 |
| |
|
|
Verto
|
|
Epilogue ~ Empires Divided
________________________________
Diary Excerpt, Private R.J.Kientol
Dated 18.Feb.1955
Pain, suffering, and disease have become the mundane. In my dreams, the glow of candles on a cake is extinguished by the
obsidian asphyxiation of Death. Yet even death is now become my companion. The faces of friends seem lost forever to me; into my heart Carnage itself has been seared. Or so I imagine. Feeling is a gift long since robbed from me, replaced by a uniform and a rifle. Memories of joy and laughter are overwhelmed by the piercing shrieks of a thousand artillery. Smiles of friends and family are supplanted by the ghouls of the battlefields, the horrific, silent screams of slaughtered children.
And yet beyond all this is the most abhorrent of all. For the holocaust that I once hated has become my very existence. More than all the battles and all the killing, I fear my return; I fear my home; I fear reunion. For amidst all the cries of the battlefield, it is the images of home that keep me awake; the smiles and laughter of those who remain innocent to the world I am become. It is the idea of leaving this war that is the nightmare that haunt me. It is a future of peace that torments me.
I have become War, and all else is a Stranger to me.
R.J.K
-------
After a long absence, I have begun work on several projects, including this one.
This is a 'pilot', if you will, to determine interest. If I continue with this story, it may be some time before my next installment, so bear with me.
|
|
| |
|
|
|
vovan
|
|
quote:
Originally posted by Verto
I suppose I should have elaborated: he was recalling images of children, killed, whose faces still kept their terrible expressions. |
Ah, that makes sense. I guess I didn't quite grasp this, because the previous sentence seemed rather sound-oriented to me: laughter, drowned out by artillery - and so, the silence of the image following didn't quite register.
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
|
Verto
|
|
Journey into the Inferno
March 2, 1945
"...four...three...two..."
The seconds felt like eons as the crowd of thousands waited with undisguised anticipation. Hundreds of miniature flags snapped in the brisk wind as a brave few began to sing the anthem of the Kingdom, although few heard over the growing rumble. Some felt tears forming, while others viewed with awe the great spectacle before them.
"...one...ignition!"
The entire crowd erupted into cheers as the cavernous rocket thrusters filled with flames, slowly lifting the sleek, towering spacecraft off its resting place, plumes of smoke encircling it. Into the clear sky the rocket would climb, until at last it passed into the Heavens.
Or so they thought.
Less than two feet above the launch pad, the rocket seemed to come to a standstill; for a moment, it seemed frozen in time. Then, ponderously, the rocket slowly fell back to earth; in silent horror, the crowd watched.
The rocket seemed to fall into the earth as it was engulfed in smoke and flame. Surrounding scaffolding and support fell into the maw, collapsing in on itself. Ripples of heat swept through the crowd, which was at last beginning to break apart, almost frantically coming to its senses.
---------
The fireball growing in the background, police futilely attempted to maintain a sense of order as thousands fled to their cars. The camera shook for a moment, but quickly stabilized. The news reporter still stood with her back to the camera, microphone still resting in the grass where it had fallen.
With a curt nod to a nearby aide, the television was off.
"Gentleman, the entire world just watched the Kingdom fail."
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
|
Verto
|
|
March 2, 1945
10:03 AM
"As you can see behind me, fire teams are still working to extinguish the blaze caused by this morning's catastrophe, during the unsuccessful attempt to launch the first unmanned American space rocket, the Omega. In an apparent technical failure, the rocket's thrusters failed to propel the rocket away from the Earth; instead, the entire launch pad was consumed in flames when the rocket crashed back to Earth, it's own fuel feeding it's destruction.
"The tragic mayhap is sure to prove to be an embarassing thorn in the Kingdom's side, as it struggles not only to maintain a lead in what has become an international race to the stars, but also to maintain it's national dignity in light of this incident. Indeed, the Kingdom's position is almost precarious, with a Spanish space launch scheduled in less than four months, threatening to beat America to space.
"No official explanation has been released as to why the Omega failed, although members of His Majesty's administration are expected to do so sometime tomorrow. I'm Jerel Fezul, and this is Global News."
Washington, capital of the Kingdom and Territories of America
Those present watched as the three men from the Space Exploration Division quietly left the room, like whipped dogs fleeing the abusive hand of a wrathful master; in the aftermath of Lincoln's fury, none dared to speak.
As the door closed, Lincoln resumed his seat at the head of the table. Seemingly unaware of the scattered disarray of papers he had created, he brushed back his hair; a few men, cowed, studied the smooth surface of the obtuse table, or mindlessly shuffled the papers before them.
After a brief period of painful silence, the Minister of Colonial Administration cautiously resumed the discussion. "Clearly, as Your Majesty observed, the Kingdom cannot rely on the New Boston territories to provide the necessary resources: the exports of Aluminum already beginning to die out. The Ariin Provinces could supplement this supply, but even then the space program would need to monopolize on the aluminum coming in from the colonies."
"Irregardless of the aluminum, what of rubber?" the Minister of His Majesty's Treasury replied. "The rubber being brought in from our Middle Isle colonies has decreased at a rate of 6% a year, when demand for it from the private sector - not to mention the military - has never been higher." The stocky minister swivelled slightly to his left, facing Lincoln. "Your Majesty, no where in the Kingdom will we be able to find the resources necessary to reach Alpha Centauri; not without causing unacceptable hurt to the economy."
Lincoln, in icy silence, gazed at each man seated in the room with cool, calculating eyes as they waited apprehensively, fearing another outburst.
"Perhaps, we could attempt negotiations at a trade agreement with Rome, or perhaps Russia..?" a minister suggested. "Offer protection against possible Spanish encroachment in the Middle Isles - they remember the Accords of 1902."
The Accords was the document that had sealed England's fate almost 40 years ago, when several colonies and territories had rebelled against England; intervening in a short military skirmish, Spain and Germany had forced England to accept the colonies' independence, after which those two empires had taken them over as 'protectorates'. Leaving England with only a handful of colonies, the Accords had crippled England, and proved so humiliating that a communist revolution had overthrown the monarchial reign of Elizabeth. It had also increased the Northern Continent's enmity with Spain and Germany, and fueled the bitter rivalry that had carved up the Middle Isles.
"Neither Rome or Russia are in a position to provide us with what we need," the Minister of War said decisively.
Lincoln placed his hands, palms open, on the table's cool surface, and studied each man present with his cool, calculating eyes.
"If America does not possess that which she needs, then she will look abroad."
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
|
Verto
|
|
March 13, 1945
Pierre Lafayette smiled as his three children raced across the white sandy beach, their footprints washed away by the gentle waves. The sunlight reflected off the great expanse of water before him, and he shielded his eyes against the dazzling brightness; next to him, his wife continued her reading from the comfort of a low hanging hammock suspended between two trees.
The beach was relatively uncrowded; tourist season would not begin for another two weeks, although many vendors and businesses were already preparing for them: already, large signs were being raised all across the city, citing the many great luxuries and attractions of New Vegas.
His youngest son was waving, trying to get his attention. Pierre waved back, assuring his son he had his undivided attention. The young boy then turned, following his two siblings into the water. Watching the three for a moment, Pierre eventually retreated into the shade offered by the small grove of trees, laying himself down onto one of the large white towels they had brought, and resumed his reading.
Pierre opened his eyes, and slowly realized he had dozed off; looking at his clock, he saw he had been asleep for nearly an hour and a half; his wife was now toweling off the three children, who were eagerly unpacking snacks and drinks from a small cooler they had brought. Rising to his feet, Pierre helped them make the sandwiches they were so fond of.
A napkin rose from the large picnic blanket they were eating on, and fluttered in the air. Giggling, one of the children raced after it, leaping into the air to grab it. Another napkin flew up, carried by the wind.
Soon, the blanket itself was flittering at the edges, knocking over their plastic cups and plates as the wind continued to increase. Soon, their towels and discarded shirts were in danger of being carried away. When Pierre looked out at the sky, he quickly informed the children they were going; ignoring the inevitable complaining, he hurriedly began packing up their belongings.
Huge black clouds were rolling in. A false night seemed to fall over the beach as the clouds obscured the sun. Swimmers were dashing out of the waters as some families gathered under the large pavilions that stood near the parking lots, hoping that sunny weather would quickly resume.
Without warning, rain began to fall heavily on the city as the howling winds continued. Menacing waves now crashed against the now-empty beach. The sand castles that had once stood proudly on the sands had disappeared, the tempestuous sea leaving no trace of them behind.
The abrupt and unexpected storm continued to increase, as New Vegas prepared for the worst.
Last edited by Verto on 01-04-2004 at 04:20
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
|
Nylan-Nolan
|
|
Good work. I hope that you can squeeze in another chaper or so sometime soon.
P.S. Im LDS too!
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
|
Verto
|
|
(Due to my rush to post some kind of update, I apologize in advance for errors, sloppy writing, etc.)
The Game's Afoot
March 15, 1945
Two days later...
Her blond hair dazzled under the bright set of lights arrayed around her, each positioned so as to enhance her already perfect facial features. Glittering blue eyes, a flawless smile. Her voice brought hope, security, fear, and sadness into the homes of millions each day. Her elegant manner, her every move graceful, she was the envy of countless women. Her outfits were each carefully selected and dutifully tailored to match her picturesque figure; the choice in clothing she made could make or break the latest fashion trends.
"Good evening America. I'm Selina Kyles, your Choice for News. Efforts continue this evening in the aftermath of Hurricane Ariel as residents struggle to salvage what is left in the wake of the worst natural disaster in twenty years. The hurricane is estimated to have killed nearly five hundred people and caused nearly four billion dollars in damage as it journeyed inland across the Middle Isles.
His Majesty has ordered a national week of mourning, and sent his condolences to those afflicted by this tragedy.
In other news..."
With a brief nod, the slim television went dim.
In a drastic change from their previous meetings, the ministers and advisors to Abraham Lincoln had been convened not in a metallic, sterile conference room, but in the splendid luxury of the Washington Palace. Originally built nearly three centuries ago, the Palace represented all the wealth and nobility of the American Empire. Once the home of the Royal Family and dozens of powerful nobles and countless extravagant dinners and balls, it was now rare that even top members of His Majesty's government were invited into the Palace, much less asked to meet in the East Study.
To most, the room was not so much a study as it was a library, rivalling that of most cities and universities. Tens of thousands of volumes filled the mahogany shelves that lined the walls, standing nearly twenty feet high. An immense table dominated one side of the room, a great mahogany monolith upon which some of the Kingdom's most important documents had been signed.
The fifteen ministers and confidantes were seated in plush, high backed chairs arranged around a stone fireplace large enough for three men to stand shoulder to shoulder in; standing with an arm resting on the exquisitely carved mantle, King Lincoln observed the debate amongst his ministers.
"I disagree," the Minister of the King's Treasury replied. "Clearly, the situation in New Vegas is not one we can afford to not take advantage of. If we delay in sending troops in, it would be just as well as to not send them in at all. Let me remind you, that hurricane didn't stop at New Vegas; the Spanish were hit by it as well. We need to send in troops immediately, or it will be too late."
The Minister of War cleared his throat. "I can have ten thousand men in Vegas before the day is out."
"Don't you think ten thousand troops to be excessive?" another minister asked.
The War Minister flashed him a look of disdain. "By tomorrow, the world will believe three thousand people have died. It is no secret that a large portion of the Vegas colony has wanted independence - most of them are still loyal to a dead France. We can cook up a story of some French separatist group taking advantage of the situation by trying to break away from the Kingdom; by the time our "humanitarian force" is on the ground, no one will have noticed the size. His Majesty's Fourth Fleet is performing naval exercises two days east of Vegas, they'll have arrived just as our ground forces have set up along the border."
Still appearing skeptical, the other minister nevertheless made no response.
Thoughtfully considering the past discussion, the King finally spoke; his cheerful mood, a drastic change, had been quite noticed by the ministers.
"Very well: in no more than three days time, we can have landed ten thousand men, reinforced by colonial militia, and brought in a carrier group to New Vegas. What will the Spanish do?"
With an imperious manner, the Minister of War almost brushed aside the question. The recent attention to the military had served to stroke his ego, to the irritation of his comrades.
"At first, nothing; they will buy the humanitarian excuse as will the rest of the world. As for the Fourth Fleet, they were performing naval exercises in the area, and His Majesty decided it would be best if they were nearby to provide any assistance necessary to aid the relief effort. All that would be left to do is fabricate a few French Separatist attacks, creating some link to the Spanish government, and then we'll have all the pretext we need. Spain's rubber will be His Majesty's in a matter of weeks, as will Alpha Centauri."
|
|
| |
All times are GMT. The time now is 05:33.
Apolyton Time is 00:33. |
top of page
|
|
|
Forum Rules:
You may not post new threads
You may not post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts
|
HTML code is ON
vB code is ON
Smilies are ON
[IMG] code is ON
|
|
|
|
|
|
09-02-2004 07:29
Sorry, NationStates has been consuming much of my time. I will repent, though!
hahahahhahahaha
|