoint you to your office.  Your counsel is most appreciated.  And, I will admit, I was nearly swayed by it, for I had already had it under consideration."

     "Then I shall make certain that next time, my counsel is more persuasive."

     "That would be wise of you.  And, I should trust that you will enjoy your stay with your family.  Stay in Chongqing as long as you wish."

     Quan's eyes flared.  "You wish me to remain out of Beijing?"

     "Yes."  Li put up a hand.  "And it is not because I wish to diminish your position, you are a valuable asset to the government.  It is that value that leads me to ensure that you are safe."

     "Safe?"  Quan narrowed her eyes.  "You are worried about Giuseppe's response."

     "I would not want to take unnecessary risks."  Li shifted slightly in his seat.  "When he went to war with Russia, Giuseppe used what had to have been a staged attack on the UN's national representatives as a pretense to wipe out the Russian government with a special forces strike.  As a result, the Russian nation descended into anarchy and left them open to conquest.  I do not wish for a similar strike to so easily decapitate our government.  Thus, I wish for you to remain in Chongqing, and I will also arrange for the state news to report your position as being in Wuhan instead, so as to prevent the UN from locating you immediately.  I will also leave the city for a short while, and leave Premier Zhang to lead the government in the interim."

     Quan nodded in full agreement.  "I see the wisdom in your decision.  But why me?  Why not Premier Zhang himself?"

     The faintest hints of a smile pulled at the corners of Li's mouth.  "The Premier is an educated man, but he is also unimaginative.  And his health and age mean that he is not capable of being in his position in the long term.  You, on the other hand, are a youth compared to us.  A youth who has vaulted herself through the Party ranks with ruthlessness and skill that marks you as a special individual.  An individual with exceptional talents for leading and persuading other Party members.  Such talents should be preserved for the future."  Li crossed his hands on the desk.  "And, I will note that you have apparently never used your position for personal gain.  Other Party members tend to use their rank as a way to get around the rules we bind the rest of society to, but you, on the other hand, have not.  I commend that."

     "That is not true."  Quan pulled her left leg up to put her left foot on her right ankle.  Her dress pulled up on her leg enough to reveal the lower half of her slender calf.  "I have used my position for a selfish reason before."

     Li seemed a tad surprised at her words, although Quan could not tell if it was because he did not know or if he did not expect her to be truthful.  "And what did you gain from it?"

     "My sister has more than one child," Quan replied.  "I arranged for her to be given an exception so she would not be bound by the one child law.  Because of me, she and her husband have five children, including three girls.  I believed that to be the wisest course because of our one-child policy, which I expected to reduce our female population dangerously.  Which it has."  Quan's expression softened.  "And, because she is my younger sister, someone I care for and want to see happy.  Furthermore,  I have no brothers, and I am incapable of bearing children.  My sister was the only way my parents' lineage could be maintained."

     "Your loyalty to your family is to be commended," Li stated.  "And your foresight is appreciable as well.  I am doubly convinced that we should take measures to ensure you survive a pre-emptive strike by Giuseppe."

     "I will do all that I can to fulfill your expectations, President Li," Quan promised.

     "Good.  You may leave."

     Quan stood from the chair in the same crisp manner in which she normally moved.  As she strode to the door she turned back around.  "You are aware that today is Friday the 13th, are you not?"

     Li looked up from papers on his desk.  "Yes?"

     "Westerners tend to view this date with superstitious suspicion.  They believe that on any Friday the 13th, one can stumble into bad luck.  I cannot help but think that perhaps our decision today is our own act of bad luck."

     "You surprise me, I never believed that you would take much stock in a Western superstition," Li replied.

     "Perhaps, but I believe in the wisdom of Sun-Tzu's directions to know your enemy."

     Li replied with a traditional slight head nod.  "I also believe that the philosopher Friedrich Neitzsche warned that if one looks into a pit, the pit looks back into them."

     "The English variation of Neitzsche's quote uses the term 'abyss', President, not 'pit'."  Quan gave a nod of her own.  "But I understand what you are trying to say.  We must know our enemy, but if we look too hard at him we will become him."

     "Yes.  Good day, Vice Premier."

    Quan did not respond further; she simply left.  Li was left alone in his office, where he began to formulate the next day's statements.

 

 

 

Communist Party Central Office

Chongqing, Chongqing Shi, Peoples' Republic of China

31 October 2013

 

     Quan stepped into the middle of a panic that had gripped the Central Office's lobby.  Officials were milling about, trying to make phone calls and arguing with security to let them out.  I fear that my words with the President were prophetic, she mused as she calmly stepped up to one of the officials.  "Is there a problem?"

     "Military command has just announced that the United Nations has launched an invasion of China," he responded.  "But, all of the phone lines to Beijing have been cut off.  We cannot reach anyone."

     Quan took the news with a sharp breath.  "You are running around like a group of frightened children," she bellowed to the crowd, prompting the maddened rush to stop.  "You will all return to your offices and resume your duties.  When communications are re-established with Beijing and I have had a chance to speak with the Premier, I will brief you.  In the meantime, you will remain quiet..."

     "We should have known that the takeover of Japan was simply a precursor to this," one of the officials stammered.  "Why was the military command not..."

     Quan shouted, "I said to be quiet!"  She turned her head to the official, a minor Party member within the municipality of Chongqing.  "If this is true, the Peoples' Republic is at war.  Which means that I can have you shot with the snap of a finger.  And I will have you shot if you do not calm down."

     "My wife was in Beijing visiting family," he continued.  "She had my son.  Please, let me continue to call, maybe I can..."

     Quan snapped her fingers and one of the Central Office's military security guards pulled out his sidearm.  He fired a 9mm round into the official's left knee that shattered part of the kneecap.  The man crumbled and cried out.  He grabbed his left knee to try and stop the blood flowing out of it.  A pair of other men ran up to him to help him up.  "Get him medical attention.  Then have him brought back here so that he can return to work."  Quan turned away from the fallen man and to the guard who shot him.  "Next time I order you to shoot someone, I wish for it to be placed between the eyes.  Not the knee."

     "Yes, Vice Premier.  I apologize for not fulfilling your expectations."

     Quan did not reply to the guard.  She walked over to a phone and dialed in a line to Beijing herself.  When there was no answer from the Party offices there she pushed down the receiver and dialed another number, this one to the President's private home in Changsha.  When no answer came she placed the phone back down.  A small sense of dread twisted Quan's stomach at the possible ramifications from the lack of response from those two locations.  She picked the phone up and began to punch in the number to the local military commander.

     Before she could finish the door opened and a familiar face entered.  Zhong-shao Jiang Yu-Lung's large and stoic frame moved in measured steps toward Quan.  The most remarkable feature he possessed were his eyes, which were jade as opposed to the customary brown.  The eyes had led for the adoption of the "Yu" in his name, which was the approximate Chinese word for "jade" when used with the proper tone.  Some believed it to be a genetic mutation of sorts that gave Jiang his eye color.  Others believed that he had European blood.  Neither explaination mattered much to Quan.  She turned and nodded at her brother-in-law's salute.  "Colonel, I take it you have heard?"

     "Yes, Vice Premier," Jiang replied, remaining respectful with his sister-in-law.  "May we speak privately?"

     Quan nodded her head and turned to lead him into one of the elevators.  When they stepped into an empty one she pressed a button to go to the top floor.  "I have been given an office here," she explained.  "What is it you wish to tell me?"

     "You have not been able to get in contact with Beijing, correct?"

     "Correct."

     "That is because everyone there is dead."

     Quan's eyes widened from the shock.  "How?!"

     Jiang lowered his eyes.  "Our defense systems detected incoming missiles about twenty minutes ago, just as UN forces crossed into China from Manchuria, Kazakhstan, and Vietnam.  The missiles hit their targets about five minutes ago, just as my superiors announced the invasion.  Beijing was one of the targets."

     "Did they get the Premier out?  The Peoples' Congress?"

     "The military tried, but the UN blanketed the area.  I am afraid that none were able to escape."

     Quan's face distorted from the shock, which had cut right through her usual cold appearance.  "Weren't they able to get to the bunkers?"

     "Some, but not enough."  Jiang stopped speaking when the elevator door opened.  They walked out into a hallway and down to a large office.  Quan closed the door behind them and locked it.  "Most of the missiles we believe to have been aimed at our nuclear forces."

     "Have we retaliated?"

     "The missiles are still undergoing fueling.  We do not believe we will be capable of retaliating effectively."

     Quan clenched her fists.  "Why had our missiles not been fueled?!"

     "Premier Zhang's orders, I am told," Jiang replied candidly.  "I do not know why, I can only postulate that the Premier did not wish to antagonize Giuseppe."  He swallowed and took a breath.  "The destruction of Beijing has already severely effected our chain of command.  My superiors have been unable to get in contact with any other divisional leaders aside from those in the nearby provinces.  Even if our mobile missile platforms evade destruction and launch retaliation strikes, they will not know who to aim at.  Those along the coast may aim at Taiwan and America because they will believe that the Americans were responsible."

     "So they have beheaded us as well."  Quan rubbed her forehead at the headache she felt coming on.  She remembered the words she had spoken to Li over a month before.  "Until I hear from the President, I will assume that he perished as well.  I will need to take over all government functions immediately, and order the military to mobilize."

     "Some of our forces were armed with surface-to-air missiles capable of shooting down the smaller missiles the UN Army uses for it's tactical atomic warheads.  At least some of our divisions facing the invasion should still be coherent."

     "Then our first order of business is to re-establish lines of communication with the rest of the country.  We need this done immediately, commandeer any aircraft or civilian telecommunications systems you have to so that we can accomplish this."  Quan's expression hardened.  "And, see if I can find a way to communicate with the American President."

     Jiang allowed some surprise to show on his features.  "The Americans?"

     "They are our allies now," Quan responded.  "What matters to me is preserving China, and I will do what is necessary to do so.  Even if it means siding with the Americans against Giuseppe."

     "I see."

     "The American, Taiwanese, and Korean Navies can overpower the Japanese Navy and whatever Russian ships the UN captured in the Pacific," Quan explained.  "And they can use Taiwan to keep open a line of communication and supply between our nations."

     "You are correct.  I will see what I can do."

     "Yu-Lung," Quan continued, changing to using his given name to indicate she was turning the conversation into a personal matter, "I want you to make sure Mei-ying and your children are safe."

     "Your concern is appreciated, Lin-wei," Jiang answered.  "I will do what I can.  But none of us are truly safe in this world.  Especially in the world as it is right now."

     "All that remains is to ensure that our way of life survives."  Quan's eyes hardened.  "I will have to make many difficult decisions in these coming months.  I would ask that you, Yu-Lung, serve as my military advisor."

     "I am honored by your request, but I must refuse.  I am only a Zhong-shao, a Colonel."

     "If not for your pickiness in your promotions and assignments, you would be a Sao-jiang-jun," Quan countered.  "I need someone I can trust.  I cannot trust any of the other officers, who may seek to use this chaos to fulfill their own desires and ambitions.  You I do trust, Yu-Lung, because you are loyal to the same ideals as I, and because we have a mutual respect."

     "The people may accuse you of favoritism," Jiang warned her.  "We are also family."

     "The people will be occupied in fighting for their very souls."  Quan lowered her eyes.  "I will admit I am frightened, Yu-Lung.  This war could mean the destruction of everything we have worked for."

     "We are all frightened by this, Lin-wei."  Jiang put a hand on her shoulder.  "It is what makes us what we are.  But fear can be turned into a powerful weapon.  That is what we must do.  Use our fear as a weapon which will aid us in our fight."  His expression softened.  "I will go now.  We have no more time for this discussion."

     Jiang's words reminded Quan of Li's words to her.  Time was a luxury they no longer held, as he had put it to the Congress.  She nodded swiftly to Jiang.  "Then go.  And come back swiftly."  When she was answered by a nod from Jiang, Quan walked up to the window of the office and looked out at the city of Chongqing.  And so history repeats itself yet again.  I will make certain that this time, however, China is not dependent on the aid of other nations to win her war.  We will win this war on our own efforts or we will perish in the attempt.

     And as the days passed and the reports came in, Quan watched helplessly as the Peoples' Republic of China was sucked into the maelstrom of destruction.

 

 

United Nations Headquarters

Geneva, Swiss Confederation, United Nations

11 November 2013

 

     The digital world map in the command center had undergone further updates in the previous months.  A large swath of the Middle East, as far south as a line running from the Gaza Strip east to the Iranian coast of the Persian Gulf, was now digitally painted in the light blue of the UN.  Japan was also covered with light blue, as was a growing chunk of China.  Von Krager stood at the balcony on the third floor of the command center, his back to the war room where Monsieu was again pleading to Giuseppe's deaf ears.  Dharuna stepped out of the room and walked up by von Krager.  "If Francis had a spine," he muttered, "he might actually convince him one day."

     "If Francis had a spine, he would be dead," von Krager replied candidly.  "He is arguing against my proposition?"

     Dharuna nodded in response.  "Using neutron warheads to eliminate the Chinese population advantage, and repopulating their important cities and facilities from other nations that are suffering from overpopulation.  Ingenious, but perhaps too bloody."

     "It would be of enormous benefit to your nation, Director Dharuna," von Krager pointed out.  "India's overpopulation difficulties could easily be settled.  As could the overpopulation in Indonesia and Japan."

     "And how would you explain this to the world?  There are already those unsettled by the atomic bombings of the holy cities."  Dharuna tapped the rail on the balcony with his fingers.  "Only fear of the VdO keeps the Europeans in line.  In my own home nation, it is anti-Muslim sentiment that prevents unrest.  But China?"

     "Who cares for China in this world, Vasan?  Seriously?  China has done nothing but use it's size and potential to bully the world, even more so when they left the UN.  Will your countrymen forget the seizure of their territory in Kashmir by China?  Or will Vietnam forget the threats China placed on them?  Even the religionists have no love of China because of it's oppression of churches."  Von Krager gripped the rail.  "But it is not China that worries me.  We are running out of time, Vasan.  It will only be another few years before the Americans are too powerful to subdue."

     "I thought the attack on their Alaskan oil pipeline last July was supposed to remove their fuel sources?"

     "The attack did not inflict as much damage as we had hoped," von Krager said in a lamentful tone, "and the Americans had already built up a significant reserve stock of petroleum.  And with the new oil wells developed in their Wildlife Refuges the blow did not impede them significantly.  Within a year and a half they should be back to peak production."  Von Krager pointed at the map, where North America was still painted in red.  "Our window is closing, by the end of 2015 it will be completely closed.  We must have America on it's knees by that time or it is hopeless."

     "But an invasion across the Atlantic will be nearly impossible to do from where we are now."  Dharuna crossed his arms.  "Bermuda is too small to serve as a forward supply base."

     "True.  Which is why we must go north.  To the British Isles, and from there to Iceland and the Faroes and then to the Northeast coast of Canada.  And then, perhaps, we will use that as a foothold and then strike at New England to catch the Americans off guard."  Von Krager moved his finger to point at England.  "England is where we must start."

     "The last elections were very favorable to us," Dharuna remarked.  "Recent events have caused some slipping of our support, but the anti-monarchists still believe that Giuseppe's might is their only hope to rid themselves of the monarchy."

     "The anti-monarchists are still in a minority," von Krager retorted.  "No, the greater pro-European population is the better route to take, so we must not worry about the monarchy yet.  But, with Sir Alexander Maxwell-Fyfe as their Prime Minister, we will never be able to get them to agree with joining us."

     "Outright military invasion is out of the question."

     Von Krager nodded in agreement.  But then his head raised and he grinned slightly.  "Not exactly."

     Dharuna looked over at him.  "Most of our troops are in Russia and China.  We could never invade and occupy Britain."

     "We do not need to invade."  Von Krager rubbed his left knuckles with his right fingers.  One of the knuckles cracked as he pulled the finger it was attached to.  "Perhaps a deal can be struck with George VII himself."

     "You believe the powerless King of England can help you?"

     "Powerless in application, Director Dharuna, but not in legal power."  Von Krager put his hands together.  "I had the benefit of reviewing the British legal process.  The King still holds the power to dissolve Parliament and call for new elections, and can act as leader of the country in such a situation.  All this will take is turning the current hostility within Britain and making it explode into violence.  Parliament is so divided it cannot do anything to thwart this, and Maxwell-Fyfe will be so obstinate in dealing with our supporters that it will give George the pretense he needs.  All he need do is dissolve Parliament, take power, and invite UN peacekeepers to Britain so that peace can be maintained for the new elections."

     "And, once the VdO is present, we can easily distort the results to bring our supporters to power," Dharuna added.  "Very well thought out, Director von Krager.  But, how do you convince George to go along with it?"

     "George's station in life is at risk.  He is a staunch believer in the monarchy, in tradition, and the upswing of pro-European and pro-Republic sentiments is a threat to that tradition.  He will do what is necessary to maintain the cultural identity of Britain and he can be trapped by placing the monarchy itself at threat from domestic violence.  All we need to do is lure him into that trap by inspiring violence in some of the fringe groups in Britain.  They are on the verge as it stands now, it will only need a single spark."

     Inside the war room, Monsieu stepped away from Giuseppe with dejection on his face.  Sim grinned smugly as she stepped up to the clear window door and opened it.  "Director Monsieu has finished his chat with the Chairman."

     "Same result as always?"

     "Giuseppe again offered his resignation, and Monsieu again refused it.  So, he has withdrawn his opposition to your emergency plan."  Sim crossed her arms.  "The Chairman is now ready for you to brief him further on your plan."

     "Good."  Von Krager turned his back fully to the map.  "I must admit, though, that I never expected the Chairman to agree to such drastic measures.  He's never gone for something quite so bold before."

     "It was Antonia's assassination that did this to him," Dharuna noted.  "His wrathful nature has really come out since her murder."

     "Yes, poor girl," Sim agreed.  "What did the Russians do to her again?  Dismembered her, right?"

     "We are unsure," von Krager said in a low tone.  "She may have been disembowled, but that does not make sense for a Resistance assassin.  It is more likely they shot her in the belly before they blew up the apartment, and the recording of her death screams were the result of whatever pain the rounds caused in her  bowels.  Whichever way, it was a sad event, and as a man with no children I am incapable of comprehending the Chairman's pain in this matter."

     "An awful tragedy," Dharuna agreed.

     Von Krager opened the door.  "Now, let us go speak to the Chairman about my proposal for the British situation."  A sly grin crossed his face.  "If this comes out well, we could be having tea in London by February."

 

 

The White House

Washington D.C., United States of America

11 November 2014

 

     For nearly two years, Jason Andrews had strove to rebuild his nation's defenses.  To repair the damage done by his predecessor's policies and enable the United States to again rescue Europe from a tyrant within.  His administration was in a race against time.  A race to restore their defense industries before the UN could make an attack on the US itself.  The winner of the race would determine the victor in this war.  To maintain his fast pace, Andrews had not given the aid he ordinarly would have given to his allies.  The anti-Giuseppe nations in Africa, strengthened after the bombings of Mecca, Medina, and Jerusalem, had pleaded for American aid.  So had the Koreans, the Taiwanese, and the Filipinos.  And he had been forced by his situation to reject them all.  He could not afford to engage the UN in piecemeal battles with the American military in shambles.  As a result, Korea and the Phillippines had fallen to the UN advance, and Taiwan was under almost constant air bombardment from the occupied Chinese mainland, the only barrier preventing it's invasion being the Pacific Fleet with the remnants of the Free Russian and Chinese fleets.  And the only reason Andrews had been able to send the majority of the US Navy to hold Taiwan was because it was the last line of communication and supply to the Peoples' Republic of China, which even now was fighting a war for survival in which an estimated two hundred million Chinese had already perished.  The UN held total domination in Asia; only the bravery and tenacity of ANZAC forces had prevented the fall of East Timor and Papua New Guinea, and the hard-fighting Australians and New Zealanders could ill-afford the losses they were beginning to take against the forces of Giuseppe.  In the Atlantic the tide had also begun turning in the favor of Giuseppe.  The British Resistance was struggling to hold the Scottish Highlands while Ireland, Iceland, and southern Greenland had fallen to the UN advance.  With those islands and nations to serve as his supply bases, Giuseppe was preparing to invade North America itself and that had made their race that much more desperate.

     And for the first time in his Presidency, Andrews realized he was losing the race.

     The revelation came at about noon, when National Security Advisor Donald Delacroix marched into the Oval Office with a somber expression, interrupting a lunch meeting that Andrews was holding with Longstreet.  Longstreet's skin was an obvious contrast to his superior while his white-gray hair and beard made him fit the image of the Southern gentleman his supporters saw him as, an image reinforced by his thick Southern drawl.  The two men were not always in agreement, Longstreet was a true conservative while Andrews tended to be a more moderate politician, but they had become political allies and friends during the Saunders Administration, and to ensure victory over Saunders in the 2013 election Andrews had made Longstreet his running mate over his original choice, Secretary of Defense Chelsea Douglas.  He did not regret that decision.  Longstreet had worked long and hard to get the increasingly xenophobic and naturalist populations of the Southeast and Midwest to work in tandem with the rest of the country in setting up new defense plants.  He was also the first to speak when Delacroix emerged from the door.  "Advisor Delacroix, we weren't expectin' you."

     The Louisiana native stepped up to the desk and drew in a breath.  "Sir, I just got a call from the Pentagon.  Satellite surveillance detected a cruise missile launch from UN submarines operating in the Labrador Sea, their missiles are bound for our troop positions on the Labrador Coast and on Newfoundland."

     Andrews' stomach twisted.  It was not the first time the UN had attacked the mainland with missile bombardment, indeed their activities in that regard had steadily risen in the previous six months after the acquisition of what remained of the British Royal Air Force and the Royal Navy, but this was the first strike against the line of defense for that region of Canada.  "How has NORAD responded?"

     "They've got some anti-missile defenses up there, but most of our hardware is here in the US, protecting us from a nuclear strike by Giuseppe.  And sir," Delacroix swallowed again, "we're getting reports from our forward posts and sources that the UN detachment of troops in South Greenland just got moved out.  The ships they boarded disappeared inside a storm moving through the area, but at their last heading they were moving due south.  Straight into the storm."

     "My God, it's an invasion," Longstreet muttered.  "That's got to be the reason."

     Andrews thumped his fist on the table.  "Too soon," he muttered to himself.  "Too damned soon.  How many divisions do you think they could land?"

     "Not more than one.  The Canadians and the Army have got two divisions worth of troops in the area, but that area is pretty open.  Very few roads and the like, they won't be able to move troops in fast enough to thwart UN landings."

     "Amphibious landings there will be hard enough as it is."  Andrews uncurled his fist.  "Where are the Joint Chiefs?"

     "On their way here, sir, to brief you."

     "I want our fighter units in that area on full alert."  Andrews picked his phone and dialed his secretary.  "Miss Evans, I need you to get me the Speaker Jansen and Senators Neilson and Green on the phone immediately.  Tell them it is a matter of extreme national importance."

     "Are you goin' to re-instate the draft, John?", Longstreet asked when Andrews hung up the phone.  "Army's still pretty small."

     "We will see," Andrews replied.  "The UN landings will be in rocky and tough terrain, with few existing harbors and airfields, and with terrible weather.  It will be nearly impossible to supply across the Atlantic, or even with their bases in South Greenland or Iceland.  This is probably just to establish a beachhead, perhaps as propaganda."

     "I hope that's it, by God I hope it is," Longstreet muttered.   "What about those submarine amphibious assault ships the UN was supposed to have?  The German and the Russian ones?"

     "The UN keeps them under lock and key, their movements are all underwater and most of the sub bases that could accomodate them have had expanded hangers built to hide them from satellite reconnassiance."

     "Those are what worry me the most.  Giuseppe has a good chance to take us by surprise."  Andrews' phone began to ring and he sat down before picking it up.  "Mister Speaker, I thank you for calling back so quickly.  I have urgent news to give to you and the House.  No, I am afraid the news is not very good..."

 

 

 

U.N.S. Dag Hammarskjöld

Somewhere in the Atlantic, approximately 40 degrees N 50 degrees W

12 February 2015

 

     It was a dark irony for Reinhard von Krager that the carrier flagship he was standing on, serving as the protective vanguard for the main UN invasion of North America, was formerly a ship of the same nation they were about to assault, and hopefully conquer.  The U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln had been sold first to France in 2009, and then taken control of by the United Nations Navy in early 2011, when it was named for the only General-Secretary of the UN to have died in office.  And now the ship, originally named after the "Great Emancipator", would be turned against the nation that the Emancipator had rescued from division a century and a half before.

     The entire thought made von Krager's smile widen.

     Assembled with the Hammarskjöld was a quarter of the UN's invasion fleet.  In about three minutes, a fleet of Eurofighters would launch a massive strike on American satellites whose orbits would bring them in range to see the invasion fleet before they hit.  The UN had spent nearly four years building up it's ASAT forces to ensure hits on at least some of the satellites, especially newer models with active defenses.  Not every satellite would go down, one in particular with a track over the Mid-Atlantic would be allowed to spot a UN "fleet" within a rain squall on a course toward Delaware and Maryland, an apparent knockout blow that would force the Americans to keep the Atlantic Fleet in the area and draw in troops that could oppose the real landings in New England.  It was also anticipated that the US would retaliate with it's own ASAT arsenal, which is why the Directorate of Communication was already preparing to launch extra satellites to replace telecommunication satellites destroyed by American ASATs.  Once this was done, von Krager would refrain from another strike on satellites.  It would be too late for the US anyway.  UN forces would be firmly ashore, supplied by air and by sea, and with the numerical might of the UN Army combined with it's elite core divisions and units, such as the Panzergrenadier Korps, the still-weak and undersupported US Army would quickly fall.  Von Krager turned his head on the bridge to view one of the French-built cruisers, the La Glorie, that was accompanying the fleet.  Among her missile armament were a number of five kiloton yield tactical neutron warheads for breaking cities that would otherwise be impossible to take.  Von Krager did not want any Stalingrads or Singapores to hold up his advance into the US.  It was important that the advance remain swift, lest some of the more powerful Latin American nations come to the Americans' defense.  Von Krager also realized that he needed to remove the Americans' war industries to prevent a repeat of the last great war, when the Americans crushed his nation and Japan with their then-awesome industries.

     Two days, he mused to himself as a light went green to indicate the strike had begun.  In two days, we shall begin to accomplish the unimaginable.  We will begin the conquest of the United States of America!

 

 

Short Beach, Connecticut, United States of America

14 February 2015

 

     The small town community of Short Beach was just outside the beachside Connecticut city of New Haven.  A central road called Shore Drive went through the center of town, connecting it to East Haven and, farther north, to Interstate Highway 95.

     About twenty minutes after dawn, this road swarmed with small hovercraft vehicles pushing up from the coast.  Soldiers jumped from the vehicles and quickly began to cut down power lines.  Any antennas or satellites they found were shot up or outright destroyed by grenade launchers while further vehicles emerged from the sea.

     All along the coast of Connecticut, troops stormed ashore, having disembarked from the assault submarines that now prowled the coastline.  One such sub, in addition to a captured Russian Typhoon, showered the US's sub base at Groton with cruise missiles, wrecking the facilities decisively.

     Within an hour of the invasion hitting the beach the state government declared a state of emergency and called up the National Guard.  Those National Guardsmen who were in now-occupied territory strived to sneak out and get to friendly territory.  In New Haven, a company worth of Guardsmen consolidated and used the City Hall and the city and county law enforcement agencies to mount a short-lived counterattack that was decisively crushed by the numerically superior and better-armed UN amphibious troops.

     As air power mobilized to fight off the invasion, they detected a greater threat, as an unexpected armada approached offshore.  As the day continued this armada landed more troops, with heavier equipment, in Cape Cod, the New Hampshire coast, and on the coast of Rhode Island.  A fleet of UN aircraft launched from the five carriers assigned to the invasion fleet descended upon the area, destroying telephone lines, communications centers, and radio transmitters.  In addition some were attacking what military facilities they could find while some of the Eurofighters and Mirages were employed in protecting the invasion fleet from attack by the reduced US Air Force and National Guard Air Force.  The UN invasion had come from an unexpected angle and the attack on communications lines was preventing the attacked areas from immediately sending out the warning.  Providence and Boston became battlegrounds as local police and even some private citizens took up arms to fight the invaders.  Panicked families grabbed what clothes and food they could and fled west to get away from the warzone.  Some found their roadways blocked as the first columns of UN APCs and tanks appeared on the roads, moving to strategic locations around the cities for the final assaults against the cities.  Assaults that the ground commanders were sure would be hopelessly bloody, and perhaps fatal to the invasion itself, since the ports and airfields in the cities were needed for supply.

     Their concerns were invalidated at about 1351 EST.  From his command ship von Krager ordered the city of New York to disarm it's police department and all military personnel within, and to declare martial law and evecuate the streets so that his troops could move through.  The Mayor's response was a defiant "Go fuck yourself" that drew cheers from a crowd in Times Square that had assembled upon news of the invasion in nearby Connecticut.  Those cheers turned to screams of horror when the first missile crashed into the Square, directly hitting the massive Astrovision screen that dominated the view of the Square.  The warhead detonated and annihilated most of the people in the Square, not to mention many of the people in that section of Manhatten.  Within a minute four more nukes, one for each of the burroughs of New York City, detonated and killed thousands more.  Von Krager used his own telecommunications equipment to quickly spread the word that New York City's population had been "blown to ash", and stated that any other major metropolitan area that resisted his forces would suffer the same fate.

     About the same time that this occured, the Altantic Fleet sortied from Norfolk, bound north to confront the enemy invaders.  With it sailed the last hope for ending the invasion.

 

 

The White House

Washington D.C., United States of America

15 February 2015

 

     With calm and measured steps President Jason Andrews stepped into the press room, preparing to give what he knew could be the defining speech of his career.  His mind wandered shortly as he contemplated the leaders of history who no doubt had the same gut-wrenching fear he felt when they had been faced with their crises.  Andrews found himself praying that these leaders give him the strength they had shown in their times, because he knew he would need it to lead the nation in the dark times ahead.

     The press lights were hot and blinding; the reporters' nervous chatter distorted some of Andrews' thoughts.  Normally they were quiet but now their fear prompted them to barrage him with questions.  He could not blame them.  He was afraid.  He was terrified.  History was something that he could never escape from.  His acts would bring history's judgement down upon his memory, and history was not a kind judge.  Fair, but never kind.  He would be remembered as a savior or as the man who destroyed the world's last hope for victory over the murderous and barbaric monster that Armand Giuseppe's insanity had created.

     Andrews swallowed, and began to speak.

     "My fellow Americans, it is with great sadness that I find myself the bearer of terrible news tonight.  It has been over thirty-six hours since UN forces landed an invasion force on our shores.  And it has been over twenty-four hours since these same forces, in an act of cruel barbarism on a scale unrivaled in human history, detonated five neutron weapons over New York City, killing over a million American citizens.  Earlier today, the Atlantic Fleet met with the UN invasion force in the Atlantic Ocean off of Long Island.  In battle against incredible odds, our brave men and women managed to destroy or cripple a number of UN warships and aircraft, including their flag carrier."

     Andrews swallowed and delivered the hammer blow.  "However, the Atlantic Fleet was not victorious in thwarting the invasion.  The Atlantic Fleet has been crippled by the devastating losses inflicted by the UN force."  Andrews paused for a moment and watched the shock on the faces of all of the journalists in the room.  The despair he saw in their expressions he knew was mirrored by all of the Americans, and indeed people throughout the world, watching the press conference.  "I have ordered elements of the Pacific Fleet to transfer to the Atlantic.  The remnants of the Canadian and British navies and our fellow allied nations of the Americas have also pledged their support to prevent complete UN supremacy in the Atlantic, but even with the arrival of the Pacific Fleet we will lack the force necessary to prevent the UN from maintaining effective supply of their invasion army."

     Andrews swallowed again, more subtlely this time, to keep his stomach calm.  "We must now accept that the UN will be fully capable of maintaining their invasion, and of expanding their beachhead.  This capability will increase as more troops are landed on this continent.  We are now in a state of unprecedented national emergency."  He tried to hide his fatigue from the cameras; he had not gotten a good hour of sleep since the night before the invasion, and it was beginning to take it's toll.  The invasion came too soon.  Another two months and we would have had Enterprise in the battle; we could have won, or at least given them a Pyrrhic victory.  I have to credit them, though, that decoy sub and fleet was an excellent diversion.  The Army and Marines are out of position and won't be able to join the battle in force before they can secure the area.  "As such, I am hereby ordering the following.  All members of the Armed Forces reserves and retired personnel have been called to active duty.  Selective Service has been re-constituted, and all men and women between the ages of 18 and 40 are likely to be drafted as they are needed.  The government has already begun implementing emergency policies to arm our nation and has taken on the responsibility for the orderly evacuation of civilians from the war zone to friendly areas.  I call upon the governors of all states either under attack or in threat of invasion to implement martial law, and I call upon every governor in the United States to call up their state National Guard units and relinquish those units immediately to the US Army for service.  And finally, I call upon you, America."  Andrews' heart began to beat rapidly.  Americans did not take kindly to forced military service, since Vietnam the draft had been villified, and it was not uncommon for idealistic young people to avoid the draft.

     But this war was different, Andrews knew in his heart, and he had to make the people realize that as well.  "In the past ten years, our nation has seen some of it's differences highlighted to severe degrees.  Differences of ideology, of religion, of ethnic background and even of skin color.  But it is my opinion that these differences themselves remove nothing from the truth of who we are, as a nation.  I believe that in all of our hearts is the spirit of America and it's sacred promise.  The promise concerning the creation and maintainance of a government of the people, by the people, and for the people, the promise laid out in the Declaration of Independence from Great Britain and codified by the Constitution of the United States.  It is this promise that has kept America strong for over two hundred years.  It is the promise that stirs the hearts of Americans and brings tears to their eyes, and the promise that has inspired millions of Americans in the past to take up arms and risk their lives in war.  And it is that very promise that is now being threatened by the tides of fire that have come to our shores.  If we do not act now, if we allow this enemy to destroy the promise of our forefathers, an enslaved humanity will forever scorn our memory.  The judge of History will condemn us throughout the ages for not defending the sacred promise our forefathers created and defended with their lives, fortunes, and honor."

     Andrews paused, for both effect and to take a breath.  "The color of our skin does not matter, nor what God we worship or do not worship, nor the language we speak.  The common language of our nation is Liberty, our common God is Freedom.  And the blood that runs through our bodies is American.  That is the common trait we all hold, and the most important of them all.  It is my sorrow that American blood must be spilled to defend the sacred promise of our nation, but it shall be our goal that the blood of our countryment is not spilled in vain.  That those who perish in this conflict will have bought for their countrymen the continued life of our nation's sacred promise.  And thus I call upon you, as fellow citizens, as fellow Americans, to stand and fight.  To fight for your families and your homes.  To fight for your children, and all of our children, and for the future of our country.  It is with a heavy heart that I ask you to risk your lives and your future, but I do not do so out of vain arrogance or personal ambition, but out of necessity.  Our nation is at risk; I will hope and pray that all citizens understand and perform their patriotic duties, for the sake of our nation and our allies."  Andrews paused again and resisted the temptation to wet his parched lips.  "May God again smile upon us, and bless the USA with victory."

     It was to Andrews' surprise that the assembled press, as well as his bodyguards and aides, began to clap.  The clapping grew louder and became a roaring applause as he stepped away from the podium.  The stirrings of hope appeared in their expressions while tears of pride flowed from their eyes and down their cheeks.  Andrews realized that he had, indeed, struck a chord in their hearts and minds.  An effect he was soon to realize had been duplicated across the nation.  He even felt a pang of pity for the soldiers of the invading UN.  They were going to find that the soft-bellied Americans that they had laughed at and scorned for the previous decades were not quite so soft after all.

     The people of the United States were going to fight, the consequences be damned.

 

 

To be Continued in Novel #1, "Tides of Fire"...