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Across the sea
7 januari – On the North Sea, near Flandern-Wallonien
Elsa looked at the stars above the sea, a beautiful sight. She recognised Orion, the Big Dipper and several other constellations she didn’t recognize. She had been looking at the stars on the cold deck of the small ship she was on for hours now. She wanted to light a cigarette only to find out her package was empty. A wry smile formed on her face, she knew she smoked too much when stressed. She had been quite nervous ever since the moment she saw the small fishingboat that would take her to the Union of Britain. In name the the famed ‘Red Underground’ was a secret line set up by the Union of Britain to help talented and dedicated young people enter the workers paradise. In truth the ‘Red Underground’ just was a shoddy old boat picking up a handful of syndicalist fanatics.
A young man came out of the cabin and lit a cigarette. Elsa recognised him as one of the crew, a Scotsman called McKenna.
“Can I have one”, she said while pointing at his cigarette. “Sure lass”, was his simple answer while he gave her one. Elsa quickly lit the cigarette, only to start coughing loudly as soon as she inhaled. She knew the Brits where cut off from many traderoutes ever after the revolution, but to make cigarettes of tobacco this bad?
The Scotsman only laughed at her. “Its an acquired taste, British tobacco these days, miss.”
“Molenaar”, she replied. “Molenar?”, Malcolm struggled to pronounce the name. “No Molenaar, both the o and the a are long sounds”. She laughed at the man’s attempt to pronounce the Dutch name. “You know what, just call me Elsa.”
“Well then Miss Elsa. I’m Malcolm McKenna, at your service.” he saluted as he spoke, making a horribly serous face, like he was saluting an admiral. “Well then Miss Elsa, what brings you on deck on this horribly cold night?”
“Seasickness mostly. I’m allright when I can see the horizon.”
“Wished that German in the cabin would take your advise, he just keeps hurling.”
Elsa smiled again, she knew who Malcolm was talking about. A German named Honecker had marched on the ship like he owned the place, untill the ship started moving that was. The image of that arrogant bastard sitting in a corner, sick as a dog, just made her smile. Apparently Malcolm thought the same, as he was smiling from cheek to cheek. She liked the guy.
The silence was broken by the sound of a ship approaching in the distance. Elsa’s smile disappeared, what if they where discovered. Malcolm must have seen her fear: “Don’t worry miss Elsa, its either just a fisherman returning to port, or the Flemish coastguard.”
“Just the coastguard?!”
“Aye, those guys really hate to be the Germans lapdog. They do nothing more than saving drowning people and pissing off German ships by entering and demanding paperwork. Besides, just half an hour or so before we reach international waters.”
Elsa was relieved to hear that. Being held up at sea and ending up in a German cell was not something she could afford. It would not only ruin her life in the vehemently anti-syndicalist Netherlands, it would also spoil her chance at helping Karel with his newest assignment. Only her (moderate) leftist credentials could buy her a ticket on this road into Britain.
Suddenly a hard blow tore through the silence. An explosion shocked the boat. “Shite, Germans!”, Malcolm spat out his cigarette, grabbed Elsa’s hand and tried to take her to the cabin. Another shell exploded, the small ship shaked heavily. Elsa lost her balance and fell overboard in the icy cold North sea. Elsa struggled, milled around with her arms, gasped for air. This was her biggest fear, she couldn’t swim!
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8 januari - Pontianak, Borneo. Dutch East Indies.
The town of Pontianak was the opposite of Batavia. Where Batavia was a neatly arranged city, bursting with colonials, Pontianak was a truly Asian city. Dutch colonials, Chinese merchants, Javan workers and even several Dayak indigenous to Borneo all mixed through the city. Yet Karel wasn’t here to see the sights, he was here to find some clues. Colonel Ter Poorten had been very kind to him, despite his attitude. He had told him about troop movements when he wanted information about a possible secret information. He had even told him to stomp around on Borneo. A simple deduction meant he could only look at Pontianak, the only harbour on Borneo in reach of Brunei and Sarawak large enough for a ship to remain reasonably unnoticed.
Karel was visiting the harbour register again, trying to find any evidence of a ship bound for the area in october 1925. He knew that such evidence must exist, the colonial administrators where too precise and bureaucratic to not registrate all shipping in threefold. Also, the harbour was too big to sweep such shipping under the carpet. He had looked through the accounts of september and october 1925 until his eyes hurt and had singled out the last two ships sailing to Brunei days before the capture of the installations: the Dutch tanker ‘Stad Amsterdam’ and the Japanese ‘Kankoumaru’. One of these ships was responsible for the actions. Karel was glad he could leave the stuffy archive for now. He walked towards the small café near the harbour where Costers would be waiting for him. The man hated archives of all kinds, and rightly so.
Karel took in the sights of the harbour. Barrels of oil where loaded unto the manyships laying in the harbours. Burly natives where carrying sacks of spices and other products on their backs. Many men of many different nationalities passed him. He was nearly at the café, where a grim Costers was probably complaining about the quality of the beer. The only thing greater than his hatred for paperwork was his hatred for Dutchmade beer.
Two Chinese-looking men where walking towards him. Karel stepped aside to let them pass, they weren’t looking like the types who would step aside themselves. Suddenly karel felt a sharp pain in his side. He grabbed his side and noticed he was bleeding. He was stabbed! He tried to run into the café, but his legs wouldn’t carry him. He screamed, hoping to that someone would hear him. In the distance he saw the men walking away. His vision was getting blurry now. Before he passed our Karel felt a burly man picking him up. “Good for nothing Dutchman”, where the last words he heard before passing out.
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So, now both Karel and Elsa are in trouble. What will happen now?
Looks like I just might have an update ready friday. Do you all prefer drowning Elsa or stabbed Karel 
. This update will cover just one of them this time.
. This update will cover just one of them this time.
Elsa's fate
Elsa struggled in the ice cold water of the North Sea, desperately trying to find her way to the surface. Her lungs burned because of the lack of oxygen, het body felt numb by the cold. Would this be the end? Flashes shoot through her mind, flashes of her youth, her family, of Karel. Flashes of the man she desperately wanted to help. The man for whom she chose to take a ride on a dingy ship and defied the North Sea. The man that was now so very, very far away from her. Elsa stopped her struggle to reach the surface, her ice cold body didn’t react anyway. A suffocating darkness started to surround her. She noticed something pulling her collar, but surely it was too late now. She had lost her sight, she had lost the feel in her limbs, she had almost lost her conciousness. It was surely too late…
“Mrs. Elsa, stay awake you hear!”
She heard a voice in the distance. A voice with a distinct Scottish accent. She saw the face of a young man with reddish hair. Why did she see the man? Did he fell into the water too? No, she wasn’t in the water for some reason. Odd, she should be in the water, where else could she be.
“Remove those clothes. The lass will die of hypothermia if we don’t warm her up!”
She noticed someone removing her coat. She tried to scream at the man, but she failed. Cold, just too cold. Even the new coat didn’t help. Nor did the blankets that now covered her. Just too cold…
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She didn’t know how much time had passed when she finally woke up. She looked around her, noticing that somehow she was lying in a warm bed in what appeared to be the room of some kind of hostel. How did she come here? The last thing she remembered was standing on a boat suddenly being shelled by a German ship…
Suddenly she remembered: she fell off the ship into the cold water. Then she was pulled out of the water by a young Scottish man, probably that McKenna she spoke to earlier. He must have saved her life. She was so lost in her thought that she didn’t notice that a plump middleaged woman had entered her room.
“Are you alright dear? You slept for almost two days straight. Has your fever gone down?”
Elsa was startled by the womans sudden entry, but quickly regained her composure. Before her was a kind looking woman, probably the hostess of the hostel.
“Yes, apparently it has. Did I really sleep all this time?”
“Oh, you doný remember? They brought you in the day before yesterday, but you where awake then. Guess the cold got to you mydear.”
“Then..”
“Yes, we took care of you these days.” The woman smiled warmly at her. She must be the motherly type.
“I am always ready to help those who need it. Especially brave young people like yourself, braving the sea and the Germans just to learn more about our way of life. Most of those using the ‘Red Underground’ are misfits like that German boy who sailed with you, simply thinking of syndicalism as a way to control other people. I believe he was called Honecker or something like that. You however look different dear.” The woman smiled warmly at her again.
It was a smile that pierced Elsa’s heart. Indeed, she wasn’t here in the hopes of gaining control over an exiled European syndicalist party, but neither was she here to learn about the ideology. She was here to contact people that didn’t support the system her saviours adhered. She was here to betray the people that had saved her, and it hurt her to think about it.
“And the people who brought me in. Where are they?” The least she could do was thank the people that saved her.
“That McKenna boy?” She smiled again. “He came here every day to ask about you. He will probably come again later today. Just sleep until then, you are still recovering.”
The woman gently pushed her towards the bed. Elsa didn’t resist, as she knew she was in no state to argue. She lay down on the bed and covered herself with the blankets.
“You must have made quite the impression on the boy.” The woman gave her yet another warm smile. A smile that cut through her heart as a knife.
##############
A short update this time. I hope to have a bit more next week. Then we will find out Karels fate after him being stabbed in the harbour of Pontianak. We will also discover at least some of the people working behind the screens...
Nice update, but I do wonder how the hell that little boat managed to escape the Germans.
Yup, such kind of infiltration always means abusing the trust of alot of people. People who you could get along with very well indeed under different circumstances.
McKenna will give more details on that later, when Elsa goes to speak with him. Suffice to say that German patrols based from Flanders aren't exactly the best or most motivated among the Hochseeflötte.
I hope to have an update friday. This time it will be Karels turn to shine. I can promise new friends and enemies for Karel, as well as a choice between two new travel locations...
Gaijin in Borneo
8 januari - Pontianak, Borneo. Dutch East Indies
Costers cursed his luck while carrying the now unconcious Karel across the harbour of Pontianak. The only thing the fool had to do was walk a small stretch from the harbour register to the bar he was waiting. Disn’t he know what was going on? Didn’t he understand he was digging for secrets better men had died for before? Costers hoped this attack would act as a wakeup call for the Dutch journalist. He would have a very serious talk with the man indeed, after finding a doctor that is. Karel had been badly cut, but even an amateur like Costers could see the wound wasn’t deep enough to be fatal. It was just a scratch compared to some of the wounds he had seen during the Great War.
It didn’t take too long for Costers to find a shoddy clinic in one of the small streets leading to the harbour. A bad tempered, chain-smoking man checked Karels wounds and quickly disinfected and sutured them. The ease with which he performed this task showed that this wasn’t the first stabwound he had treated. More than likely the man saw his share of injured sailors, prostitutes and criminals each day. The man assured him Karel would probably wake up in half an hour or so. A nice time to take a smoke as far as Costers was concerned.
Just outside Costers took out a cigarette and was about to light it, when he noticed two Chinese-looking men. “Tabakku prease?”, one of them asked Costers in rather broken English. Costers nodded yes and took a package of cigarettes out of his pocket and handed it to the man. The man took out a cigarette and lighted it. “Where are you from, by the way?” “Ehh, we from China”, the man answered, again in heavily accented English. “Thought so”, was Costers short reply, “want another cigarette?” The man Costers was talking to was about to take another cigarette, when Costers quickly grasped his wrist with his left hand and pulled it behind the mans back. He made sure to position himself behind the man, putting him between himself and the other man. By holding the man in a rather firm armlock he now had control of the situation. A quick feel the mans pocket revealed a pistol than confirmed Costers suspicion. He pointed the pistol at the other man. “Small tip for you, there are gaijin who DO know the difference between a Chinese and a Japanese accent.”
A Nambu Type 14 pistol, a sidearm often used by Kempeitai operatives. The Kempeitai was the Imperial Armies feared military police, often doubling as agents abroad.
The other man looked at Costers indisicively, not wanting to retreat but knowing drawing his pistol would only meant getting shot. The situation was in a deadlock of sorts. Costers didn’t like the idea of shooting an unarmed man, especially when the sound of a gunshot could alert the mans friends. The man across him knew he would get shot if he attacked, but refused to run away. The man Costers held tried to free himself from Costers vice-like grip, but soon realized his arm would break before he could free himself. It reminded Costers of a ‘Mexican standoff’ from one of the cheap Western novels he had once read.
Unfortunately the standoff was broken by the arrival of three more Japanese men, all pointing a gun at Costers. The leader of the men, a grey haired, bearded man signalled Costers to let the man he held go. Now it was four against one, odds Costers didn’t like. For a moment he considered going out with a bang, trying to shoot his way out, but he quickly discarded that plan. Such things would only work in a Hollywood movie. He pushed the man he held away and dropped the pistol he held, raising his hand in the air, doing so might allow him to fight another day. “Smart choice, sir.”, was the response from the leader of the group, speaking English with just a slight accent, “now let me show you my gratitude”. Costers didn’t like the smile on the mans face. It looked that some Japanese bastard would do what the German armies never accomplished…
A gunshot broke the silence, but it wasn’t Csters who was shot. Instead it was the man he just held who was shot through the head. The mans friend was quickly silenced with a second shot from the man. The leader of the group shook his head: “Kempeitai scum. Couldn’t even see the difference between their own and their enemies.”
The man now looked at Costers and smiled: “I am sorry for the deception, but I didn’t see another way out of this unfortunate situation. I apologize that I cannot introduce myself properly here, but rest assured that we are not enemies. We simply work for a group opposing the Kempeitai. Perhaps we can meet again.”
After saying this, the men picked up the two bodies and walked away. Only once did the leader look over his shoulder:
“The information you seek cannot be found easily, as most men involved would die before answering a question. However, the Legation Cities Council employs several men who could know more. Try to look in Hong Kong. Until then…”
These last words left even the normally stoic Costers shocked. Not only did these men know what they where after, but they actively assisted them. However, now was not the time to wonder about those things. Two Kempeitai agents had died here and it would only be a matter of time before more would show up. As soon as Karel would wake up, they would leave this bloody town. Leave it and travel to Hong Kong of all places, Costers still had bad memories about his last visit there. That city was now a gathering place for the worst the East and the West had to offer. Yet beating a confession about some scumbag sounded more fun than following a vague papertrail like Karel was doing…
Wow, the conspiracy keeps getting bigger and bigger. Is there anyone not involved at this point?
Sorry for the lack of updates recently, I hope to pick up the pace soon.
In the mean time I will give you all a chance to influence the story a bit. By this time in the game Kerensky has been assasinated. Either General Denikin, Baron Wrangel, Dimitri Romanov or the left can take his place ingame. I already have some ideas of what to do with the Russians, but I will give you the chance to convince me to pick one of these four paths.
The same goes for the Commune, where the Anarchists, Jacobins, Sorelians and Travailleurs are fighting to rule.
In the mean time I will give you all a chance to influence the story a bit. By this time in the game Kerensky has been assasinated. Either General Denikin, Baron Wrangel, Dimitri Romanov or the left can take his place ingame. I already have some ideas of what to do with the Russians, but I will give you the chance to convince me to pick one of these four paths.
The same goes for the Commune, where the Anarchists, Jacobins, Sorelians and Travailleurs are fighting to rule.
Well concerning France my vote goes to the Jacobins.
Concerning Russia...well with Wrangel we should get some nice action.
Concerning Russia...well with Wrangel we should get some nice action.
I vote for Wrangel in Russia- considering the state the country's in I can easily see a dictator seizing power in order to make Russia 'great' again.
As for France I vote for Travailleurs, I think the Commune's extreme enough as it is.
As for France I vote for Travailleurs, I think the Commune's extreme enough as it is.
Looks like Wrangel is the favourite to take over Russia. As for France, I have some plans with them in the future.
I apologize for the lack of updates lately. A combination of an outbreak of World Cup fever and a very important paper deadline ate and will eat up my time for a week or so.
The next update will feature Karel and Costers travelling to Hong Kong. Karel will meet some interesting characters on their way. To give a small teaser, here's one of them:
As for the other ones, one of them is a well known man of the era, having wrote an influential book on warfare. The other man is a former French socialist.
