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| Proust goes Rogue!; Veta reseized in the name of France | |
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| Topic Started: Nov 28 2006, 11:14 PM (852 Views) | |
| Quaon | Jan 10 2007, 09:09 PM Post #101 |
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A Prince Amoung Men-Shoot First and Ask Questions Later
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The war had dragged on for a year now. The casualties numbered in the millions. Proustian Veta had become a smaller and smaller piece of land as the VCLA, the Libertarian Party, the NLA, and a host of other groups, ranging from revolutionary communist to Anglican congregations, invaded more and more territory. The Vetan Freedom Fighters were led by several figures: Jason Essex, native to Ottawa and Chairmen of the VCLA, William Elien, de facto leader of the Libertarians, and Edward Bird, cousin of the late President and General of the newly reunited NLA. The Vetans, accompanied by their brothers, the Esternarxians, and a force from JAUST, were preparing to make a final push in the Proustian territory. Proust was cornered-he either had to stand and fight or flee to France. And Proust, stubborn to the last, had chosen to fight. He had made the town of Chibougamau into a fortress, building up his defenses, moving in tanks around the city and summoning most of the forces still loyal to him to the city. The secret benefactors that had given the Vetans their guns and their air support had left a note to Jason Essex, promising that they’d be helping out in the next battle. The day after, three billion dollars was donated from an anonymous international businessman to the freedom fighters. When Edward Bird found out about this, he laughed. “I’ll shoot that son of a bitch Proust myself!” he said. On January 10th, the armies of the Freedom Fighters assembled within five miles of the town of Chibougamau. Edward Bird had given the order to shell the town with the mortars he had bought with the anonymous donation. Jason Essex had protested, saying that the collateral damage would be too great, but Edward convinced him that the ends justified the means. He gave Jason a speech about how living under the oppression of Proust was a fate worst than death. So the mortars began shelling the town, blowing up buildings. Civilians fled to basements. Proust issued an order demanding all non-military personnel retreat to the subways five minutes after the bombing began. Proust’s tanks returned fire to little avail. They were old, cheap tanks, and they were few. The tanks’ armor took mortar rounds, and it quickly fell. The freedom fighters let out a hurrah and charged the city. *** Freddy Solari was just a waiter from Quebec. A waiter with a fetish for big machine guns, but a waiter nonetheless. He made a decent living at a four star restaurant. He was five years out of college, in a casual relationship with a girl he had known from college (he had gone to Mises University). He remembered when the government started pulling bullshit in Boston. He remembered when some idiot had pulled a gun on a Kasnyian observer and shot him. He had been pissed when he heard that. He knew an invasion was imminent as his stubborn-ass government had refused to bow to the Kasnyians demands. He remembered when the French and the Kasnyians were at the gates. He remembered when the coup in Senate occurred. He had been a member of the NLA since he had been in college, and he was God damned applauding when he heard it. He was hoping that the shitty government could be brought down by the good General Bird and that the Kasnyians would accept peace. He had gotten his M16 out and began patrolling the streets and participating on raids on government men that wouldn’t go down without a fight, under the orders of General Bird. Than word came in that Durick Veta was a much smaller, smaller place. Than Freddy had put away his gun and gone back to being a waiter. Life on the first French administrator hadn’t been so bad. President Bird was good as well. Than Proust had taken over, and everything had gone to Hell. When the Kasnyians had revoked that bastards right to rule, he had gladly joined the rebellion against that dictator Anton Proust. Freddy liked shooting things. He hadn’t shot a person before. He’d shot at one, never hit them though. He fired his AK-100 during the Battle of Ottawa. The man he was shooting at had dived down, avoiding the bullets. He than rolled over and raised his hands in the air, surrendering. Freddy had been glad he did. He didn’t want to kill a guy. He wanted to blow up cars and shoot tanks. He didn’t want to kill anyone. Now he was outside the gates of Proust’s house, the guy who had killed a couple million Vetans. He could hear the mortar rounds fire into Chibougamau and into those tanks that were firing. He ducked down, pressing his face against the ground. Someone shouted “The tanks are down! Charge!” He got up, pulled his AK-100 off his back and charged. Proust had literally built a low wall around the city. It could easily be scaled, but that wasn’t a good idea. They didn’t know how many Frenchies were behind the wall. Getting shot while tumbling over wasn’t a good idea. Charges set on wall blew and the wall fell to pieces. Freddy stopped cold. He saw one of the Frenchies. Manning a machine gun. Aimed at him. He could see the frog smile. He heard a series of pops. He looked down and saw that he wasn’t standing anymore. Than he knew soon he wouldn’t be breathing anymore. *** Anton Proust entered his armored car, accompanied by a small entourage of soldiers. His driver, a short Texardon named Ted who had emigrated during the first revolution, greeted him, ignoring the sound of war as the French valiantly fought off the anarchist Vetans. “Sir, where to?” Ted said. He was a military chauffer, if ever there was one. He held the rank of Petty Officer First Class in Proust’s army but didn’t wear a uniform. “Waskaganish, Ted,” Anton replied. “Now hand me that radio.” “Sure thing,” Ted said, picking up the radio and handing it to the Marshal. “Thank you,” Proust said. He held the radio to his mouth. “All troops under the French flag-hold your ground. Do not let these enemies of freedom and liberty take your position. Fight to the last. Hold as long as you can. I will return with reinforcements. Keep the civilians in the subways, safe from the anarchists. God Bless You, the greatest fighting men of the world.” With that lowered his radio. The car started moving on its long trek. *** Ellen White huddled together with her brother, Rex White, in the subways of Chibougamau. She was sixteen and her brother fifteen. It was cold in the subway. Very cold. Ellen was a Native American. Her family had changed their name to White to better blend in a generation ago. Her father had been killed by one of Proust’s men two months ago and her mother had committed suicide after she had seen her eldest daughter, Katherine, raped and killed by another one of the Proustian bastard. So Ellen and Rex were all alone. And now they were in a subway and hearing bullets fire. And now another one of Proust’s men had come down to the subway. He was holding a machine gun. “No one leaves here!” he shouted. “No one leaves here God dammit!” Ellen started crying. *** Proust’s entourage was ten minutes from Waskaganish. The battle was still going strong. He thanked God for that. He reached into the suitcase by his side and pulled out his Dell Laptop. He logged in. He opened an application by the name of Military Commands 1-25. A small window appeared with no text on it. He typed into the window killzone-051. The window said back to him: Password accepted. Transmitting killzone code to all canisters. Stand by. Three minutes later, the computer screen said: Killzone code transmitted. Opening of canisters confirmed. Proust had just become the greatest mass-murdered in Vetan history. *** Ellen took a breath and found that she couldn’t breath. *** Across Veta, in malls, in subways, in anywhere with a high casualty possibility, gas canisters opened up as people died painfully. The lieutenant of the French forces left in charge by Proust shook his head and whispered “What have I done?” He than surrendered to the Vetan forces. As he walked out of the Proustian HQ with his hands in the air, he heard the hum of a machine gun and fell to the ground. *** Proust, with his armed guard, approached the Veta-France border. A French border patrol agent raised his rifle. There were two French agents for this mile on the Vetan border. Proust had kept just enough troops to give the French an excuse not to invade the border. The border agents still had the ability to arrest anyone who crossed the border. “That’s Marshal Proust!” the border agent with the rifle said. “Good God, we’ll get a promotion for this! You there! Halt.” The armed guard of Proust immediately drew their rifles and fired in unison. The two border agents fell to the ground. Proust walked over to the border patrol station, and took a seat in one of their chairs. “Leave me,” he said to his guards. They nodded and walked back past the border, to disappear into the masses. Five minutes later, a squad of thirty troops, alerted of Proust’s position, swarmed the border, holding automatic rifles high. Proust walked out of the station and raised his hands. “Anton Proust, you are under arrest for crimes against humanity. You have the right to…” *** Edward Bird poured himself a glass of wine from Proust’s HQ. He held the glass high in the air. “To Veta’s Freedom, Thomas,” he said. “To Veta’s Freedom.” |
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| Kasnyia | Jan 10 2007, 09:39 PM Post #102 |
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Chairman of the Bank
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OOC- That was beautiful, Q |
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| Eleytheria-Duo | Jan 10 2007, 10:20 PM Post #103 |
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Resident Bystander
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*Applause* Huuuu-rah! Good God Q, no wonder it took you two hours to write that. Very very goooooood ^_^ |
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| Great New France | Jan 11 2007, 07:06 AM Post #104 |
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Major
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OOC: Most interesting indeed, an epic end to a long story... ^_^ IC: Our Government hopes that the recent events in Durick Veta will finally lead to the full stabilization and democratization of that country. We value strongly a relationship based on trust and solid grounds with Veta and we hope that both our nations can put aside our past differences and build for a common better future. Nonetheless, we require that General Proust be extradited to our Nation: we cannot and will not accept a trial in Veta, he is only accountable to our laws and we do officially declare hereby that he will face a fair and just trial in the Empire of Great New France. We hope to discuss this issues very soon with President Bird from Veta as Foreign Minister Argimon will be on an official visit there in a few weeks. Nicolas du Cresson de la Chardičre, Prime Minister of the Empire of Great New France |
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| Quaon | Jan 11 2007, 07:37 AM Post #105 |
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A Prince Amoung Men-Shoot First and Ask Questions Later
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OOC: Thank you, guys. He's all yours, GNF. French border patrol agents arrested him. I should've made that clearer. |
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| Great New France | Jan 11 2007, 07:39 AM Post #106 |
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Major
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OOC: Thanks a lot, and may Veta celebrate its freedom, Vive la liberté! :) |
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9:27 AM Jul 11