Quote:Bronislav looked down at the report compiled about the agents he ordered into port elga to establish a foothold clandestinely. Interior minister Denis Komárek watched silently waiting for his reply. Bronislavs eye twitched a few times as he rubbed his temples slowly, running his hand down the scar that stretched down his eye, a stark reminder of what failure means.

"Komárek, do you have any idea how fucking unnacceptable this is? These arrogant Kalistani dirt farmers have been subverting us at every corner, and our first attempt is a resounding goddamn failure!" He yelled, slamming his fist onto the table, pencils flying.

"I understand sir, these fledgling agents were new-hires in the FIS, its still resisting the new regime is some capacity and its been necessary to include green but loyal agents...I assure you this will not happen again."

"For your sake, you better pray it doesnt, I have no patience nor tolerance for failure, the forces of Satan are bearing down on our doorstep in this anti-eliyahu bitch in the flesh that calls herself Empress dares critique us? PAH!" Bronislav spat out with venom, "Get out of my sight, I've got more plans to make on account of this shit..."

Komárek saluted and turned, walking towards the doors

"Oh and one more thing Komárek, I hope your family is enjoying the new dog, I've been keeping up on them closely, lovely kids..." Bronislav turned back to his paper writing vigorously

Komárek clenching his jaw briskly left the office, dreading what another failure might mean for him

Quote:Work, or die.

It was a simple mantra. Three simple words. Words that Leon repeated to himself each day as he awoke at dawn to work the arms factory, along with two dozen other workers who had been conscripted. Some of his friends in the lumber field had protested. They were lumberjacks, not assembly workers. They knew nothing about the trade. A few had been subsequently shot, two rounds in the forehead. They weren’t worth torturing and putting back into the work lines.

Work, or die.


The labor was backbreaking in a different way than he was used to. He had cut trees for a living, and even he was exhausted. The land around the factory would be beautiful, had he not found people passed out or dead on the concrete floor or lines. He couldn’t stop working though. Legionary overseers patrolled, and the unproductive were culled. There were always more who took their place.

Work, or die.

Some days he worked at the open air tank lots, inside that blot on the idyllic countryside. One where the armored vehicles were repurposed and refitted. You had to be careful not to lose hands or fingers, like many workers did. But even then you could not stop. Wrap a cloth around the stump and keep working, because otherwise you would vanish.

Work, or die.

He woke up before sunrise, and he returned after sunset. He fell unconscious besides a wife he’d not spoken to in days, having barely earned enough money to feed her for the day. Yet he couldn’t stop, because if he stopped, he would die, and so would she. So he repeated the mantra, again and again, because he had no choice.

Quote:"You may enter," said the Empress.

The door opened, and the Chancellor walked slowly in, head bowed to stand before the Empress.  "Your Imperial Majesty," said Dame Dianne Bolton, Chancellor of the Empire, with her eyes averted.

"Please Madame have a seat."  Dame Bolton did as she was bid.  She waited a moment for the Empress to speak.  She knew the protocol was to wait for the Empress to speak, but she didn't hear anything from the Empress.  10 seconds went by, fifteen excruciating seconds.  Finally, Dame Bolton dared to start the conversation.

"Your Imperial Majesty, I believe you summoned me."

The Empress, who was staring at her seemed to be deep in thought.  "Madame Chancellor, We would like your advice on a matter."

"How may I be of service to the Empire?" asked Dame Bolton.

"We read reports of horrific reprisals against Kalistani Nationals who have been captured by Kundrati militants in Artania.  Would you care to brief us on this issue?"

"Your Imperial Majesty," Dame Bolton wasn't quite sure what she should say.  How much did the Empress already know?  She is often at least as informed as the Chancellor on virtually everything.  Briefings were a regular affair, but they are usually given before the Empress makes a large decision.  She has all manner of contacts with the IBSI, which, though technically illegal, are nonetheless very willing to inform the Empress about everything she wants to know.  So why is she asking the Chancellor for a briefing?  This was quite suspicious...

"Your Imperial Majesty," said Dame Bolton again.  "The people who were captured and, unfortunately killed, were members of the Militia.  They were bringing arms and funds to the KPP."

The Empress nodded and waited for Dame Bolton to continue.  "They came through a checkpoint from Endralon, and the Fascists were alerted to them.  We think their cover slipped somehow, and the fascists intercepted them six miles in the country, and took them all, along with the weapons and the money."

The Empress stared at Dame Bolton.  She usually had a smile for the Chancellor, but today, the Empress' sober face filled Dame Bolton with dread.  "How many were killed?" She asked frankly.

"We lost 14," said the Chancellor.

"And then 21 at sea?"

"42 actually, Your Imperial Majesty."

"This business is costing us dearly, is it not, Madame Chancellor?"

"Fighting fascism is costly, and we don't have it as bad as your kinsmen, Your Imperial Majesty."

"Very correct Madame Chancellor."

As the Chancellor looked closely at the Empress, she could tell that the monarch had been crying.  The Empress never displayed this kind of emotion around anyone, publicly anyhow.  The Chancellor was staring now, and the Empress spoke to her.

"Our mother was great friends with your predecessor.  At the end of her life, Dame Ontiveros, who nearly shared the same fate with our father, and Dame DuMont were among her only friends.  We had the meeting, surely, but they stopped coming to visit when our Mother began losing her faculties.  It was too much for most of them to watch our mother decline.  She was so beautiful and so scary in a lot of ways--  Dame Ontiveros was with us when our mother passed.  One of the few people permitted to sit with her as she was dying.  We do not have a friend like that, Dame Bolton:  Even our husband can not serve in a role like this.  So we require those who serve us to tell us honest truths when we need to hear them, no matter what the cost or how hard it is to say what needs to be said.  Do you understand what we are getting at?"

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty, I think so," said Dame Bolton.

"Then tell us, in your professional opinion, do you think we should return our Kalistani Brothers and Sisters before more are murdered by this war-criminal regime back to the Empire?"

The Chancellor thought for a moment, and then, slowly at first, she answered, "No Your Imperial Majesty."

"Do you think more Kalistani's will die?"

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty."

"Then why should we put our Militia in harms way?"

The Chancellor Chose her words very carefully.  "Your Imperial Majesty, I don't believe we should, not necessarily."

"There is a but there," astutely added The Empress.

"The people who have been lost were all volunteers, Your Imperial Majesty." said the Chancellor.  "They signed up for this, to fight this fight.  They aren't ordered to be there.  They believe in what the Militia's mission is, which is to fight to roll back fascism in Kundrati, to hurt them in every way possible.  We have tens of thousands of people who have signed up for foreign duty, either as sailors or partisans.  Your aren't putting them in harm's way, they go there willingly and if you attempted to stop them, they would find a way to get out there anyway."

The Empress looked at the Chancellor, took a short breath, and a resolute look crossed her face.  "Madame, Your Party requires discipline."

The Chancellor's feeling of dread had passed.  "Your Imperial Majesty, you are correct as usual."  A small smile crossed the Empress' face, as if to say, "Of course."

"Madame Chancellor, please see to it that their families are compensated for their loss in service to the Empire."

"Your Imperial Majesty, it will be done this afternoon."

"Thank you Madame Chancellor.  Your candor is very welcomed."  The Chancellor took that as a dismissal, and stood up, bowed politely, and backed out of the office, as the Empress returned to her work.

Quote:Flight 609 from Aikums touched down in Kundrati's largest city.  Flying over the town, it looked relatively calm, but Mike Jones, travelling under the name Ainārs Kalniņš, a Dolgavan tourist, knew his time in this country would be anything but peaceful.  He was selected for this job not because of his background in espionage; he had none.  He was selected because he was the only Vrassan in the Militia who could speak fluent Dolgavian.  And his cover was necessary to blend into as a tourist.

As Jones collected his bags and arrived at customs, a very serious looking official scoped him out.  Jones handed him his fake passport, provided by the friendly agents at IBSI, and the border controller scanned it.  His name came up which matched both the passport and the immigration card.  That was in order.  The customs official held the picture up to Jones' face:  He had a beard in the photo but was clean shaven here.  Similar enough though.

"Nondik zatoz, jauna?" The customs officer asked in Lurrian.

"Man nav ko deklarēt." Jones responded in Dolgavian, answering the wrong question.

"Berriz ere: Nondik iristen zara Kundratira?" repeated the customs agent.

"Es... es nesaprotu.  Ko tu man jautā?" Jones responded that he did not understand.

The customs official let out a slight sigh and switched to Luthorian and speaking in a thick Lurrian accent, asked: "From where come you Kundraji?"

Jones smiled, gratefully, and responded in an equally heavily Dolgavian-accented Vrassan:  "I come...  from... Aikums...  Dolgavas Impērija."

The customs official nodded.  "What purpose is visit Kundraji?"

Jones carefully answered, "Tourism, I wish to buy house retire some day."

The customs agent responded, "There is fight in Kundraji. In North.  Not safe to foreign."

Jones nodded, "House in Etxea then."

The customs official nodded officially.  "How long stay Kundraji?"

Jones thought, as long as it takes, but responded in his heavily Dolgavian inflected Vrassan "Two weeks.  Have conference at work after."

The customs officer looked Jones over again, and his eyes narrowed.  For a moment he thought he detected a slip in the accent...  "Please open bag."

Jones feigned nervousness.  "Uh...  Bag?  What...  I..."

The customs agent pointed at his luggage and then pointed at the table.  "Please open bag.  Will search."

Jones apprehensively picked up his luggage, and placed it on the counter.  He wasn't carrying anything incriminating, but nonetheless, he felt like he should prepare in case his cover slipped, to give him a way to play it off in country.  The customs agent opened the luggage, and started rifling through the clothing, and found a copy of a Kerisian pornography magazine, which he took.  "Is contraband."  Jones looked sheepishly at the customs agent, who then began to unzip a small compartment in the lid of the suitcase.

"No.. please, Sir.  No need check there..."  said Jones, putting his hands out like he was trying to stop the customs officer.  The agent shot a sharp look at Jones, and said sternly, "Please step back."  Jones dropped his hand, and allowed to agent to continue to search.

The agent unzipped the compartment and reached inside, and pulled out a blue lacy bra and a pair of black panties.  Jones let out an embarrassed, nervous laugh.  The Customs agent looked at him, as if asking him to explain.  With a nervous smile, Jones shrugged and said "Old habit?" 

The countenance on the face of the Official grew dark.  Unceremoniously, he threw the women's underwear onto the rest of the clothing, muttering "Perbertso madarikatua." and closed the luggage.  He then stamped the Immigration card with the official stamp and the date, stamped the entrance stamp in the passport, and put the immigration card into the passport before snapping it back to Jones.  "Don't lose."

As Jones took the passport, the customs agent turned his eyes to the line and said "Hurrengoa!", and Jones hurried through the border check point.  He rushed past the security agents near the revolving door that led outside, hailed a taxi, and gave the cab driver the address of a house in Jildrath City.  There he would meet with the IBSI station chief, who would make an introduction to Lucius Silencio, who is with the Kundrati Air Force, to begin coordinating the arrival of Kalistani Militia.